Falling Kingdoms

He stared straight up at the sky. He wasn’t blinking. His eyes were such a beautiful shade of dark brown. She loved his eyes. His nose. His lips. Everything about him.

As she touched his lips, her fingers slid over the blood.

“Wake up, Theon,” she said softly. “Please, find me again. I’m right here. I’m waiting for you to rescue me.”

Nic touched her shoulder gently.

She shook her head. “He’ll be fine. He just needs a moment.”

“He’s gone, Cleo. There’s nothing you can do.”

She pressed her hand to Theon’s blood-soaked chest. There was no heartbeat. His eyes were glazed. His spirit had departed. This was nothing but a shell. And he wasn’t going to find her ever again.

She couldn’t control the sobs that wracked her entire body. There were no words for this pain. She’d lost Theon just when she’d realized how much he meant to her.

If she hadn’t come here, Theon wouldn’t have had to follow. He’d loved her. He’d wanted her to be safe. Now he was dead and it was all her fault.

Cleo leaned over and kissed his lips—their third kiss.

Their last.

Then she let Nic lead her away from Theon’s dead body and Magnus’s unconscious one and toward the harbor.

By the time Magnus came to, all three horses had run off. He was alone, in the middle of Paelsia, surrounded by three corpses. A hawk circled in the sky high above. For a moment, he thought it might be a vulture.

He dragged himself to his feet and looked down at the fallen men. He swore under his breath, then cast a dark look in the direction of the village in the distance. There was no sign of Princess Cleo and whoever that was who’d knocked him out.

He tried very hard not to look at the Auranian guard whom he’d stabbed, but his gaze kept turning in that direction. The young guard’s eyes were still open, staring up at the sky. Blood had caked on his lips and a pool of it soaked into the dirt next to his body.

Magnus realized he was trembling. This guard had taken out two of his men. As soon as he turned around, Magnus could have been killed too. He’d had to strike first. And so he’d chosen to stab the guard in the back. Like a coward.

He crouched down and looked very hard at the Auranian, knowing he would never forget the face of the first person he’d slain. The boy wasn’t much older than he was. Magnus reached over and closed his eyes.

Then he left the bodies there, went to the village, purchased a horse from a Paelsian who’d seemed fearful and intimidated by Magnus’s very presence, and rode hard back to Limeros. He stopped only when he was so tired he nearly fell off his mount, sleeping a few hours before continuing on, numb, broken, and beaten.

The blood had dried on his cheek where the girl had clawed him. At least, it had stopped stinging. He wondered briefly if it would leave new scars there. It would serve as a visible marking of his defeat and humiliation.

When he finally returned to the Limerian palace, he left the horse outside without calling for a groom to take it away and give it food and water. He could barely think. It was a monumental effort to even walk a straight line.

Magnus went directly to his room, closing the door behind him. Then he collapsed to his knees on the hard floor.

Some said that Magnus was just like his father in looks and temperament. He’d disagreed until today. He was his father’s son. He was cruel. Manipulative. Deceptive. Violent. Stabbing the guard in the back to save his own life was something that King Gaius would have done. The only difference was that the king would not dwell on it afterward. He would never doubt his actions. He would celebrate them like he celebrated his daughter’s newfound magic after it had turned his mistress into a pile of charred meat.

Magnus wasn’t sure how long he knelt there in the darkness. But after a time, he knew he was no longer alone.

Lucia had entered his chambers. He didn’t see her yet, but he felt her presence and smelled the light floral fragrance she always wore.

“Brother?” she whispered. “You’ve returned.”

He didn’t reply. His mouth was dry, parched. He wasn’t even sure if he could move.

Lucia came to his side and gently touched his shoulder.

“Magnus!” She knelt down next to him and brushed the hair back from his cheek. “Your face. You’re hurt!”

He swallowed. “It’s nothing.”

“Where have you been?”

“On a trip to Paelsia.”

“You look...oh, Magnus.” Concern coated her words. She didn’t know what he’d done. What he’d been instructed to do.

Retrieve Princess Cleo and bring her back to Limeros.

Such a simple task. Magnus had no doubt that his father never would have given it to him if he hadn’t been positive his son would succeed.

But he’d failed.

Lucia got up and returned a few moments later with a glass of water and a wet cloth. “Drink this,” she told him firmly.

He drank. But the water only worked to wash away his numbness, making his pain that much more acute.

Lucia cleaned his wound gently with the cloth. “What scratched you?”

He didn’t answer. Lucia wouldn’t understand what he’d done.

“Tell me,” she insisted. The steely edge to her tone earned her a direct look. “That’s right. You need to tell me what happened. Right now.”

“Will you make it all better?”

“I might.”

As he drew in a ragged breath, her expression grew more grave. She stroked his hair back from his face. “Magnus, please. What can I do?”