Immortal Reign(31)

The letter had been torn after that line, and Cleo felt a desperate grief within her at not being able to know more.

Her mother wrote this.

She wrote this to King Gaius.

With a trembling hand, Cleo reached into the case and picked up the dagger.

The hilt was encrusted with precious jewels. A beautiful treasure, one that struck her as oddly familiar.

Aron Lagaris, Cleo’s former betrothed, had owned a jeweled dagger, but it was not nearly as grand as this. Jonas had kept Aron’s dagger for months after the tragedy at the Paelsian market that day, a reminder of losing his brother, a reminder of the vengeance in the rebel’s heart.

Another dagger came to Cleo’s mind then—one that Prince Ashur had given to her on her wedding night.

“This is a Kraeshian wedding dagger,” she breathed.

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

Cleo froze at the sound of King Gaius’s voice. She took a deep breath in and straightened her spine. “You’re the one who put it here,” she said.

“I gifted that to your mother upon her marriage to your father.”

It took her a moment to find her voice. “What a strange gift from a Limerian.”

“It is, isn’t it? I wanted her to kill Corvin with it in his sleep.”

Cleo turned to glare at him. The king wore a cloak as black as his hair, as dark as his eyes. For a moment, he looked so much like Magnus that it stole her breath.

“If you gave her such a gift,” she managed to say, “I can see why she hated you.”

“I dropped that letter earlier this evening.” His gaze fell upon it still clutched in Cleo’s hand, and in a single motion he snatched it away from her. “If you read it, you know that hate was only one of the emotions she held for me.” The king’s attention shifted to the portrait above her. “Elena kept the dagger. I saw it again in a treasure cabinet like this when I came to visit your father twelve years ago.”

Cleo’s gaze went to it again. “Is this the same dagger that Magnus saw during that visit? One so beautiful that he wanted to steal it? And you—”

“Cut him with it,” he said bluntly. “Yes. I did. And he bore the scar from that day to remind me of that moment when I lost control of myself, lost in my grief.”

“I can’t believe my mother would have ever . . .” A pain squeezed her heart, both of grief and outrage. “She loved my father.”

Gaius turned his face away so it became shrouded by shadows. “I suppose she did, in her way. Her deeply obedient, devoted to her bloody goddess, myopic family way.” His smile turned into a sneer. He studied the portrait now with disdain rather than reverence. “Elena was a treasure that your father wished to add to his growing collection. Your grandparents were thrilled that the Corso family name—certainly noble, but not important enough to earn the right to a villa in the City of Gold—might become truly royal. They accepted the betrothal without even consulting Elena about it first.”

Cleo was equal parts thirsty to know more and appalled by any slight against her beloved father. “Your mother made it sound like you had fallen for each other much earlier, on the Isle of Lukas. If this was true, why didn’t you marry her? You were a prince.”

“How clever. Why didn’t I think of that?” Such coldness to his tone, such sarcasm. She flinched from it. “Alas, there were rumors about me even then, rumors that met with her parents’ disapproval. I was . . . tainted, you might say. Dark and unpredictable, dangerous and violent. They worried for the safety of their precious daughter.”

“Rightfully so.”

“I would never have harmed Elena. I worshipped her.” His dark eyes glittered as he focused on Cleo. “And she knew it. She nearly ran away with me a month before she married him.”

She would have denied this very possibility if she hadn’t first read the letter. “But she didn’t.”

“No. Instead I received this message. I wasn’t very happy to read it.”

That would explain why it had been torn in half.

Cleo tried to figure it out. “My grandparents intervened . . .”

“My mother intervened.” He scowled. “I see it all now, far more clearly than ever before. How much she controlled when it came to her plans for me. Her control over me.”

“Selia spoke to my grandparents? Warned them?”

“No. After I received this”—his grip on the parchment tightened—“my mother saw how distraught I’d become. How distracted and obsessed. She knew I would never give Elena up. So she had your grandparents murdered.”

“What?” Cleo gasped. “I know they died years before I was born, but . . . I was never told how.”

“Some feel that painful tales are best kept from innocent ears. They were killed by an assassin sent by Queen Selia Damora herself. Until that moment, I believed there was still a chance that Elena would walk away from the wedding to be with me instead. But in her grief, Elena believed the rumors that I was the one behind this act. She married Corvin and made it clear that she hated me. I didn’t take the rejection well, so I did what any fool would do. I became everything she thought I was.”

Cleo’s mind reeled. “So you weren’t always . . .”

“Evil and sadistic?” The small, cold smile returned. “I was never kind, at least not to those who didn’t deserve it. And very few did. This, however . . . it worked exactly as my mother wished. I tried not to care when I heard of your sister’s birth. I tried not to give a damn again about anything to do with Elena.” He snorted softly. “Then one day I received another letter from her. She wanted to see me again, even heavy with her second child. She asked me to visit the following month. But the following month, I learned she was dead.”