Rebel Spring (Falling Kingdoms #2)(91)

“He does indeed.”

Cleo frowned at him as she realized something very important. “Wait. You’re stalling, aren’t you?”

“Stalling?”

“You brought me for this tour of the maze not to help clear my head, but to delay your speech. It’s officially your first one, isn’t it? You’re nervous about it.”

Magnus stared at her. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

He said one thing yet acted another way. But she could suddenly see him clearly—clearer than ever before. “King Gaius adores the sound of his own voice. But you . . . you’re different.” And here she’d believed father and son were alike in every way.

“I don’t need to listen to this nonsense.”

His steps picked up speed as he continued through the maze. Cleo was now completely lost. She had to keep pace with him or he might leave her behind to freeze to death. She pulled at her crimson skirts to keep them from dragging on the ground and getting damp from the frost.

“Public speaking should come naturally to you, given your heritage.”

He gave her a dark look over his shoulder. “Spare your breath, princess. I don’t need any words of encouragement from you.”

Annoyance flared within her, chasing away her bemusement. “Good. Because I don’t really care. I hope you make a fool of yourself. I hope they laugh at you. It would serve you right.”

The wounded look this statement received surprised her.

Cleo found it difficult to believe this horrible boy could possibly lack confidence at something so expected of royalty. Magnus effortlessly managed to intimidate everyone who crossed his path—his very presence, his height, his strength, his position and title, the harsh tone of his voice; they all ensured that anyone with less power cowered before him.

Had she managed to find a weakness?

There was an opening in the snow-encrusted hedge up ahead. They’d reached the end of the maze. Cleo let out a sigh of relief as she ran her thumb over the surface of her ring. As if to mirror her nervous gesture, Magnus ran his fingers over his scar. She’d noticed it was something he did regularly, if unconsciously.

“That happened when your family visited my father ten years ago. I remember.” Her curiosity got the better of her. She had to ask. “I assume it was an assault by a stranger, not an accident.”

The look he turned on her held nothing pleasant in it. “Neither an assault by a stranger or an accident. It was a punishment, handed forth from my father himself to forever remind me of my crime.”

Her eyes widened. His own father cut him so horribly? “What crime did you commit as a child to warrant such a punishment?”

His hand dropped to his side, his expression equal parts hard-edged and wistful. “For once in my life, I wanted to possess something beautiful, even if it meant I had to steal it. Clearly, I learned my lesson.”

Stunned, Cleo watched him rejoin the gathered crowd. Many lords and other important men waited to clasp his hand in friendship. His confusing words repeated in Cleo’s mind as their wives gathered around her, welcoming her to Limeros and congratulating her on her marriage to the prince.

They were then led back toward the castle, with the swelling crowd gathered in the palace square awaiting Magnus’s speech, cheering the very sight of the two royals. A cloaked figure parted from the crowd and began to swiftly move toward Cleo and Magnus’s entourage. He was so subtle that no one paid him any attention until he was only ten paces away, at which point he pulled a dagger from beneath his cloak and lurched forward.

Magnus lunged and thrust his arm out, catching Cleo across her chest as he shoved her back. She fell hard to the ground. The man arched the dagger toward Magnus, catching him in the arm before the prince deflected the blow and slammed his fist into the man’s stomach.

The rest of the guards restrained the man, quickly disarming him. Nic was at Cleo’s side then, helping her back to her feet. She stared at Magnus, now holding his injured arm, a look of rage on his face as he glared at his attacker.

“Who are you?” Magnus snarled.

The guards yanked back his hood. For a crazy, heart-stopping moment, Cleo was certain it would be Jonas.

But it wasn’t. It was a boy not much older than Magnus whom she’d never seen before today.

“Who am I?” he snapped. “I’m someone whose village you destroyed. Whose people you enslaved to work your precious road. Someone who sees through your father’s lies and wants to watch you both bleed and die.”

“Is that so?” Magnus stepped forward to inspect the boy with withering distaste. “It seems you’ve failed in your quest.”

“She didn’t want me to try to kill you.” The boy struggled against those who held him firmly in place. “I disagreed.”

“She? Who are you talking about?”

The would-be assassin raised his chin, his eyes cold and full of challenge. “The Watcher who speaks to me in dreams. Who guides me. Who gives me hope that not all is lost. Who tells me that that which is lost should never be found.”

Magnus’s gaze narrowed. “And this . . . Watcher . . . didn’t want you to try to kill me.”

“On that much we disagreed.”

“Obviously.”

Twisting her ring nervously, Cleo watched Magnus closely for his reaction. The prince claimed not to believe in magic and all but mocked Lord Gareth for his choice of wedding gift. Yet a mention of Watchers now seemed to give him pause.