“Good.” Magnus returned his attention to the “kingsliege.” “I also need to send some men to the Temple of Valoria immediately. There was a violent, isolated ice storm there last night that killed many. The victims should be buried by midday and the temple restored to its former glory as quickly as possible.”
According to Limerian religious customs, the bodies of the dead must be buried in earth sprinkled with water blessed by a priest within twelve hours of death.
He couldn’t help but glance then at Nic, whose expression had grown pained at the mention of the bodies at the temple. One of those bodies had been that of Prince Ashur—Amara’s brother. Nic and the prince had become close friends before his murder at his devious sister’s hands.
“An ice storm?” Kurtis’s brow was now raised to its highest. “No wonder you all look so disheveled. I’m very grateful to the goddess that you and your wife were spared. You must need rest after enduring such an experience.”
“Rest can wait.”
“Very well.” Kurtis gripped the arms of the throne. “How long do you anticipate we’ll have the honor of your presence before you return to Auranos?”
A dozen guards entered the throne room, momentarily stealing Magnus’s attention. No matter how duty-bound and driven to please Limerian guards were, twelve weren’t nearly enough to make up a search team for his sister.
“I don’t intend to return to Auranos,” Magnus said, turning back to Kurtis.
Kurtis cocked his head. “I don’t quite follow you.”
“This is my home, my palace, my kingdom. And in the absence of my father, that throne upon which you’ve seated yourself is rightfully mine.”
Kurtis stared at him for a moment before a smile split his lips. “I completely understand. However, the king himself appointed me to this throne for the time being. I have undertaken these duties gladly—and successfully—in his and my father’s absence. The council’s grown quite accustomed to following my lead.”
“Then they’ll have to get accustomed to following my lead now that I’m here.”
Kurtis’s smile slipped. He pressed back into the throne, but didn’t make a move to stand. “Magnus—”
“It’s Prince Magnus. Or your highness,” he corrected. Even from the bottom of the stairs, Magnus could see the flicker of anger behind Kurtis’s green eyes.
“My apologies, Prince Magnus, but without any prior notice from King Gaius, I will have to protest such a sudden change. Perhaps you should—”
“Guards,” Magnus said, without turning around. “I understand you’ve been taking Lord Kurtis’s orders in recent weeks, as very well you should have been. But I am your prince, the heir to my father’s throne, and now that I’m here you’re at my command alone.” His gaze was hard as he stared into the eyes he’d loathed since boyhood. “The grand kingsliege has insulted me with his protests. Remove him from my throne and cut his throat on my order.”
The hot outrage in Kurtis’s countenance quickly turned to cold fear as the guards approached, four of them moving swiftly up the stairs before he could make a single move. They wrenched him from the throne and dragged him down the stairs, where they forced him to his knees. Magnus took his place on top of the dais.
This cold, hard, unforgiving throne held many memories for Magnus, but he had never sat on it before today.
It was far more comfortable than he’d ever expected.
The troop of red-uniformed guards stood before him, all looking up at him without question or concern. Cleo clutched Nic’s arm, her face pale and her expression uncertain.
Kneeling before Magnus was Kurtis, his eyes wild, face sweaty, and the edge of a guard’s sword now at his throat.
“Your highness,” he sputtered. “Any trespass you feel I’ve made against you was not my intention.”
“That may be so.” Magnus leaned forward and considered him for a long moment. “Beg me to spare your life and perhaps I’ll only cut off your little finger.”
First confusion, then understanding, flickered in Kurtis’s eyes.
That’s right, Magnus thought. It’s different between us now, isn’t it?
“Please,” Kurtis hissed. “Please, your highness, spare my life. I beg you. Please, I’ll do anything to prove my worth and earn your forgiveness for having insulted you.”
A rush of sheer power flowed over and within Magnus. He smiled, a genuine one, at the sniveling weasel.
“Say ‘please’ one more time.” When there was no immediate reply, Magnus nodded at the guard, who pressed his sword even closer against Kurtis’s pale throat, drawing a thin trickle of blood.
“Pleasssse,” Kurtis managed.
Magnus flicked his hand and the guard removed and sheathed his blade. “See? Don’t you feel better now?”
Kurtis heaved and trembled. Perhaps, unlike Magnus, he’d never before been physically reprimanded for his missteps.
He bowed his head. “Thank you, your highness. I am at your service.”
“Happy to hear,” said Magnus. “Now, I need a message sent to my father immediately. I want him to know what I’m up to here in the north. Wouldn’t want him worrying about me.”
“Of course not, your highness.”
“Be a good grand kingsliege and fetch me some ink and parchment, would you?”