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A sharp cry tore Magnus’s attention away from the balcony. He watched with horror as a stream of green-uniformed Kraeshian guards—on foot and on horseback—flooded the square.
The warnings had been true.
And he’d been utterly wrong to doubt Cleo, in so many ways. The realization bit into him painfully like shattered glass.
The citizens scattered, the square was gripped in chaos. Magnus watched as nearly every fleeing Limerian was captured and restrained by the Kraeshians.
A tall, broad-shouldered guard atop a massive and majestic black stallion called out to the crowd in a booming voice. “I am the commander of Empress Amara Cortas’s royal guard. The Empire of Kraeshia is now in control of Mytica. Our intentions here are peaceful. No one has to die today, but anyone who resists this occupation will pay with their life. From this day forward, you will bow before Amara Cortas, your glorious new empress.”
Magnus looked back to the balcony to see that Cleo had disappeared. With one last glance at the chaos around him, Magnus darted back to the palace unnoticed.
He needed weapons. He needed to find the captain of the palace guard. He needed to stop these Kraeshian vultures before it was too late.
But first, he had to find Cleo.
Magnus raced through the hallways toward a winding staircase to the balcony, taking it two steps at a time. He reached the top and scanned the length of the long, dark hallway.
A flash of long golden hair caught his eye and he ran toward it, but staggered to a halt when he turned the next corner.
There he saw Lord Kurtis, clutching Cleo by her arm. She fought against him like a beast from the Wildlands, scratching and clawing at his face.
“Let go of me!” she yelled.
Kurtis grabbed her by her throat, smashed her against the wall, and slapped her hard across her face. “Behave yourself.”
“I will kill you!”
“Deal with her,” Kurtis said, shoving her at a guard who then struck her in the head with the hilt of his sword, rendering her unconscious. The guard picked up her limp body and tossed her over his shoulder.
Magnus ran at them, but suddenly found himself flat on his face, the wind knocked from his lungs. Someone had tripped him. He looked up to see a Kraeshian guard looming over him, his sharp sword pressed to Magnus’s chest.
Magnus raised his arms to his sides. “I surrender.”
The Kraeshian eased back on the sword, and Magnus clasped his hands on either side of the blade and rammed the hilt into the guard’s face, breaking his nose. As the guard reeled back in pain, Magnus leapt to his feet and slammed his fist into his face, knocking him to the ground.
Then, without any hesitation, Magnus yanked the sword from the guard’s grip and drove the blade down into his chest.
Sword in hand, he rushed along the hallway, desperately searching for Cleo. She was nowhere to be seen, but he spotted Kurtis, alone, headed for an exit.
“You better have answers for me.” Magnus pressed the tip of the sword between Kurtis’s shoulder blades, just as the kingsliege reached for the door handle. “Where is Cleo?” he hissed.
Kurtis froze in place. “I don’t think that’s quite the right question to ask right now.”
“Oh? And what’s the right question?”
“The right question is, who was it I was meeting with at the gates earlier today?”
“Well, you’re a coward, so it had to have been a Kraeshian. One who bribed you, told you he’d spare your life if you did as he asked.”
Kurtis let out a dry little laugh. “Close,” he said, “and yet so far. It wasn’t a Kraeshian. It was a king. Your father, to be specific.”
Magnus’s blood grew cold and his face went slack.
“Yes, Magnus. Your father has arrived.”
“And he took the princess. Why?”
“Why do you think? Honestly, Magnus, use your head.”
