Falling Kingdoms Read online

  Basilius had paused at the doorway, casting a glance back at the king and the dead valet. His brows drew together. His guards had their hands placed over their own weapons as if ready to defend the chief, but Basilius waved them off.

  “He was your valet, was he not?” the chief asked.

  The king’s face was tight. “He was.”

  “More than that, if the rumors hold true.”

  King Gaius did not reply to this.

  Finally, the Paelsia chieftain nodded. “Thank you for paying me such a great honor. Your sacrifice won’t be forgotten. I will be in touch with you very soon with my final decision.”

  The chief and his entourage left.

  “Clear away the body,” the king barked at a few guards standing by. Together they removed Tobias’s body from where it lay. Only a pool of blood remained as evidence to what had happened. Magnus forced himself not to look directly at it.

  He made no move to leave, nor did he speak a word. He waited.

  It took several minutes before the king moved to stand behind his chair. Every muscle in Magnus’s body tensed. While Tobias hadn’t expected his death to come at the hands of his own father, Magnus would never underestimate the king in this regard.

  He nearly jumped right out of his skin when the king clasped his shoulder.

  “Difficult times require difficult decisions,” the king said.

  “You did the only thing you could,” Magnus replied as evenly as possible.

  “So be it, then. I regret nothing. I never have and I never will. Stand up, my son.”

  Magnus pushed back from the table and got to his feet to face the king.

  His father swept his gaze over him, from head to foot, nodding. “I always knew there was something special in you, Magnus. Your behavior today only solidifies that for me. You handled yourself very well just now.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ve been watching you very closely of late. After a difficult childhood, I believe you have grown into a fine young man—one ready for true responsibility rather than merely the continued leisure of a young prince. I grow prouder to call you my son with every passing day.”

  That his father could ever be proud of him was a shocking revelation.

  “I am pleased to hear that,” he managed to say evenly.

  “I want you to be a part of this. To learn all you can so one day you’ll be able to take over my throne stronger for every lesson learned. I wasn’t lying in what I said before. Family is the most important thing to me, above all else. I want you by my side. Will you agree to that?”

  Had this been a developing decision for his father or was the removal of Tobias, and the means in which he was removed, enough to trigger this sudden parental attachment?

  Did it really matter?

  “Of course, I agree,” Magnus said. “Anything you need.”

  As he said the words, he realized he actually meant them.

  The king nodded. “Good.”

  “Is there anything you require of me right now? Or are we to wait until the chief sends message to you of his decision?”

  The king glanced at the two guards who remained in the room. A flick of his chin toward them sent them out of the room so he could speak with Magnus privately.

  “There is something, although it’s not directly related to my plans for Auranos.”

  “What then?”

  “It’s about your sister.”

  Magnus froze. “What about her?”

  “I know she’s close to you. Closer than she is to either me or her mother. I want you to keep an eye on her. If you notice anything about her that strikes you as unusual, you must tell me immediately. If you fail to do this, she could be in grave danger. Do you understand?”

  His breath caught. “What kind of danger?”

  “I can tell you no more than that for now.” His expression shadowed. “Will you do as I ask without further question? It’s important, Magnus. Will you watch over Lucia and let me know if you notice anything at all?”

  The world felt uneven and jagged beneath Magnus’s feet. He hadn’t cared about Tobias, but the bastard’s death had deeply shaken him.

  Lucia, however, he did care about. Whatever his father was asking for was directly related to the conversation Magnus had overheard between the king and Sabina on the night of her birthday. One of magic and mystery. And if it put Lucia’s well-being in danger in any way, he knew there was no answer for him to give but one.

  He nodded. “Of course I will, Father.”

  “I’m very pleased to announce to you all”—King Corvin spoke at the front of the great hall, upon the dais, to a large crowd of friends and nobles gathered for the celebration banquet—“that my youngest daughter, Princess Cleiona Aurora Bellos, shall be united in wedlock to Lord Aron Lagaris, son of Sebastien Lagaris of Elder’s Pitch. I hope that you can join with me in celebrating this happy and joyous union. To Princess Cleo and Lord Aron!”

  The crowd cheered. Cleo tried to hold back her tears as she stood at her father’s side. She couldn’t see faces anymore, only blurry shapes. But she would not cry.

  “Smile, Cleo.” Aron clinked his wineglass against hers as she sat down again behind the table filled to overflowing with the royal feast. The chiming sound made her spine stiffen. “You’ll make everyone think you aren’t thrilled about this announcement.”

  “I’m not, and you know it,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “You’ll get used to it,” he assured her, but he didn’t sound like he cared much one way or the other. “And before you know it, it’ll be our wedding night.”

  It sounded more like a threat than a promise.

  It was official. She was officially betrothed.

  After her unpleasant chat with Aron at his villa three weeks ago, she’d broached the subject with her father, hoping that he would allow her to dissolve the engagement before it was even publicly announced. Instead, he’d told her that it was for the best and that she needed to have faith in his ability to choose a suitable husband for his cherished daughter.

  Her father, Cleo thought with growing dismay, was more in love with the idea of Aron as a son-in-law—a lord who’d allegedly jumped into battle to defend the helpless princess from a savage Paelsian peasant—than she could ever be.

  Since that “talk,” the king had been too busy to speak privately with Cleo. However, happily, he’d also been too busy to make any announcement. Every day that passed without it was a gift. A chance for her to figure out a solution.

  But she hadn’t. Not in time.

  And here we are, she thought dismally.

  She couldn’t eat anything. Her stomach felt too sick to hold down a single mouthful of the veal, stag, stuffed chicken, fruits, or sweet pastries—to name only a fraction of the lavish five-course feast. And she refused to take even a single gulp of wine.

  The first moment she could, she made her escape from the crowded banquet, avoiding Theon’s eyes and slipping past the hoards of well-wishers who seemed excited at the prospect of a royal wedding.

  “How wonderful this is,” she heard one woman say as she passed, “to have such joyful news to celebrate. I hope it will be a spring wedding. How delightful. It’s unfortunate about Princess Emilia, though. So, so sad she isn’t well enough to attend.”

  Cleo’s heart clenched at the words. Every time she grew so selfish as to be concerned only with her own problems, she had to kick herself. There was something much more important going on beyond the issues with Aron.

  Emilia’s dizziness and headaches had only grown worse. She’d taken to her bed, too weak to come to a meal any longer. No healer who’d been summoned to the palace could figure out what was wrong with her. They advised Emilia to get plenty of rest and wait it out. And hopefully, like a fever,
her recent health problems would eventually break.

  Hopefully.

  Cleo didn’t like “hopefullys.” She liked certainties. She liked knowing that tomorrow would be pleasant and sunny and filled with fun activities. She liked knowing that her family and friends were healthy and happy. Anything else was unacceptable.

  Emilia would be fine because she had to be fine. If Cleo wanted something badly enough, it would happen. Why wouldn’t it? It always had before. Resolutely, she pushed her engagement to Aron out of her head.

  From the great hall, Cleo headed directly for her sister’s chambers. Emilia was propped up behind the gauzy drapes of her canopied bed on a multitude of colorful silk pillows, reading by candlelight. In the corner on an easel stood Emilia’s most recently finished painting, a study of the night sky. She glanced over, her eyes somewhat glazed, her face pale and drawn, as Cleo entered the room.

  “Cleo...” she began.

  Cleo started to cry, hating every tear that spilled—for herself, for Emilia. Tears were worthless. All they did was make her feel weak and helpless against this current sweeping them all along in its wake.

  Emilia put down the book, pushed aside the canopy draping, and held out her hand to her sister. Cleo staggered forward, dropping down onto the bed beside her.

  “I hate to see you so unwell,” she sobbed.

  “I know you do. But that’s not the only reason for these tears, is it? Father has made the announcement?”

  Cleo just nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

  Emilia squeezed her hand and looked at her very seriously. “He’s not doing this to cause you pain. He honestly thinks Aron will make a good husband for you.”

  No, he wouldn’t. He would make a horrible husband. Why could no one see this but her? “Why now? Why couldn’t he wait two years?”

  “Many, even those who live here, saw what happened in Paelsia as a direct insult to our neighbors. With the engagement of you to Aron, the king is stating that he accepts Aron and finds him to be a noble and worthy match for his precious daughter. The rumors that Aron acted out of protection over the girl he loves is solidified. Crisis averted.”

  “It’s so unfair.” That this was solely a political choice sounded so cold, so analytical. Ideally, to Cleo at least, marriage should be about love, not royal agendas.

  “Our father is the king. Everything he does, says, chooses to have done is in service to his kingdom. To strengthen where it might become weak.”

  Cleo drew in a ragged breath. “But I don’t want to marry Aron.”

  “I know.”

  “So what should I do?”

  Emilia smiled. “Perhaps you should elope with Nic, like you told me he suggested.”

  Cleo almost laughed at that. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “You do know that boy is madly in love with you, right?”

  Cleo frowned and pulled back to give her sister a quizzical look. “He isn’t. I’d know something like that.”

  Emilia shrugged. “Some truths aren’t so easily seen.”

  Nic was most certainly not in love with her. They were good friends—nothing more than that. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Theon move past the open door to Emilia’s room, making his presence known. He’d followed her from the banquet and up the winding staircase to her sister’s chambers. She felt an odd rush of pleasure that he refused to let her evade him.

  She took her gaze away from him standing silently at the doorway and returned her attention to her sister. Her breath caught. Blood trickled from Emilia’s nose.

  At Cleo’s look of horror, Emilia grabbed a cream-colored handkerchief already stained crimson and wiped the blood away as if this was not unexpected.

  The sight had made Cleo’s own blood run cold. “Emilia—”

  “I know you’re upset about the betrothal,” Emilia interrupted softly, not acknowledging the disturbing sight. “So I need to tell you something, Cleo, about my broken engagement. Maybe it will help you.”

  Cleo hesitated, surprised. She never thought she’d learn the truth about this. “Tell me.”

  “I was happy to be engaged at the time. I felt it was my duty. Lord Darius was not horrible. I liked him; I really did. I was prepared to marry him. Then again, Father had waited until I was eighteen to pick someone for me. There was no rush as there is now.”

  Eighteen seemed like a small eternity away. If only Cleo could have been given so much time to come to terms with all of this. “What happened?”

  “I fell in love with someone else.”

  “I knew it!” Cleo clutched her sister’s hand. “Who was it?”

  Emilia moistened her pale lips with the tip of her tongue and seemed hesitant to speak. “A guard.”

  Cleo’s eyes nearly bugged right out of her head. It was the last reply she’d expected. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am. I’ve never felt such love as I felt for him. It overwhelmed me. He was so handsome and exciting, and he made me feel more alive than I’d ever felt before. I knew it was wrong, that a match like this would never be allowed, but when our hearts go on such a journey, all we can do is try to hold on tight. I told Father I couldn’t marry Lord Darius. I begged him not to make me. I told him that if he did, I’d—that I’d kill myself.”

  A shiver went through Cleo as she remembered her sister’s deep depression at the time of her engagement to Lord Darius. “Please don’t say something like that.”

  “It was true at the time. And Father believed that I’d do it. He ended the engagement immediately, holding the life of the future queen of Auranos above an arranged royal wedding. Now I feel bad for scaring him, but at the time I couldn’t think straight.”

  “Where is he now?” Cleo whispered. “This guard?”

  Emilia’s eyes filled with tears, which splashed onto her pale cheeks. “Gone.”

  The single word held so much pain that it was palpable. Her sister had her favorite book clenched in her hand, a devotional to the goddess Cleiona.

  “I take my strength from reading about her strength,” Emilia said quietly, gazing down at the gold-embossed cover. “She did what had to be done to protect Auranos, risking her own life to keep this kingdom safe from outside harm. My faith is all I have to get me through this dark time. I know your faith leans in more practical directions.”

  Despite being named for the goddess, Cleo wasn’t invested in religion, nor was she alone in that. Many in the kingdom had drifted away from what was previously considered an important part of Auranian life. Years ago, the king had relaxed the rule that there be a day dedicated to prayer. All days were equal here, and his subjects could use their time however they pleased.

  Cleo shrugged. “I guess I have a hard time believing in things I can’t see.”

  “I wish you’d give it a chance and learn more than you already know. Cleiona was so brave and strong. That’s why Mother insisted that you be named for her. She’d lost the baby previous to you, and she was told she wouldn’t be able to have another. You were a miracle. All she did was pray for your small and precious life when you came into being. She wanted so badly for you to survive. She insisted that you be named for the goddess, hopefully to give you the strength to survive. It was her last request.”

  “I wish both of us could have survived.” Cleo’s voice broke. For all King Corvin’s riches, his beloved queen had still died in childbirth, and there had been nothing he could do to prevent it.

  “Well, I do too, but I’m so glad that you are here.”

  “You know I’d do anything for you, right?” Cleo’s voice caught on the words. “I love you more than anything else in the world.”

  “I know. And I love you too.” More blood trickled from Emilia’s nose before she wiped it away.

  “What can I do to help you?”

/>   “Nothing.” Emilia blinked, her expression bleak. “I’m dying, Cleo.”

  “Emilia! Don’t say that.” A sob welled in Cleo’s chest. This was her greatest fear spoken aloud for the first time.

  Emilia squeezed her hand. “It’s true. You need to prepare yourself for what’s to come. You must weather the storm and come out the other side stronger than before.”

  “Stop it.” Cleo’s voice quavered. “Don’t say these things. You’re not dying.”

  “I am. I know I am. When the man I love died two months ago, I prayed to Cleiona to take me as well so I could be with him again. My prayers are being answered.”

  Emilia’s face crumpled with grief and tears streamed down her cheeks. The tears were tinged with red. More blood.

  Cleo gasped. Her sister had been in love with a guard who’d died two months ago. “It was Theon’s father, wasn’t it?”

  Emilia’s breath caught and she stared at Cleo with surprise before she began to sob harder.

  Cleo had guessed correctly. Her sister had been in love with the king’s bodyguard who’d been thrown from his horse to his death. A tragedy. Cleo’s heart had bled for Theon’s loss. She’d had no idea that it was a loss also felt by her sister.

  “I’m so, so sorry.” She hugged Emilia as her sister’s blood-tinged tears soaked into the shoulder of her gown. It was unusual for her sister to be so emotional. She normally hid her tears, even from Cleo. Emilia had always been poised and perfect, smart and sophisticated, while Cleo struggled with being on her best behavior. Emilia was always the rock—comforting Cleo when she was upset over some idle gossip or a petty argument with a friend. Or the loss of her innocence to Aron.

  “You’re the same as you were yesterday and the day before,” she’d soothed. “Nothing has changed. Not really. Forget what troubles you. Regret nothing, but learn from any mistakes you make. Tomorrow will be a brighter day, I promise.”

  “I’m so sorry he’s gone,” Cleo murmured into her sister’s hair. “I wish it could be different. But please don’t say you prayed to die. You can’t ever say something like that.”