Gathering Darkness

Contrary to what she’d expected, Magnus didn’t storm from the room, nor did he drag her out of it and slam the door in her face. He just stood there, arms at his sides, his attention fixed on something on the wall over her shoulder. His expression was pained, as if he couldn’t quite bear to look directly at her.

“You really want to know?” he asked.

“Yes. I really do.”

He was silent for so long that she wasn’t sure he’d ever speak again.

“My whole life, all I wanted was to be like my father,” he began in a monotone voice. “I’ve wanted to follow in his footsteps, to be strong. Smart. Resourceful. Cunning. Intimidating. Ruthless. To be respected and feared. To have his power and influence. What else is there for someone like me—the heir to his throne? Without that to aspire to, I have nothing. I am nothing.”

What a thing to say. He’d been raised as a prince, brought up in privilege—he should have more of a sense of self-worth than this. “You’re wrong.”

He held up a hand to silence her. “I’ve always been told I look like him, sound like him . . . I essentially am him. But no matter how hard I try, I always fail. Because at my core, where I need to be the strongest, I’m weak.”

Cleo kept quiet now, listening carefully. Barely breathing.

“You want to know why I did what I did?” His dark brows drew together as if he were only now allowing himself to consider this question. “It’s fairly simple, actually. It’s because, without your bravery in the face of all that’s happened to you, without your constant scheming behind my back, without that fire of hatred and contempt and hope in your eyes when you look at me . . .” He hissed out a breath. “In the shadow my father has cast over my entire life, you are the only light I can see anymore. And, whatever the cost, I refuse to let that light be extinguished.”

All she could do was stare at him until he scowled and turned away.

“Satisfied, princess? Now, stop asking me stupid questions.”

As soon as her shock began to fade, an uncontrollable rise of laughter escaped her throat. As she laughed, he cast a look at her and a flash of pain crossed his face before he could shutter it off.

“That’s right, princess. Laugh at me. It is funny, after all.”

She laughed until tears flowed down her cheeks, hysterical now. Gasping for breath. “It’s just . . . what Nic said once . . .”

“And what, pray tell, did Nic say?”

Cleo sobered quickly as an invisible hand clutched her throat, squeezing hard, making it nearly impossible to breathe. “That he thought I was falling in love with you.”

Magnus stared at her. “What an idiotic thing for him to say.”

“I know. Because I’m not. Never. How could I be? I hate you.”

And then she was kissing him, and she wasn’t even sure who approached whom first. It had happened so quickly, and there was no way to stop it. His lips crushed against hers, her hands twisting into his shirt, sliding over his shoulders, and up to tangle into his hair. He pulled her closer, until there was no space between them at all.

It was desperate, this kiss. Violent, even.

But of course it was. It had been building up between them for such a long time, as the battle about this boy who had destroyed her life had raged inside her. This boy who had saved her life, who was cruel and kind, strong and weak. Who was selfish and selfless all at once.

This boy who had, in a single moment of fear and weakness, taken someone so special from her. She knew she could never forgive him for that. This was the boy she was forced to marry in a destroyed temple, surrounded by dead bodies and an ocean of blood.

This was the boy who now kissed her without reservation, as if he were dying and she was air itself.

A sharp knock at the door made her gasp and pull away from him. She stared up into his eyes as she touched her swollen lips. He looked back at her, no invisible mask in place now to cover his shock.

Finally he turned away and went to the door. He opened it up with such force that she was surprised he didn’t tear it from its hinges.

Princess Amara stood at the doorway, a smile on her lips. She glanced past Magnus at Cleo.

“Did I interrupt anything?” she asked. “Apologies, of course. But this couldn’t wait.”

It took Cleo a moment to fully register the fact that the princess was standing right there in front of her. Here, on the other side of Mytica, in the house of a woman they’d met by chance.

This couldn’t be real.

“What are you doing here?” Magnus asked. “How did you find us?”

She shrugged. “I’m very good at negotiations. People spill many secrets for the right amount of gold. And here we are. If both of you could come downstairs with me, that would be lovely.”

“What’s downstairs?” Cleo asked guardedly, though she knew whatever it was couldn’t be good.

She knew that Amara had followed them, just as they’d followed Lucia.

“Come and see.”

Cleo didn’t like the sound of that, but she had no choice but to do as the princess requested.

Standing in Lady Sophia’s central hall were six green-uniformed Kraeshian guards, along with Prince Ashur and . . . Nic?

There he was, hunched over, his hands bound behind his back.

“Nic!” Cleo surged forward, but a guard put out an arm to stop her from getting too close. “What have they done to you? Are you all right?”