Immortal Reign(71)

Kurtis’s cheek twitched, and hate flashed in his eyes. “You’ll regret that.”

“I regret many things, Kurtis, but chopping off your hand is not one of them.” Magnus did regret leaving the palace earlier without a sword. Foolish of him. But he didn’t need one to end this maggot’s life.

He took a menacing step toward Kurtis.

“Don’t you want to know why I’m here?” Kurtis said, his eyes glittering with malice. “Why I would put myself in harm’s way like this?”

Magnus glanced at Cleo. “Do we care?”

She nodded. “I must admit, I am vaguely curious.”

“As am I,” he said. “Perhaps he’s here because he heard that my father slit his father’s throat.”

“Could be,” Cleo allowed. “Perhaps we should be lenient. After all, he is in mourning, just as you are.”

Kurtis’s upper lip curled back from his teeth in a feral grimace. “I know my father is dead.”

“Excellent.” Magnus clapped his hands together. “Then we can continue without interruption. It isn’t my preference to kill you during a joyous festival like this, but I will make an exception today.”

Kurtis’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Kyan sent me here.”

Magnus’s stomach lurched. He struggled to take his next breath. “You’re lying.”

Kurtis pulled open the front of his shirt to show a painful-looking brand on his chest in the shape of a hand. “He marked me with his fire.”

It was the same mark that Kyan had threatened to give Magnus. One that would have made him the fire Kindred’s mortal slave.

Kurtis ran his hand over the mark, cringing. “It’s an honor, of course, to be marked by a god. But it feels like the fangs of a demon sinking deeper into me every moment. The pain is a constant reminder of where my loyalties now lie.”

“Why?” Cleo asked, her voice tight. “Why did Kyan want you to come here?”

“Because he wants me to take you to him, princess,” Kurtis replied.

“Then he will be disappointed,” Magnus bit out. “Because Cleo is not going anywhere with you.”

Kurtis smiled thinly. “I must say, I will regret not learning how you escaped your grave. But one cannot know everything, I suppose.”

“You think I’m letting you leave? This ends here and now.”

“Yes, it does.” This voice came from behind them, and Magnus turned sharply to see Taran Ranus standing in the opening of the alleyway.

Magnus looked at him, confused. “How did you find us?”

Taran opened his mouth to answer, but at the same moment Cleo let out a sharp shriek.

Magnus whipped his head in her direction to see that Kurtis had grabbed her from behind and clamped a cloth over her mouth.

A chill exploded in the air. An icy mist burst from where the princess stood and raced up the walls, coating them with frost in an instant.

Then Cleo’s eyes rolled back into her head.

Magnus lurched forward toward her.

Taran waved his hand, and Magnus froze in place, unable to move.

“What are you doing, you fool?” Magnus demanded. “Help Cleo!”

Cleo had gone limp in Kurtis’s grip. The cloth must have had some sort of sleeping potion on it, Magnus realized with dismay.

“I will help her,” Taran said calmly. “And then the four of us will be reunited, all-powerful. Unstoppable.”

Magnus turned a look of horror on the rebel. “What are you—?”

“Kill him now,” Kurtis barked.

Taran flicked his wrist again. Magnus found himself airborne for a split second before he hit the frost-covered wall hard enough to shatter bone. He fell to the ground in a heap.

“Pick her up,” Kurtis said to Taran. “You’re stronger than me, and it’s a bit of a journey.”

Taran did as he suggested, lifting Cleo’s limp body easily into his arms. “Where are the others? I’m still gaining my senses. Everything is unclear. I can’t yet sense them.”

“The Temple of Cleiona,” Kurtis replied.

Their voices grew more distant. Magnus couldn’t move, could barely think. They believed they had left him for dead, and yet . . . he wasn’t dead. The cold weight of the bloodstone on his middle finger was a constant reminder of the magic he wore, pressed against his skin.

But he feared that magic wouldn’t be enough this time, especially when the world faded away around him—to utter blackness.

He was woken up by a gentle nudge.

“He’s so dreamy, isn’t he?” It was a girl’s voice, slurred and drunken.

“Oh my goddess, yes!” another girl responded. “I mean, when I saw him on the balcony at the palace, he seemed so cold, so unapproachable. But up close like this? So cute, right?”

“So cute,” her friend agreed. “The princess is so lucky.”

“Should we fetch a medic to help him?”

“I think he’s just drunk. You know what they say about Prince Magnus and wine.”

“Good point.” Another nudge. “Prince Magnus? Your highness?”

Magnus blinked, trying to clear his mind of the darkness, trying to focus on what little light there was in the conscious world. He was still in the alley where he’d cornered Kurtis. The sky above had darkened, the sun gone from the sky. It was early evening now. His eyes focused on two girls about Cleo’s age looking down at him with great interest.