Not that he really cared, he reminded himself sternly. He had not touched Cleo apart from the kiss in Limeros. And that had been under duress.
Still, Magnus had to admit the girl was an excellent actress. With his lips pressed to hers, he could have sworn he tasted warm honey rather than cold venom in her response. And he also had to admit, if only to himself, that such unexpected sweetness had coaxed a much longer kiss than he’d originally planned.
The princess was dangerous yet could appear so very innocent to one who didn’t know the truth-much like a spider and her shimmering web. Perhaps Magnus would do best to look at Aron as a hapless fly who’d once found his way into that trap through no fault of his own.
At that moment, a group of guards approached with a prisoner, his hands bound behind his back. The boy was no more than eighteen, his brown hair dark and unruly, his skin tanned from the sun, his eyes flashing with anger.
“Who is this?” Magnus asked, his gaze sweeping the fierce-looking boy.
The lead guard shoved the prisoner forward. “Part of a group of rebels attempting to steal weapons from us.”
“A group of rebels? And yet you captured only one.”
“Apologies, your highness. But, yes.”
“How many were there?” Aron asked.
The guard had begun to sweat. “Three, my liege.”
“How many did you kill?”
A muscle in the guard’s cheek twitched. “The rebels are vicious, Lord Aron. They’re like wild animals, and-”
“Perhaps you did not hear my question correctly,” Aron snapped. “How many rebels did you kill of the three?”
The guard blinked. “I’m afraid none today, my liege.”
Aron glared at him with disgust. “Step back. Now.”
The guard retreated.
What a complete jackass Aron was, spouting threat and intimidation as if he had the strength of will to back it up.
“Yes, your grace?” Aron asked evenly, noticing he’d gained the prince’s full attention.
“May I question the prisoner, or would you like to have the honor?” It was an honest question, if offered on a slightly menacing level.
Aron gestured with his hand. “No, please. You go right ahead.”
How shocking. It was the correct answer. “Much gratitude, Lord Aron.”
Magnus indicated that the guards should bring the prisoner further into camp by the fire. There the rebel stood with his hands bound, but his shoulders were squared as he met Magnus’s gaze directly, without flinching.
“Welcome.” Magnus began with a smile, one that would mirror his father’s ease, if not the king’s famous charm. “I am Magnus Lukas Damora, crown prince and heir to the throne of Mytica.”
“I know who you are,” the boy said with distaste.
“Good. That will make things much simpler. Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
The boy’s lips thinned, his eyes stony.
Magnus nodded to a guard, who backhanded the rebel. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, but his gaze only grew more defiant.
“Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?” Magnus asked again. “This can go easy or it can go hard. The choice is yours. Answer my questions and I am capable of benevolence.”
The boy laughed at this, spitting out the blood that filled his mouth. “Prince Magnus benevolent? This I find hard to believe.”
Magnus’s smile thinned. “Your name?”
“Brion Radenos.”
“Very good, Brion.” Magnus leveled his gaze at the boy’s. “Now tell me, where is the rebel leader, Jonas Agallon?”
Brion cocked his head. “Jonas Agallon? Never heard of him before.”
This boy tried his patience. “You lie. Tell me where he is.”
Brion laughed at this. “Why would I?”
Magnus regarded him with distaste. “Jonas Agallon crept onto palace grounds and stole the life of Queen Althea. There is proof of this. He will pay for this with his own life.”
Brion’s brows drew together. “I’ve seen the posted reward for his capture; I’ve heard the rumors. But you’re wrong. I don’t care what proof you think you have, he had nothing to do with that murder.”
The anger swiftly rising inside Magnus literally made him tremble. The nearby guards glanced at each other uneasily. “For a moment, I thought you were intelligent. But you’re just a fool whose mouth is bigger than his brain.”
This observation received a cold glare. “Jonas didn’t kill the queen.”
More rage lit beneath Magnus’s skin. He reached out and grasped the boy’s throat. “I’ll ask one more time. Your helpful response will net you a reward and freedom rather than pain. Where is Jonas?”
“Kiss my arse.” The boy’s gaze flashed. “You think you’re so strong, so powerful. You’re not. You’re weakened by your blindness-just like your father. His greed will be his undoing. The people in Auranos will not be fooled forever by him. And they will rise up in great numbers along with Paelsians to crush the both of you. Maybe we can even convince the Limerians to join in as one great army against all who wish to oppress us.”
Magnus tightened his grip, causing the boy’s face to turn red. Brion spat, and the saliva caught Magnus in the eye. He released the boy and wiped it away with disgust.
“I see.” His heart drummed fast and loud in his chest. “You’ve chosen the hard way. Fine. I’ll get my answers whether it’s now or whether it’s back in the dungeon on the rack. Perhaps it will give me the chance to capture Jonas if he attempts to save you.”
“He damn well better not even try.”
“Time will tell.” Magnus turned away, trying very hard to maintain his mask and not show how much his mounting frustrations weakened him.
“This piece of rebel scum will tell you nothing here or anywhere else,” Aron growled. He stood only a couple paces away, watching their exchange with a tight look on his pale face. “We don’t have time to take him back to the dungeon. We move on to the road tomorrow and we can’t spare any guards.”
“This is more important, Lord Aron.”
“I disagree, your highness. Rebels are best made an example of, not coddled and questioned.”
“Did it sound like I was coddling him?” Magnus gritted his teeth and glanced away.
“This is not how King Gaius would deal with this situation.”
The boy was so very annoying, Magnus could barely form words to respond. “Oh, no? And, pray tell, Lord Aron, how would the king deal with this situation?”
“Like this.” Aron had drawn out his sword and was holding it with both hands.
Magnus’s chest tightened in sudden alarm. “Aron, don’t-”
But he paid Magnus no attention. Without another word or another threat, and with his eyes glittering with excitement, Aron drove his sword through Brion’s heart.
Brion’s eyes went wide and he gasped, a sickly, bubbling sound. Blood spilled over his bottom lip as he collapsed to the ground and let out a last hiss of breath.
Magnus stared down at the dead boy with shock.
“The king personally executed a troublemaker at the Temple of Cleiona during the opening ceremonies of the Imperial Road. You must remember that as well as I do.” Aron wiped the bloody blade on a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. “I know he wouldn’t want this one to be handled any differently by his kingsliege. I will tell your father that you were instrumental in this rebel’s immediate execution. I promise not to take full credit for it.”
Magnus grabbed Aron by the front of his shirt and shoved him backward into the fire. The boy let out a wheezing shriek and scrambled to get up, batting at the embers that had begun to set his clothes ablaze.
Magnus was incensed. “He was my chance to find Jonas, you drunken imbecile!”
Aron sputtered, his cheeks now flushed. “He would have told you nothing more than his name! Sparing his life only made you look weak in front of the other men. You should be thanking me!”
Magnus leaned closer so he could snarl into Aron’s ear. “Pray to your goddess that we find the rebel leader very soon, or my disappointment will be leveled upon you and you alone. Do you understand me, you little shit?”