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“I’ve been told that before, but I assure you I am not.” He rose from his seat at the table. “Much gratitude for the information you’ve given me, Basha.” Although, nothing worthwhile. Only more disappointment. “I wish you a good day.”
He departed the tavern, looking neither left nor right, pulling his cowl closer around his face.
Magnus’s head ached by the time he returned to the palace. It was late in the day and the sun was setting. On his way from the stables, his path crossed with that of Aron Lagaris.
“Prince Magnus,” Aron said. His voice sounded different, stronger. Perhaps the boy was taking his new station seriously and had refrained from drinking a bucket of wine already today. “Where have you been?”
Magnus leveled his gaze with Aron’s. “My father seems oddly fond of you as his newest kingsliege, but has he suddenly assigned you to become my keeper?”
“No.”
“My personal bodyguard?”
“Uh . . . no.”
“Then where I have been is none of your concern.”
“Of course not.” Aron cleared his throat. “However, I should let you know that your father wants to see you immediately upon your return from . . . wherever it is you’ve been.”
“Does he now? Then far be it for me to keep the king waiting another moment.”
Aron did an awkward half bow, which Magnus ignored as he swept past him. A day that started with nightmares and disappointment did not seem to be improving.
The king stood outside his throne room, his favorite hound next to him. He spoke quietly with Cronus. As soon as he spotted Magnus, he sent the guard away with a flick of his wrist.
“What is it?” Magnus asked, frowning.
The king acknowledged his son with a nod. “You should know that Princess Cleiona has returned to us.”
It was the last thing he expected to hear. “She has? How is this possible?”
“She escaped from the rebels after an attack on their camp last night. She ran into the forest, hid from her captors, and made her way into the custody of my team of guards. She’s shaken, but unharmed.”
This news came as a strange relief. “A miracle.”
“Is it?” The king pressed his lips together. “I’m not sure about that.”
“I was certain they’d kill her.”
“As was I. And yet, they didn’t. It leaves me with certain suspicions. A girl of sixteen without any survival skills finds herself in the hands of violent rebels who are currently making their home in the thick of the Wildlands. Yet she easily escapes? Without a bruise or a scratch? Now that I know the leader’s name in this particular group of heathens, this leaves me with many questions.”
“Who is the leader?”
“Jonas Agallon.”
It took Magnus a moment to place the name. “The wine seller’s son from Paelsia. The one with the murdered brother. He was a scout for Chief Basilius.”
“That’s right.”
“Who told you this? The princess?”
“No—in fact, she claims to have been kept secluded during her captivity and did not see any of the rebels’ faces. My guards were unable to find the princess specifically, but in their travels they did uncover some information about the rebels. This was one piece of information.”
Magnus considered all of this. “Are you saying that you believe her to now be aligned with the rebels?”
“Let’s just say that I plan to keep a very close eye on her in the days ahead, and you should do the same. Especially with the wedding so close now.”
A muscle in Magnus’s cheek twitched. “Of course. The wedding.”
