“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?”

Kurtis’s expression darkened a shade, but he quickly composed himself. “Yes, your highness.”

Magnus noticed Cleo watching as Kurtis left the room, but she said nothing and neither did Nic. When her gaze returned to Magnus, he saw nothing but accusation in her eyes. Perhaps she didn’t agree with the way Magnus reduced that young man into a cowering peon for what may have seemed, to her, like a minor transgression.

Yes, princess, Magnus thought. I am the son of Gaius Damora, the King of Blood. And it’s time I started acting like it.

CHAPTER 2

JONAS

AURANOS

After a long day working in the Paelsian vineyard, Jonas’s best friend had always preferred ale over wine when relaxing at the local tavern. Judging by the three empty tankards next to Brion, tonight appeared to be no different. Jonas approached cautiously, sitting in the seat opposite him, next to the fire.

“Good evening,” Brion said with a sloppy smile.

Jonas didn’t smile back. Instead, he stared at his friend, feeling uncertain and wary. “What does this mean?”

“Sorry?”

“Am I . . . dead? Or am I dreaming?”

Brion laughed and drained his fourth ale. “What’s your guess?”

“Dreaming, likely. This scene is far too pleasant to be unfolding in the darklands.”

“So serious tonight.” Brion jutted out his bottom lip and gave Jonas a pointed look. “Hard day on the job?”

A dream. Only a dream. Still, Jonas tried to enjoy being in the presence of Brion Radenos again. He’d been a friend as close as a brother to him, whose death he’d barely had time to mourn. “You could say that.”

“Need some advice?” Brion asked as he signaled the barmaid for more ale.

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind a little.”

“All right, here it is. You should give up.”

Jonas frowned. “What?”

Brion’s gaze returned to Jonas’s, and that familiar edge of humor vanished. “Give up. Anything more you think you can do now? Forget it. You’ve failed as a rebel and a leader, time and time again. I’m dead because of your stupid, stubborn decisions. And so are others—dozens have died because of you.”

Jonas winced as if he’d been struck. He looked down and studied the wooden floorboards. “I tried my best.”

“Don’t you get it? Your best isn’t good enough. All those who’ve put their trust in you have died in agony. You’re pathetic. You’d be doing everyone a favor if you surrendered to the king and joined me on the other side of death.”

This was no dream. It was a nightmare.

But something had changed—during his tirade, Brion’s voice had shifted. Jonas glanced up to look at him and found that he was staring into his own eyes.

“That’s right,” the other Jonas snapped. “You’re worthless. You failed Tomas, you failed Brion, you failed your rebel comrades. And Princess Cleo? She was counting on you to bring her that magic rock and save her from the Damoras. Now, for all you know, she’s dead too. Felix shouldn’t have stopped at wounding you. He should have killed you and put you out of your misery.”

The words were blows, each one a fist striking his gut. Of course he already knew all of this, and now his every failure and mistake rose up before him in a mountain of pain, so high he couldn’t see past it.