Falling Kingdoms

More mumbled conversation as the crowd listened to the king’s tale.

“This isn’t just a murder. This is an insult. And I, for one, am deeply outraged on behalf of all Paelsians, our neighbors who share a border with us all the way east to the Forbidden Mountains. The time is coming for a reckoning—one a thousand years in the making.”

The mumbling grew louder and, Magnus could tell, it was in agreement with what the king was saying.

Tales spread about the opulence in Auranos. Streets paved in gold. Precious jewels woven into noblewomen’s hair, discarded at the end of the day. Riches wasted on lavish parties that lasted for weeks. And, most distasteful of all, the fading interest in hard work and devout religion—the building blocks of Limerian society.

“What are you doing, Father?” Magnus said under his breath, bemused.

A strong hand clutched Magnus’s shoulder and he turned with alarm to face a man whose name escaped him: a large, hulking member of the king’s council, whose gray beard covered most of his face. Small, beady eyes flashed with excitement.

“Your father is the finest king Limeros has ever known,” the man exclaimed. “You should be very proud to be his son.”

Magnus’s lips thinned. Proud was one word he’d never use to describe how he felt toward his father, today or any other day. A fake smile stretched his cheeks. “Of course. And never prouder than I am at this very moment.”

• • •

It was a week after the king’s speech. Magnus’s muscles were burning—he had just finished another swordplay lesson. Now, after cleaning up and changing into fresh clothes, he moved through the castle trying his best to resemble a shadow. It was a game he liked to play to challenge himself, to see how far he could get before anyone took notice of him. In the black clothing he favored, he could usually get quite far.

Today he’d avoided Lucia after seeing her briefly over breakfast. All afternoon, she’d stayed in her room studying.

Good. Out of sight, out of mind.

The lie slid smoothly.

Moving silently, he came across a boy waiting in the huge, high-ceilinged downstairs foyer with its winding staircase cut precisely into the stone walls. A son of local nobles, he knew. Again, Magnus was terrible with names. It wasn’t a memory issue, it was a lack-of-caring issue. He remembered the names of people who interested him or who served a purpose in his life. This boy didn’t interest him at all. Although the boy’s interest in Lucia was another thing altogether.

At previous gatherings Magnus had observed in the boy’s watchful eyes that he was one of many who had a crush on Lucia and that he was waiting for the potential opportunity to spend time with her and solidify their…friendship.

As Magnus did with many such suitors, he circled the boy like a sea monster, eyeing him with acute displeasure until beads of perspiration formed on the boy’s pale forehead.

Lucia had called Magnus handsome, but he knew many found his appearance—dark hair, dark eyes, dark clothes, and, of course, the scar—to be intimidating and menacing. That he was King Gaius’s son and heir to the Limeros throne only solidified this impression. Some kings earned their people’s respect through love—as his grandfather had done. His father, however, preferred to earn their respect through fear and bloodshed. Different process. Same result.

Magnus could use the perception that he was just like his father. He had before; he would again. One should use every weapon available when there was the need. Right now, there was the need.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Magnus told him thinly.

The boy nervously dug the toe of his leather shoe into the gray marble floor. “I—I’m just...I’m not here to stay long. My parents thought it would be nice if I took Princess Lucia for a stroll around the palace grounds. It’s not too cold today.”

“Yes, how nice.” The words were acid on his tongue as jealousy flashed through him like a bolt of lightning. “But she isn’t interested in walks around the palace grounds. Not with, well...not with you.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

Magnus forced a tense look on his face as if he’d said too much and now felt guilty. “It’s really none of my business.”

“No, please. If you have any advice for me, I’d welcome it. I know you and Lucia are very close.”

Magnus told hold of the boy’s shoulder. “It’s just that she’s mentioned you to me.” This would be an excellent time to know the boy’s name—Mark, Markus, Mikah, something like that. “And she made it clear that if you ever stopped by, you should not be encouraged any further. She means no offense, of course. But...her interests in a potential suitor lie elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere?”

“Yes. So that is where I suggest you go. Elsewhere.”

“Oh.” The boy’s voice was weak and reedy. Already defeated.

Magnus had no patience for anyone who would be manipulated so easily. If the boy was truly interested in Lucia, he should be able to stand up to any adversity, including an overprotective older brother.

Weak things are so very easy to break.

If the boy had a tail, it would be tucked between his legs as he scurried away from the castle and back to his parents’ villa. And that was the end of Mikey. Or whatever his name was.

With a victorious smile on his face, Magnus returned to slowly prowling the castle hallways. It didn’t take him long before he came across something a bit more pleasant than one of his sister’s admirers.