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“Someone dropped by for a visit,” Magnus said, gesturing toward Jonas. “I thought letting him stay for a while would be the hospitable thing to do.”
“This . . . this is Jonas Agallon,” she said.
“Yes,” Magnus said. “I’m impressed that you recognized the great rebel leader, even with his cunning disguise in place.”
Her face went pale. “Why have you brought him here? To answer for his crimes?”
No, Jonas thought. Oh, no. What have I done?
More proof of the prince’s lies. The princess had never confided in him about her role in the uprising, yet Jonas had all but confirmed that they had been allies.
Now, thanks to Jonas’s persistent gullibility, he’d doomed not only himself but Cleo too.
“I met this esteemed leader outside, where he attempted to assassinate me,” Magnus said. “Clearly, he failed. But that is what they say about the rebel leader: he fails. Time and again.”
“Do you know what they say about you, Magnus?” Jonas said, deciding there was nothing left to lose. “That you should go suck the arse end of a horse.”
“Ah, just the sort of charming statement I’d expect from a Paelsian peasant.”
“I will see you bleed, you son of a bitch,” Lysandra hissed.
Magnus flicked his dark gaze to her. “Greetings, Lysandra. I remember you, of course.”
“And I remember you.”
“I’m sure you won’t believe me, but I think you should know that I thought the king made an unforgivable error in the execution of your brother. He would have been much more helpful to us alive.”
Lysandra drew in a shuddery breath, her eyes flashing with pain and hatred.
Cleo twisted her hands. “Magnus, why did you bring these rebels to the throne room? Why didn’t you send them directly to the dungeon?”
“Why do you ask, princess? Perhaps because that would make it easier for you to help them escape?”
“Excuse me?” Her face blanched further. “What are you suggesting?”
“Enough. I know the truth, which you’re certainly free to deny until your dying breath. My father was right about you and your alliance with the rebel.” She grappled for words, stuttering and stumbling over false starts, but Magnus held up his hand to silence her. “Don’t bother. Agallon has already confirmed it.”
Jonas waited for the onslaught of shame and failure, but all he felt was rage.
Confusion slipped from Cleo’s eyes, replaced by a sudden blaze of defiance. “Is that so? And you believe someone who kidnapped me twice to use for his own gain?”
Magnus laughed. “Now you’re only wasting your breath. Any further lies are irrelevant to me. I’ll have him put to death by sundown.”
Cleo gasped. “No! You can’t do that!”
“Can’t I?” He studied her. “Very well. Admit to me that you and Jonas have been working together for months—that you stooped so low as to conspire on the attack of our own wedding—and I’ll let him live. One word seals his fate. Will it be yes? Or no?”
A flurry of anger, doubt, and fear rushed across the princess’s face, until her features settled down into pure and utter fury.
“Speak, or I’ll make the decision for you. Yes or no?”
“Yes,” she finally hissed.
“Well done, princess.” Magnus nodded, but there was little pleasure in his expression now. Jonas watched a muscle in his scarred cheek twitch.
She glared up at the prince, her hands in fists. “And now you’re going to kill him anyway, aren’t you? Perhaps me too? Or would you rather I grovel some more?”
“If this is what you call ‘groveling,’ I’m very disappointed.” Magnus gestured toward the guards. “Unchain the rebel and his friends. Take the female rebels somewhere comfortable to wait while we finish here in private. If you speak to anyone about what you witnessed here, I’ll have your tongues removed.”
