Rebel Spring

She had no voice, no words. Her mouth was too dry, her lips parched. This could not happen.

“Repeat the words,” the king said, his voice low, but his gaze was as sharp as the edge of a dagger.

“I—I Cleiona Aurora B-Bellos . . .” she stuttered, “do pledge to take—”

The sound of metal striking metal caught her attention from the rear of the temple. The next moment, four of the temple attendants in red cloaks threw back their hoods to reveal their faces.

Cleo’s heart leapt into her throat to see that one of them was the rebel leader himself. Jonas’s gaze flicked to hers for the briefest of moments before he surged forward, drawing a sword from beneath his stolen robes. Cleo’s head whipped toward the back where she saw the scattering of red-uniformed guards quickly fall under the blades of rebels who’d been in disguise. Some frightened and confused cries sounded out from the gathered witnesses.

“Nic!” she cried out. If the rebels confronted Nic in his Limerian uniform they wouldn’t know who he was—what he meant to her. He was in danger.

Why hadn’t she considered this before? Despite the promise to say nothing about Jonas’s plan, she could have warned him!

Jonas grabbed Magnus just as the prince reached for his own weapon. Jonas held his sword to the prince’s throat, flicking a glance at the king.

It had all happened in a flash—barely time to think.

Jonas smiled thinly, his eyes narrowed. “Seems you have some celebrating to do, your majesty. So do we.”

King Gaius glanced over the group of rebels, at least twenty dangerous-looking boys who’d now taken hold of the temple. They stood before the fallen guards and blocked the entrances, sharp weapons in hand.

“You’re Jonas Agallon.” The king’s expression was calm despite the fact that his son was currently held prone with the edge of a sword digging into his throat. “We met before when you accompanied Chief Basilius to our meeting with King Corvin. Seems like a very long time ago.”

If anything, Jonas’s gaze grew more steely. “Here’s how this is going to go. First I’m going to kill your son. And then I’m going to kill you.”

King Gaius spread his hands. “It does seem you have us at a great disadvantage, doesn’t it?”

Cleo’s heart began to pound even harder, if that were possible. She craned her neck to send a frantic, sweeping glance through the temple. Twenty rebels had quickly disarmed and overtaken the dozen Limerian guards stationed inside the temple, all of whom were now dead or unconscious.

But where was Nic?

“Surprised how lax your security is in here. Outside was much trickier to navigate—and, I’ll admit, it’s going to be a difficult escape, but we’re up to the task, I think.” Jonas looked smug and satisfied, like a hungry cat who’d cornered a tasty pigeon. “Frankly, I think you’d have been smarter to use a smaller, less public venue for such an important event—somewhere you kept secret. Too bad you didn’t.”

“I’m sure you would have discovered that location,” the king said. “You’re that good. I’m thoroughly impressed by your skills. I’m sure your people follow your every order precisely and with great admiration.”

For a king facing assassination, he was so calm it was eerie.

“Father,” Magnus gritted out. A trickle of blood slid down his skin from the edge of Jonas’s blade.

“What do you want?” King Gaius asked Jonas again, not sparing a glance at his son’s face.

“What do I want?” Jonas asked disbelievingly. “Exactly what I just said. I want to see you pay for the crimes you’ve committed against my people. I’ve seen your road with my own eyes, your majesty.” The title was used mockingly. “I’ve seen what you’ve authorized your guards to do. I asked for it to be stopped, but you ignored my demands. Your error. Today, it will stop with your death.”

“I can offer you great riches.”

“I want nothing but your blood.”

King Gaius smiled thinly. “Then you should have been much swifter about making it flow. That was your error, rebel.”

An arrow sliced through the air, catching the rebel standing next to Jonas in the chest. The boy fell to the ground, twitching violently before his body went still.

Cleo watched with horror as half the wedding guests stood up from their seats and charged the rebels.

The lack of guards inside the temple was only an illusion. They’d been pretending to be witnesses to the wedding—they were the faces she didn’t recognize. And they attacked the nowoutnumbered rebels with full strength.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Magnus knocked the sword from Jonas’s grip. Then Magnus grabbed the front of Jonas’s cloak and threw him up against a marble pillar hard enough that the back of Jonas’s head cracked against the hard surface.

Cleo was shoved forward as a rebel and a guard fight came too close. She scrambled out of their way, fighting to move against the heavy, binding skirts of her gown, which made it feel as if she was moving through mud. She missed the swipe of a dagger by mere inches.

“You killed my mother, you son of a bitch,” Magnus snarled at Jonas. “I’m going to tear out your heart and shove it down your throat.”

Jonas blocked the prince’s clenched fist. A nearby rebel took a sword to his chest and he staggered back, slamming into Magnus, knocking the prince’s grip free from Jonas.