He narrowed his eyes. “Your brother is Nicolo Cassian.”
“He is, your grace.”
“In Paelsia, he threw a rock at my head and then rendered me unconscious with the hilt of a sword. He could have killed me.”
A tremor went through her. “I’m very grateful my brother did you no lasting harm, your grace.” She blinked, her eyes meeting his. “I haven’t seen him in weeks. Does—does my brother still live?”
“He certainly deserved to die for what he did, don’t you think?”
He had not shared this story with many. Nicolo Cassian had attacked Magnus to get him to unhand Cleo after he’d killed Theon. It had been Magnus’s duty to bring the princess back to Limeros so the king could use her as a bargaining chip against her father. He’d failed and instead woken up alone, surrounded by corpses and bitter defeat.
Nic now toiled in the stables, knee deep in the filth of horses and not allowed to enter the castle. The boy should be eternally thankful that Magnus had not demanded his life.
He turned his back on Mira and focused instead on Lucia. He didn’t hear the door open, but it wasn’t long before the shadow of his father fell upon him.
“You’re angry with me for my announcement today,” the king said. It was not a question.
Magnus gritted his teeth and measured his reply before speaking. “I was . . . surprised. The girl hates me and I feel only apathy for her in return.”
“There is no need for love or even affection to play any part in a marriage. This is a union of necessity only, of political strategy.”
“I know this.”
“We will find you a mistress able to give you every pleasure lacking in your marriage. A courtesan, perhaps.”
“Perhaps,” Magnus allowed.
“Or perhaps you’d prefer a pretty little servant to attend to your every need.” The king flicked a disinterested look toward Mira, who smartly stayed to the back of the room and out of earshot. “Speaking of pretty little servants, do you remember the kitchen maid who caused us some difficulties back home? The one with the tendency for spying. What was her name? Amia?”
Amia had been a casual dalliance of Magnus’s, as well as a pair of ears eager to listen for palace gossip. She would have done anything for the prince. Such loyalty had gotten her tortured and whipped, but even then she hadn’t revealed her ties to him. But why would his father have bothered remembering her name?
“I seem to recall. What about her?”
“She ran away from the castle. Probably thought I wouldn’t notice, but I did.”
She’d run away because Magnus had sent her away with enough coin to start a new life somewhere else. “Is that so?”
The king leaned over to brush the dark hair back from Lucia’s face. “I sent some men after her. The news has reached me that they found her easily with a bag of gold she’d stolen from us. Of course, they executed her immediately.” His attention then shifted to Magnus, a small smile playing at his lips. “I thought you’d want to know.”
Magnus ignored the sharp and sudden twinge of pain in his chest. He measured his words before he spoke. “It was . . . the end such a thief deserved.”
“I’m glad we agree.”
Amia had been innocent and foolish—a girl who lacked the steel in her heart to survive the harshness of the Limerian palace. But she hadn’t deserved to die. Magnus waited to feel grief, but felt only coldness slide over his skin. Part of him had been expecting this since the moment Amia’s carriage had departed the castle, but he’d hoped for the best. He should have known better. His father would never allow one to escape who might possess secrets that could be used against him.
The girl’s fate had been set from the moment her path had crossed that of the Damoras’. This was only confirmation of it. Still, it incensed Magnus that his father said such things casually when Amia’s death was anything but. The king was testing him— checking for weaknesses in his heir.
The king was always testing him.
They were silent for a while, Lucia the focal point between them.
“I need her to wake,” the king said, his jaw tense.
“Hasn’t she done enough for you already?”
“Her magic is the key to finding the Kindred.”
“Who told you that?” His growing impatience with his father’s decisions today made his words sharper than usual. “Some random witch with a need for silver? Or perhaps a hawk perched upon your shoulder and whispered—”