Panic dashed through Gregor’s eyes. “I can help you. I can be invaluable to you!”
The king smiled, baring his straight white teeth. “Don’t worry. You did prove to me that you weren’t lying. That’s a good thing. It means you can keep your tongue. And your sister will escape any overt unpleasantness. I’m not a monster who’d torture a young girl solely for his own amusement.”
“So we will still be executed together?” Gregor said, his voice dull with defeat.
“Not quite.” The king glanced at Lysandra. “Clean her up and make her beautiful—or as beautiful as a Paelsian can possibly be. I haven’t yet been able to present a female rebel to the people as an example of how I don’t make exceptions when punishing those who would oppose me.”
“What about my brother?” Lysandra spat. A trickle of blood slid down from the corner of her mouth where she’d been struck.
“Don’t worry. Your brother will still be there to watch you die,” the king said. “Cronus, bring me the boy’s head. I’ll make sure it’s put on a spike with the very best view of the palace square.”
A pained shriek escaped from Lysandra’s throat. “No!”
Cronus didn’t hesitate. He drew his sword as two guards grabbed Gregor’s arms and held him in place.
Words of protest died in Magnus’s throat. There was only one way this could end; Magnus knew his opinion was worthless now that the king had made his decision. Speaking up now would only make it worse.
Lysandra screamed and Magnus turned to her as she fought and clawed to free herself from the guards.
But there would be no stopping this.
“I’m sorry I failed you. Fight, little Lys. Fight till the very end!” Then the sword fell in one clean, heavy stroke.
Lysandra’s horrified screams wedged themselves deeply into Magnus’s chest, and he knew their echoes would haunt him from this moment forward.
There was no fight left in Lysandra after it was done. The guards effortlessly dragged her from the throne room to take her back to the dungeon.
Gregor’s body was removed as well, and his head was placed on a silver platter.
“Well done, Cronus.” The king nodded, and flicked his hand. “Now take it away.”
“Yes, your majesty.” Cronus’s expression was ice cold and emotionless—just as it always was after carrying out executions. It was the face of a man of stone rather than flesh and blood.
Cronus left father and son alone, with only a bloodstain where Gregor had been kneeling as evidence of what had happened only moments before.
Magnus was silent. His mind had gone black, no thoughts, just a dark, heavy cloud.
“It had to be done,” the king said.
“Did it?” His reply came out sharper than he’d meant it to. “A private execution of a rebel you’d previously found useful? No, I don’t think it had to be done.”
The king shot Magnus a look of surprise.
“You did that because you wanted to relish in the look on that girl’s face as you murdered her brother right in front of her,” Magnus went on. “You enjoyed it. You wanted to break the spirit you saw in her so she would accept her own fate without a fight. So her fiery spirit, which lingers despite having been locked up in your dungeon, doesn’t rile up the execution crowd, which I know you’ll pad with your most loyal minions. Well, let me be the first to congratulate you, Father, because you succeeded.”
The king narrowed his eyes. “What is wrong with you, boy? Why must you oppose everything I ever do?”
Magnus found it difficult to breathe as every bit of frustration, doubt, and anger directed at his father, feelings he’d tried so very hard to repress, surged to the forefront. “Because not everything you do is right!”
“I only do what I must to maintain my power here in this era of transition, so that one day you won’t have as much to struggle with. This is a dangerous time for us, son. There is no room for dissent.”
“Is that why you ordered a piece of shit like Aron Lagaris to murder Mother? To lessen my struggle?”
The words were out before he could stop them, and they earned him a satisfying look of shock from the king. Why stop now?
“Funny, I thought you knew everything that happened in your kingdom, thanks to all your spies and informants,” Magnus continued. “But you didn’t know this tidbit. You didn’t know that Aron confessed to me, confessed that you had him take a knife to my mother in the dead of night, ending her life so you could blame it on Jonas Agallon.”
The king’s expression of shock leveled out to neutral. “You’re the one who killed Aron.”
His secret was out. Now he had nothing to lose. “I’d planned to bring him back here to answer for his crime, but he tried to kill me. Obviously, he failed. Seeing the life leave his eyes wasn’t as satisfying as I’d hoped. But he wasn’t the real criminal. He was only the weapon. You killed my mother and—”
“And now I assume you want me dead as well.” The king cut him off and rose from his throne, descending the steps so he stood face-to-face with Magnus. “Of course you do. Here.” He placed a silver dagger in Magnus’s hand. “I will give you this one chance to end my life, if that’s what you really want. Here and now. Do it.”
Magnus’s hand trembled. “This is a trick.”
The king kept his gaze fixed on his son. “Althea was working against me. She opposed my quest to find the Kindred—she always did. She hated me and wanted to keep me from any power that might strengthen my reign. She wanted Lucia dead and I believe that she meant to kill you as well, to prevent me from having a true heir. She had to die, Magnus.”