Immortal Reign(45)

“He is Nic,” Cleo said, her voice pained. “For a moment, right after it happened, I nearly stabbed him in the heart—even knowing it would kill Nic. I wasn’t thinking straight. I’m so grateful that Ashur stopped me.”

That sounded like something the Kraeshian prince would do. “Of course he did.”

“I’ll never go with Kyan,” she said, shaking her head. “Not for any reason.”

Magnus’s chest tightened at the thought of losing her. “He was going to brand me, somehow, making me into his slave with magic so I’d do as he said. He reached for me and . . . stopped. Something stopped him, and it gave me the chance to escape.”

“What was it?” she asked, breathless.

He tried to remember that dark night full of pain and confusion. “I don’t know. I thought it might have been Ashur, that he’d found some magic to fight against the Kindred, but it wasn’t him. Still, something helped me get away.”

“Could it have been Nic himself? Fighting against Kyan somehow?”

“Possibly,” he allowed. But the more he thought about it, the more he wondered if it could have something to do with the bloodstone. Lucia had been repelled by its magic.

Perhaps Kyan felt the same.

Still, Cleo, with the water Kindred within her, seemed fine being close to him with this kind of magic—dark magic, as Lucia called it—on his finger.

Cleo shook her head. “To think, our troubles used to consist of a battle for the throne. It seems so inconsequential now.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say entirely inconsequential,” he said. “It will be nice when every trace of Amara Cortas leaves this kingdom.”

“I forgot all about her for a moment.”

“So did I.” He kissed her forehead, threading his fingers through her sun-warmed, silky hair. “We will find a way to save Nic, I promise we will. You and Nic and Olivia and even Taran.” He grimaced. “If we must.”

Cleo laughed nervously, burying her face against Magnus’s chest. “Taran is trying to be strong, but I know he’s terrified about losing control of his life like this.”

“I have no doubt that he is.” Magnus knew he’d feel exactly the same.

He watched the sun sink further over the water. There was very little daylight left. They had to face reality again, far too soon.

“Best slip your gown on before Agallon strolls back here looking for you and gets far too much of an eyeful of my beautiful wife.” Magnus reached to the side and grabbed his shirt. “Wouldn’t want to break his heart any further by seeing you like this with me. Although . . . come to think of it, I’d be all right with that. Final nail in the coffin, if you’ll excuse the expression.”

“Jonas is a good person,” Cleo said firmly as she dressed.

He watched her with great appreciation, every move, every gesture. “Stellar. Of course he is.”

“He cares a great deal about Lucia.”

Magnus made a sour face. “Don’t even put that potential pairing into my mind. I have enough foul dreams to deal with as it is.”

Magnus stood up and took Cleo’s face between his hands so he could kiss her again. He knew he would never tire of the taste of her lips—a near magical mix of strawberries, salt water, and the individual and intoxicating taste of Cleiona Bellos herself.

Far more delicious than even the finest and sweetest vintage of Paelsian wine.

She reached up to stroke the dark hair off his forehead, then traced her fingertips slowly along his scar to his lips. “Marry me, Magnus.”

His eyebrows shot up. “We’re already married.”

“I know.”

“You can’t possibly forget that day in the temple, can you? The earthquake? The screaming and blood and death? The vows forced upon you under threat of torture and pain?”

Cleo’s expression turned haunted, and he regretted reminding her of that horrible day.

“That was no proper wedding,” she said, shaking her head.

“I agree.” A smile touched his lips. “Actually, that was one of my fantasies while in that hateful coffin: marrying you under the blue sky of Auranos in a field of beautiful flowers.”

She let out a small laugh at that. “A field of beautiful flowers? Clearly you must have been hallucinating.”

“Clearly.” Magnus pulled her to him, gentler now, as if afraid she might break. “We will live through this, my princess. All of this. And then, yes, I will marry you properly.”

“Promise?” she asked, a tremor in her voice.

“I promise,” he replied firmly. “And until then, I have faith in my sister that she will end Kyan and find a solution to this hateful magic inside of you.”

Magnus and Cleo returned to the palace slightly disheveled, but determined to find a solution to the long list of problems that plagued them.

After Magnus had heard the twentieth “I thought you were dead” comment, he chose to retire to his chambers with his beautiful wife.

And there they discussed every moment that had passed for each of them since they last saw each other.

Cleo slid her fingers over the golden ring on Magnus’s left hand. “I hate your father. I always will.” she said, just before she fell asleep in his arms. “But I will be eternally grateful to him for this.”