Gathering Darkness

She made it sound as though he’d done these things deliberately, to help her. “You’re imagining kindnesses that were anything but.”

“You’re the one who chooses to call them kindnesses. Are you sure that’s not what they were?” She searched his face, making him feel naked and exposed, as if the masks he’d spent so many years building up were crumbling down all around him like sand castles in the wind.

“You know nothing about me,” he growled. For the first time tonight, he cursed the fact that he’d drank to excess. He needed his mind to be clear in the face of his enemies.

Why had he bothered to come inside? Was it simply to exert his force of will upon this girl? To remind her that she had no power? To bully her in an attempt to regain his strength?

It had only made him weaker than he’d been before.

“All I can do anymore is think,” Cleo said after a long silence. “All day, all night. I think about everything that’s happened and I replay it over and over in my mind. And do you know what I think, Magnus?”

Why did he remain here and continue to listen to her? He needed to leave this place. “I don’t care what you think.”

“I think that you hate your father. You hate him almost as much as I do.”

It took him a moment to realize he’d stopped breathing. “And what difference would it make if you’re right?” he finally managed.

“All the difference in the world.”

She was brave this evening, saying things to his drunken self that she’d never say to the sober one.

He hadn’t given her a direct answer, but he hadn’t denied it, either.

“You’re not like the king,” she said softly, when he said nothing in reply.

He turned away. “You’re wrong. I’m exactly like the king. I aspire to be as great a man as my father. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

She touched his arm and he flinched. “You aspire to be like a man who would slice open a child’s cheek as punishment for some meaningless offense?”

He glared at her as he brought up his hand and touched his scar. He never should have told her that bit about his past. He had exposed yet another weakness, and now she was using it against him. “What do you think you’re doing here, saying these things to me?”

She bit her bottom lip before replying. “I’m simply trying to have a civil conversation with you.”

Enough of this. “Then this civil conversation has happily reached its end.” Magnus stood up and began walking away. But suddenly she was up and standing there, blocking his path.

“I’m not done,” she said.

“Oh, you’re done.”

“No. I’m not.”

He was through with this. He grabbed her arms, turned her around, and pushed her backward until she touched the mosaic. The goddess rose up above her, a fearsome, omnipotent guardian watching over the Auranian princess.

“There is no goodness inside of me, princess, so please don’t waste time fantasizing that there might be.”

“Lucia is your sister and she’s not bad,” Cleo said.

“You want truth, princess? Lucia was adopted. We share no blood, not that it makes any difference to her. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumor—a brother who lusts after his own sister. It’s all true. But don’t worry. She didn’t sully herself with the notion that we could ever be together. That was my fantasy alone, not hers. I disgust her every bit as much as I disgust you. That’s one thing you have in common with this girl you’re attempting to blossom a friendship with.”

Cleo looked stricken with shock. He knew that these admissions were spilling from his lips like wine from an overturned cask, but he didn’t really care anymore.

“I must admit, she doesn’t torture me as much as she used to, by day and by night,” he went on. “Lately my more troubling dreams have shifted from ones of my dark-haired sister to ones of a princess with hair of pale gold.” He took up a lock of Cleo’s waist-length hair and twisted it around his index finger. He stared at it, transfixed. “Dreams of the one I was bound to against my wishes.”

Her cerulean eyes widened. “You dream about me?”

His gaze snapped back to hers. “Nightmares only.”

He wished they were only nightmares.

Magnus tried to pull back from her, but she grabbed hold of his shirt.

“Rather than always fighting ,” she whispered, “we could find a way to help each other. It’s possible we have similar goals.”

Such words were more than enough to sign her death warrant. Was she so stupid as to say these things to the son of the king?

Or did she really know him so well that she felt confident being so bold?

Cleo wanted her throne back. There was no doubt about it. She wanted her kingdom returned to her family name, and she wanted his father dead so he would never again hurt anyone she loved. She fought quietly but fiercely for this with every day that passed, every word she spoke.

And in this moment, he thought she was the bravest and most beautiful girl he’d ever known.

The effects of the wine still swirled through his mind and body, the world sparkling all around him. But one thought was crystal clear.

This princess, who looked at him tonight with hope rather than hate shining in her eyes . . . if he let her, she could destroy him.

Magnus slid his hands down her silk gown and circled her narrow waist. He could feel the rapid beat of her heart he pressed himself against her.