He watched the sun sink further over the water. There was very little daylight left. They had to face reality again, far too soon.
“Best slip your gown on before Agallon strolls back here looking for you and gets far too much of an eyeful of my beautiful wife.” Magnus reached to the side and grabbed his shirt. “Wouldn’t want to break his heart any further by seeing you like this with me. Although . . . come to think of it, I’d be all right with that. Final nail in the coffin, if you’ll excuse the expression.”
“Jonas is a good person,” Cleo said firmly as she dressed.
He watched her with great appreciation, every move, every gesture. “Stellar. Of course he is.”
“He cares a great deal about Lucia.”
Magnus made a sour face. “Don’t even put that potential pairing into my mind. I have enough foul dreams to deal with as it is.”
Magnus stood up and took Cleo’s face between his hands so he could kiss her again. He knew he would never tire of the taste of her lips—a near magical mix of strawberries, salt water, and the individual and intoxicating taste of Cleiona Bellos herself.
Far more delicious than even the finest and sweetest vintage of Paelsian wine.
She reached up to stroke the dark hair off his forehead, then traced her fingertips slowly along his scar to his lips. “Marry me, Magnus.”
His eyebrows shot up. “We’re already married.”
“I know.”
“You can’t possibly forget that day in the temple, can you? The earthquake? The screaming and blood and death? The vows forced upon you under threat of torture and pain?”
Cleo’s expression turned haunted, and he regretted reminding her of that horrible day.
“That was no proper wedding,” she said, shaking her head.
“I agree.” A smile touched his lips. “Actually, that was one of my fantasies while in that hateful coffin: marrying you under the blue sky of Auranos in a field of beautiful flowers.”
She let out a small laugh at that. “A field of beautiful flowers? Clearly you must have been hallucinating.”
“Clearly.” Magnus pulled her to him, gentler now, as if afraid she might break. “We will live through this, my princess. All of this. And then, yes, I will marry you properly.”
“Promise?” she asked, a tremor in her voice.
“I promise,” he replied firmly. “And until then, I have faith in my sister that she will end Kyan and find a solution to this hateful magic inside of you.”
Magnus and Cleo returned to the palace slightly disheveled, but determined to find a solution to the long list of problems that plagued them.
After Magnus had heard the twentieth “I thought you were dead” comment, he chose to retire to his chambers with his beautiful wife.
And there they discussed every moment that had passed for each of them since they last saw each other.
Cleo slid her fingers over the golden ring on Magnus’s left hand. “I hate your father. I always will.” she said, just before she fell asleep in his arms. “But I will be eternally grateful to him for this.”
Yes. The bloodstone definitely complicated his already complicated feelings for the man who had made his life far more painful than it should have been.
Perhaps tomorrow, the king’s speech would mark the beginning of a new chapter in their lives as father and son.
Magnus knew he, himself, had changed so much over the last year. Change could happen—if one wanted it to.
Perhaps there was room for hope.
The next morning, they lingered far too long in their sleeping chambers, taking breakfast there instead of joining King Gaius and Lucia.
And Lyssa.
Magnus still could not believe his sister had an infant daughter, but he knew he could accept it. He already loved Lyssa and knew he would do anything to protect his newborn niece.
As Magnus lay in bed, he propped himself up on his elbow to watch as Cleo pulled on her slip and fiddled with the laces, expecting at any moment for her to ask him for assistance.
But then she froze in place.
Her eyes locked on the wall in front of her, and her mouth twisted in pain.
Magnus jumped up and grasped hold of her shoulders.
“What’s happening?” he demanded.
“D-drowning,” she managed. “I—I feel like I’m . . . drowning.”
His gaze shot to her right hand, to the vine of blue lines spreading from the water magic symbol. Before his very eyes, the lines traveled up higher along her skin, encircling her upper arm.
“No,” he said, panic clawing at his chest. “You’re not drowning. You’re here with me, and everything is fine. Don’t let this overwhelm you.”
“I—I’m trying.”
“And you, water Kindred”—he stared fiercely into her blue-green eyes—“if you can hear me, you need to release your hold on Cleo, if that’s what this is. I will destroy you. I will destroy all of you. I swear it.”
Cleo collapsed in his arms, gasping for breath like she’d just come up from the depths of the ocean.
“It’s passed,” she managed a moment later. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. This is not fine,” he snarled back at her, the pain of being unable to save her from this nearly unbearable. “This is as far from fine as anything that has ever been!”
She righted herself, pushing away from him and quickly donning the dark blue gown she’d chosen to wear today. “We have to go . . . your father’s speech. He needs you there.”
“I’ll get Nerissa to attend to you. You don’t have to be on the balcony with us.”
“I want to be there.” She met his gaze, and he could see the strength in her eyes, along with the frustration. “By your side. So everyone can see us together.”
“But—”
“I insist, Magnus. Please.”
He nodded, grudgingly in agreement, and placed a hand on her back, guiding her out of the room to join his father and Lucia in the throne room.
“So nice of you to join us,” the king said thinly.
“We were . . . otherwise occupied,” Magnus replied.
“Yes, I’m sure you were.” His attention moved to Cleo. “You look well.”
Cleo met his gaze directly. “I am well.”
“Good.”
“I wish you the greatest luck with your speech,” she said, a steady smile on her face. “I know how much the Auranian people love a good speech from their beloved king. Your recent . . . decisions with Amara will be all but forgotten, I’m sure.”
Magnus shared an amused look with Lucia, one that reminded him so much of those they’d shared over the years whenever they witnessed the king say something unkind to a guest. But he always managed to say it in a way that almost sounded like a compliment.
Almost.
“Indeed,” the king replied.
It seemed the king and Cleo had far more in common than Magnus ever would have thought.
From the throne room, accompanied by guards, the four took a winding staircase, located behind the dais, to the third floor and the large balcony overlooking the palace square.
The last time Magnus and Cleo had been present for a speech by the king on this very balcony, they had been betrothed, much to their mutual surprise and abject horror.