“Please do alert me when you’re finished talking amongst yourselves.” Magnus’s voice drew Jonas’s attention to the dais, where the prince sat upon his father’s black throne.
“We’re finished,” Jonas snarled.
“Good.” He flicked his hand at a guard. “Bring her in.”
The guard opened the doors and Princess Cleo entered the throne room. For a moment, all Jonas could do was stare at her, grateful that she was every bit as beautiful—and alive—as the last time he’d seen her. At least the prince hadn’t been lying about that.
She took three graceful strides inside before her steps faltered. Her wide-eyed gaze went from Jonas to Magnus and back again.
“What’s going on?” she demanded.
“Someone dropped by for a visit,” Magnus said, gesturing toward Jonas. “I thought letting him stay for a while would be the hospitable thing to do.”
“This . . . this is Jonas Agallon,” she said.
“Yes,” Magnus said. “I’m impressed that you recognized the great rebel leader, even with his cunning disguise in place.”
Her face went pale. “Why have you brought him here? To answer for his crimes?”
No, Jonas thought. Oh, no. What have I done?
More proof of the prince’s lies. The princess had never confided in him about her role in the uprising, yet Jonas had all but confirmed that they had been allies.
Now, thanks to Jonas’s persistent gullibility, he’d doomed not only himself but Cleo too.
“I met this esteemed leader outside, where he attempted to assassinate me,” Magnus said. “Clearly, he failed. But that is what they say about the rebel leader: he fails. Time and again.”
“Do you know what they say about you, Magnus?” Jonas said, deciding there was nothing left to lose. “That you should go suck the arse end of a horse.”
“Ah, just the sort of charming statement I’d expect from a Paelsian peasant.”
“I will see you bleed, you son of a bitch,” Lysandra hissed.
Magnus flicked his dark gaze to her. “Greetings, Lysandra. I remember you, of course.”
“And I remember you.”
“I’m sure you won’t believe me, but I think you should know that I thought the king made an unforgivable error in the execution of your brother. He would have been much more helpful to us alive.”
Lysandra drew in a shuddery breath, her eyes flashing with pain and hatred.
Cleo twisted her hands. “Magnus, why did you bring these rebels to the throne room? Why didn’t you send them directly to the dungeon?”
“Why do you ask, princess? Perhaps because that would make it easier for you to help them escape?”
“Excuse me?” Her face blanched further. “What are you suggesting?”
“Enough. I know the truth, which you’re certainly free to deny until your dying breath. My father was right about you and your alliance with the rebel.” She grappled for words, stuttering and stumbling over false starts, but Magnus held up his hand to silence her. “Don’t bother. Agallon has already confirmed it.”
Jonas waited for the onslaught of shame and failure, but all he felt was rage.
Confusion slipped from Cleo’s eyes, replaced by a sudden blaze of defiance. “Is that so? And you believe someone who kidnapped me twice to use for his own gain?”
Magnus laughed. “Now you’re only wasting your breath. Any further lies are irrelevant to me. I’ll have him put to death by sundown.”
Cleo gasped. “No! You can’t do that!”
“Can’t I?” He studied her. “Very well. Admit to me that you and Jonas have been working together for months—that you stooped so low as to conspire on the attack of our own wedding—and I’ll let him live. One word seals his fate. Will it be yes? Or no?”
A flurry of anger, doubt, and fear rushed across the princess’s face, until her features settled down into pure and utter fury.
“Speak, or I’ll make the decision for you. Yes or no?”
“Yes,” she finally hissed.
“Well done, princess.” Magnus nodded, but there was little pleasure in his expression now. Jonas watched a muscle in his scarred cheek twitch.
She glared up at the prince, her hands in fists. “And now you’re going to kill him anyway, aren’t you? Perhaps me too? Or would you rather I grovel some more?”
“If this is what you call ‘groveling,’ I’m very disappointed.” Magnus gestured toward the guards. “Unchain the rebel and his friends. Take the female rebels somewhere comfortable to wait while we finish here in private. If you speak to anyone about what you witnessed here, I’ll have your tongues removed.”
Jonas stared at the prince, astonished, as the guards unlocked his heavy chains. Then they did the same to Lysandra and Olivia before firmly escorting them out of the throne room.
Magnus stood up and descended the stairs, then took his seat at the head of the long black table.
“Let’s talk,” he said, gesturing for Cleo and Jonas to join him.
Jonas sat on a carved mahogany chair and rubbed his sore wrists. “If all you wanted was to talk, why bother with the chains? The guards?”
“You had me on my knees with your sword to my throat, believing I was moments from death. This was the least I could do to keep us on even ground.”
Unbelievable, Jonas thought with disbelief. This had all been a show to soothe the prince’s wounded pride.
“Now, back to the business at hand,” Magnus said. “My offer stands, Agallon.”
“What offer?” Cleo said. Her cheeks were now flushed, her fingers gripping the edge of the table.
Magnus’s jaw tensed. “I proposed a truce between me and Jonas.”
Shock crossed Cleo’s expression. “A truce? I . . . I find that very difficult to believe.” Her gaze met Jonas’s. “You agreed to this?”
He nodded reluctantly. “I agreed to discuss it.”
“I don’t undertand.”
“While the rebel has been a painful thorn in my side, I believe he can be useful,” Magnus explained. “He’s agreed to kill my father so he’ll no longer be a threat to me, or any of us. While Agallon has attempted this before and failed, he’ll be much more successful aligned with me.”
Cleo’s brow creased in thought. “With your father dead, that would make you the king of Mytica—all of it.”
“Yes, it would.”
“Well, that’s rather convenient for you, isn’t it? Jonas will do the work, and you will reap all the rewards.”
“I’m sure you have a point, princess.”
“My point is: What happens then? If the king is dead and you have all the power? You won’t need Jonas anymore . . . or me.”
“I don’t particularly need you now. But if you’re fearful for your life, you shouldn’t be. I wouldn’t gain anything from your death once I have what I want.”
Her cheeks reddened. “You confirmed today that I’m a liar and a former rebel aide. Why would you pardon me for that?”
He regarded her for a moment in silence, his hands pressed palms down against the table. “Why wouldn’t you lie? Why wouldn’t you align yourself with someone who might help set you free from your enemies? I would have done exactly same thing if I’d been in your position.”