All four guards immediately did as requested and moved away from Magnus and his father.
“Privacy?” Magnus scoffed. “I don’t think anything you have to say to me anymore warrants that.”
“No? Not even if it’s about your golden princess?”
Magnus’s hand was on the hilt of his sword in an instant, fury rising within him. “If you dare threaten her life again—”
“A warning, not a threat.” His father regarded his outrage with only weary patience. “The girl is cursed.”
Magnus was sure he hadn’t heard him correctly. “Cursed?”
“Many years ago, her father was involved with a powerful witch—a witch who didn’t take the news of his marriage to Elena Corso well, so she cursed Elena and any future offspring that they would die in childbirth. Elena nearly died giving her firstborn life.”
“But she didn’t.”
“No, she died with her second.”
Of course Magnus had heard about the former queen of Auranos’s tragic fate and had seen the portraits of Cleo’s beautiful mother in the hallways of the golden palace. But this couldn’t possibly be true.
“It’s said she suffered greatly before she finally passed.” The king’s voice had become not much more than a rasp. “But she was strong enough to see her newborn daughter’s face—and to name her after a wretched, hedonistic goddess—before death finally claimed her. And now this witch’s curse has surely been passed to that daughter.”
Magnus regarded his father with utter disbelief. “You’re lying.”
The king sent a fierce frown at Magnus. “Why would I lie?”
“Why would you lie?” he repeated, a dry laugh rising in his throat. “Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps because you wish to manipulate me at every turn for your own amusement?”
“If that’s what you think . . .” The king flicked his wrist toward Cleo, who was speaking with Enzo now and sending impatient looks toward Magnus and his father. The hem of the scarlet gown she wore peeked out from beneath the dark green fabric of the cloak she’d stolen the night before from a Kraeshian guard. “Get her pregnant and you’ll witness her die in anguish, lying in a deep pool of her own blood as she brings your spawn into this world.”
Magnus had all but stopped breathing. What his father claimed couldn’t possibly be true.
But if it was . . .
Cleo began to close the distance between them, her hood down, her long blond hair fanned over her shoulders.
“Witches casts curses,” Gaius said to Magnus quietly. “Witches are also known to break curses. All the more reason for you to come with me to see your grandmother.”
“You tried to kill me and the princess.”
“Yes, I did. So the decision of how you’ll proceed lies with you now.”
Cleo reached Magnus’s side with Enzo behind her, and she frowned as she looked between father and son. “What is it? Not more plans for me to hide myself away in Auranos, I hope.”
The horrific image of Cleo lying dead on bloody sheets was now locked in Magnus’s mind, her eyes glazed and lifeless while nearby a baby with cerulean eyes cried endlessly for its mother.
“No, princess,” Magnus managed. “You made your thoughts on that quite clear, even if I strongly disagree. I wish to be reacquainted with my grandmother after all these years. She will use her magic to help us find Lucia, who will help us reclaim Mytica. Agreed?”
Cleo didn’t answer for a moment, her brow furrowed in thought. “Yes, I suppose it makes a sickening kind of sense to seek help from another Damora.” She blinked. “Magnus, you’ve become very pale. Are you all right?”
“Fine,” he said tightly. “We leave now.”
“Amara will wonder where I’ve disappeared to without word,” the king said. “That could cause problems.”
Magnus sighed. “Very well. Go and make your excuses for leaving your bride’s side. However, if you try to cross me, Father, I assure you that your death will come far sooner than you anticipate.”
CHAPTER 3
AMARA
LIMEROS
Empress Amara Cortas sat upon a carved, gilded chair in the villa’s smaller than adequate main hall. It was a temporary throne, but it did nicely to prop her up so she could easily look down upon the two very different men who kneeled before her.
Carlos was the captain of the Kraeshian guard, a man with bronzed skin and black hair, his shoulders impossibly broad. He had more than enough muscles to fully fill out his dark green Kraeshian uniform, its golden clasps, which attached the black cape, glittering in the candlelight.
Lord Kurtis Cirillo was younger, thinner, more sallow in appearance, with dark hair and olive green eyes. While Amara would prefer a larger castle to spend her current days, this villa was the finest home for miles around, and it belonged to Kurtis’s father, Lord Gareth.
“Rise,” she commanded, and they obeyed.
Both men waited for her response to the updated news of yesterday’s siege and capture of the Limerian palace.
As Amara composed her thoughts, she winced from the large and rather painful lump on the back of her head she’d acquired last night. The sack of icicles that she held to the injury had started to melt.
“Of the dozen casualties,” she finally said, “was there anyone of importance?” For this, she turned to Kurtis, who would know nobles from lessers much better than her guard.