Rebel Spring (Falling Kingdoms #2)(63)
Princess Cleo regarded him, her arms crossed over her chest. Her pale hair was loose, wavy past her shoulders to her waist.
“I’m kidnapped by rebels, held as their prisoner for an entire week, escaped with only my wits to aid me, and you don’t even have a greeting for me upon my return?”
“I will warn you, princess, that I’m not in the mood for foolishness right now.”
“Neither am I, so I suppose we have something in common. And I thought there was nothing we shared.” Her gaze held not an edge of friendliness, but a tight smile lifted the corners of her mouth.
“Smiling?” he managed. “Whatever have I done to deserve this? Or perhaps you’ve already heard the news to help brighten your day.”
“News?”
He felt impossibly weary. “The news of the queen’s death.”
A frown creased her brow. “What?”
“She was murdered by rebels.” He took in her unconcealed look of shock. “So there you go. Something for you to celebrate.”
Magnus turned away from her, ready to find solace in his chambers, but the princess grabbed his arm to stop him. He sent a dark look at her over his shoulder.
“I would never celebrate death, no matter whose it is,” she said, her gaze filled with anger and something else. Something that looked vaguely like sympathy.
“Come now, I’m sure you wouldn’t mourn any Damora.”
“I know very well what it’s like to lose a parent in a tragic way.”
“Oh, yes, we have so much in common. Maybe we should get married.”
She released him, her expression souring. “I was trying to be kind.”
“Don’t try, princess. It doesn’t suit you. Besides, I don’t need or want your kindness or your sympathy. Both feel alarmingly false coming from you.”
Something hot and wet slipped down his cheek. He swiped at the unbidden tear and turned his face away, appalled that she’d seen it.
“I never would have believed you’d care so deeply for anyone,” she said softly.
“Leave me alone.”
“Gladly.” But now she sounded uncertain, as if the sight of him crying over his dead mother had deeply confused her. “But, wait, before you go . . . I’m sorry to disturb you, I just don’t know who else to ask. I need to talk to my friend. To Mira. I can’t find her anywhere. I’m told she’s no longer Princess Lucia’s attendant. Do you know where she’s been reassigned?”
He took five steps down the hall before she called out to him. “Prince Magnus, please!”
He turned. At that moment, there was nothing in Cleo’s expression except the need for him to help her in some small way. She believed he could do that much.
“Apologies, princess,” he said, holding her gaze, “but while you were gone my father took the life of your friend Mira for overhearing a private conversation. I do regret that he made that decision, but I can assure you her death was quick and painless.”
Horror crossed her face. “What?”
“She was taken away, her body burned, the bones buried in the servants’ graveyard. Again, I am sorry for your loss. There’s nothing to be done to fix this.”
The sound of Cleo’s grief-filled wail followed him all the way back to his chambers.
CHAPTER 18
JONAS
THE WILDLANDS
That same hawk was back again, perched in the trees. She kept Jonas in sight for most hours of the day. Perhaps he was being paranoid, especially since he didn’t believe in legends . . . but, still.
If she was a Watcher, then Jonas hoped she would approve of the plan he’d just laid out before his rebels, explaining how they would assassinate King Gaius and Prince Magnus at the princess’s wedding.
“Let me get this straight.” Lysandra was the first to speak up when he was finished. “You won’t attack the Blood Road like I want, but you think you can march into the royal wedding at the Temple of Cleiona and kill both the king and the prince where they stand.”
“That is what I said, isn’t it?”
“I thought maybe I’d heard you wrong.”
“Do you have a problem with my plan?”
“Several problems, actually.” The girl looked stunned, as if he’d managed to take her by surprise. She stood next to Brion, who regarded him with bemusement.
“Anyone else with problems?” Jonas turned in a circle to survey the rest of the group. The rebels spoke quietly to each other, eyeing him with varying expressions—from interest to awe to wariness. “Or is Lysandra the only one who always wants to oppose me on every decision I make?”
“We were all nearly slaughtered by the king once already. You want him to have another chance at it?” a boy named Ivan said. Originally, Jonas had thought him someone with leadership qualities, but Ivan rarely took an order without debate and complaint. Everything was a fight with him. And the bravery he showed by his size and muscles didn’t seem to go much further than the surface.
Ivan had a point, but it wasn’t a very good one. Not one rebel had fallen beneath the Limerian guards’ blades the night they’d invaded the camp, which was both a miracle and a relief. The plan to scatter and regroup at their secondary location had been a sound one. Jonas took this as a sign that they were meant to fight another day.