She absently touched the small but angry wound on her forehead, given to her by one of Amara’s guards. “No, that’s not necessary. Thank you.” She smiled, brightening her features. “You’re very kind. I remember that from last time.”
Enzo’s face quickly turned as red as his uniform. “You make it very easy to be kind, your grace.”
Magnus fought the urge to roll his eyes. It seemed that the princess had captured another hapless fly in her web.
“Enzo,” he said, voice low and commanding. The guard’s gaze immediately snapped to his. “Have Lord Kurtis meet me in the throne room immediately.”
Another bow. “Yes, your highness.” He scurried away without another word.
“Come,” Magnus said to Cleo and Nic, then turned on his boot heels and followed the familiar route through the castle to his destination.
“Come,” Nic sneered. “He orders us about like we’re trained dogs.”
“I’m not sure the prince was ever taught the polite way to speak to people,” Cleo replied.
“And yet,” Magnus said, “you’re still following me, aren’t you?”
“For now. But you should remember that charm opens far more doors than harsh words do.”
“And a sharp ax will open every door.”
The entrance to the throne room was also stationed with several guards who bowed at the sight of Magnus. No ax was required as they pushed open the doors so quickly that he didn’t even have to slow down.
Once inside, he scanned the cavernous room. His father’s black throne of iron and leather sat at the top of a dais on one end, a long wooden table and chairs for council meetings at the other. The walls were draped in Limerian tapestries and banners, and several torches peppered the molding, bringing some light to the corners of the room where the sun shining through the large windows didn’t reach.
The throne room was host to many official gatherings. It was where the king would grant audience to Limerian citizens and their various requests for financial assistance or justice against wrongdoings. It was where he would sentence prisoners for their crimes and perform ceremonies during which both the worthy and unworthy were given official titles such as Grand Kingsliege.
From the corner of his eye, Magnus noticed that Cleo had moved closer to him.
“You’re already acquainted with Lord Kurtis,” Cleo said. “Aren’t you?”
Magnus kept his gaze fixed on the throne. “I am.”
“And you don’t like him.”
“I don’t like anyone, princess.”
Nic snorted.
They fell into silence as Magnus considered how best to handle the complicated mess his life had become. He felt backed into a corner: injured, weaponless, and far too vulnerable. His broken arm throbbed, but instead of ignoring the pain he focused on it, to help clear his mind of the constant buzz of confusion and chaos.
It had been six years since he’d last seen Kurtis Cirillo, yet he remembered it as clearly as if it had been yesterday.
The sun had shone bright and warm that day, and the snow had melted so much that ice lilies pushed up through the frosty ground. A rare summer butterfly, its golden wings speckled with blue and purple dots, came to rest on one of these flowers in the garden near the cliff’s edge. In Limeros, it’s said to be good luck to see a summer butterfly, for they only live a single day.
Magnus reached toward it and, to his amazement, it climbed onto his right knuckle, tickling his skin. It was so beautiful up close that it almost seemed magical.
“Is that a butterfly?”
A shiver zipped down his spine at the sound of Kurtis’s cold voice. Kurtis was fourteen years of age to his twelve, and the king insisted that Magnus be friendly with him during Lord Gareth’s visits. It was difficult to be friendly with the horrible boy since being within ten paces of him made Magnus’s skin crawl.
“Yes,” Magnus replied reluctantly.
Kurtis came closer. He was a full head taller than Magnus. “You should kill it.”
Magnus frowned. “What?”
“Anything stupid enough to just sit there on your pale little hand deserves to die. Kill it.”
“No.”
“You’re heir to the throne. You’re going to have to grow up some day, you know. You’re going to have to kill people and not cry about it afterward. Your father would crush that thing in a second. So would I. Don’t be so weak.”
Magnus already knew that Kurtis liked to hurt animals. During his last visit, Kurtis had butchered a stray cat and left its twitching remains in a corridor where he knew Lucia would happen upon them. She’d cried for days.
“I’m not weak!” Magnus said through gritted teeth.
Kurtis grinned. “Let’s put it to the test, then. Either you kill that thing right now, before it flies away, or I promise, the next time I’m here . . .” He leaned in close enough to whisper. “I’ll chop off your sister’s little finger.”
Magnus stared at him, horrified. “I’ll tell my father you said that. You’ll never be allowed here again.”
“Go ahead and tell him. I’ll just deny it. Who’ll believe you?” He laughed. “Now choose. That butterfly, or your sister’s finger. I’ll cut really slowly, and tell her you told me to do it.”
He wanted to call Kurtis’s bluff, but the memory of that cat forced his throat closed.
Magnus knew he had no choice. He clasped his left hand down on the right, feeling the tender collapse of the soft wings as he crushed the beautiful, peaceful creature.