Morgan Rhodes - Rebel Spring

The girl lowered her head. “Yes, of course.”

• • •

The night stretched long and endless ahead of Magnus once he retired to his private tent. Thoughts of magic, of unsuccessful quests, of a dead mother, a slain rebel, a disrespectful exiled Watcher, and of a golden-haired, defiant princess filled his mind. He tossed and turned on his pallet. After a while, he decided that fresh air might help clear his head and rose.

He began to walk through the camp, past the long lines of tents of all sizes. He wondered which one belonged to the mysterious “cruel and brutish” Xanthus. Bonfires dotted the large clearing, sending sparks up into the darkening sky. Night-watch guards were set up to patrol while others slept, and they lined the area, their red uniforms easy to make out in the torch-lit surroundings.

Something hadn’t sat right with him about Aron’s request to dine with Eugeneia. He didn’t trust the boy, not with a pretty girl like that. Not unchaperoned.

“It’s none of your concern,” he told himself.

This fact seemed to make little difference. He found himself at what he realized had been his destination all along.

Aron’s tent was almost as big as Magnus’s. Both were easily the size of a Paelsian cottage, with a seating area, a comfortable bed, a table to take meals at. Nothing like being at the Auranian palace, of course, but Magnus was accustomed to these sorts of austere accommodations.

He drew closer to the flap, glancing inside past the modest opening to see that Eugeneia had arrived and was seated at the table. Empty plates and platters lay discarded across the table. Their meal was over. Her hair was swept up off her shoulders into a braided coil and she’d changed her dress to one a bit finer than before.

“You must feel so honored right now,” Aron was saying. “To be here with me.”

He perched on the table next to where she sat. He ate a peach, slicing it with a fancy silver blade. The juice trickled down his chin before he wiped it away with the sleeve of his shirt.

She sat in a chair an arm’s reach away from him. “Very honored,” she said after a pause.

“The moment King Gaius met me, he knew I was destined for greatness. It’s unheard of to be appointed to kingsliege at my age-especially not by a conquering king.” He looked at her expectantly, waiting for her reaction.

“You must be very special, my lord.”

“Do you want anything else to eat, my pet?”

“No-no, my lord. Much gratitude to you, but I really should go back. It’s late.” She glanced toward the flap and Magnus eased back into the shadows to keep from being seen.

“I don’t want you to go.”

“It’ll be an early day tomorrow, and-”

Aron was on her in an instant, pulling her up out of the chair and pressing his mouth to hers.

She gasped against his lips as she wrenched away from him. “Lord Aron. . I barely know you!”

“You know me well enough. You’ll stay the night with me.”

Her cheeks turned bright red and she wrapped her arms around her chest. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. My father-”

“Your father would give permission if I asked him. You think he wouldn’t?” Aron gave her a wide, toothy smile. “He knows how important I am to the king. I do very special assignments for King Gaius-things not everyone would do. I take care of his problems under the cloak of night.”

“Problems?”

“Stupid, ignorant people that stand in the way of what he wants. I’ve proven myself so fully to King Gaius that he would allow me anything I desire.” His gaze swept the length of her with appreciation. “And right now I desire you.”

“I must go.” Eugeneia turned toward the flap.

Aron caught her arm. “I like a girl who plays hard to get, but my patience wears thin.”

“I’m not the kind of girl who stays with a man she only just met, even if he is an important lord.”

“Actually,” his grip increased, “you are exactly the kind of girl I tell you to be.”

“No, Lord Aron. I’m-”

Aron let go of her only to strike her hard across her right cheek.

Magnus tensed but stayed silent, watching. Waiting for the right moment.

Eugeneia pressed her palm against her face, now backing away from Aron toward the table. Her wide eyes glistened with tears. “Please don’t hurt me.”

Aron loomed over her. “Perhaps I didn’t make myself entirely clear. I chose you above any of the Paelsian whores out there who’d jump at the chance to warm my bed tonight. Don’t make me regret my decision.”

He grabbed her tightly and drew her to his chest. His hands slid down her sides as he began to pull at her skirts.

But then he staggered back from her, looking down to see the tip of a knife imbedded in his thigh. It was the dagger he had used to cut the peach-Eugeneia must have lifted it. Magnus was impressed. He hadn’t even seen her do it.

Aron glared down at her with pain and fury as he yanked it out, letting it clatter to the tabletop. He clutched the girl by her throat and slammed her down against the table.

Magnus’s gaze moved to the dagger for an instant before he closed the distance in four paces and curved his hand firmly around Aron’s upper arm.

“Not a good idea,” he said.

Aron cast a look back at him. “This ignorant bitch cut me.”

“Yes, she did. Let go of her.” The best way to deal with this drunken fool was not to be overtly stern or forceful. Instead, he gave Aron a smile. “She’s meaningless.”

His eyes blazed. “I wanted her. And I get what I want.”

“I can find you many girls, much more beautiful than this one. One, two, three at a time. Your choice. This one has proven she’s not worth any more of your energy.” Magnus eyed Eugeneia. “Isn’t that right?”

She trembled with fear, but there was something harder in her eyes. Hatred for both of them in equal measure. “Yes, your highness. I’m not good enough for Lord Aron.”

“Then I suggest that you leave.”

She pushed herself up off the table and ran from the tent. Aron watched her flee with a dark look.

“How much have you had to drink tonight?” Magnus asked. From Aron’s unfocused gaze and the stench of his breath, the boy was as drunk as Magnus had ever seen him.

“Enough.”

“Really? That’s too bad. I was going to join you in another round.” Magnus tore a strip from the silk table covering. “Here, let me help you with that wound. Doesn’t seem to be too bad.”

Aron let him pad his wound, his face pained. “You know, I could use another drink.”

“Thought you might agree.” When he finished with the bandage, Magnus grabbed a flacon of wine. He poured two glasses and handed one to Aron.

Aron downed it in one audible gulp. “I’m ashamed that you witnessed that, your highness.”

Magnus waved a hand as he took a sip of the wine. He’d not often indulged before; it was forbidden in Limeros. The wine was sweet, smooth, and not unpleasant. “Don’t be. It only goes to show that women are volatile.”

“Stupid, too.” Aron downed his second glass after Magnus poured it for him. “Much gratitude, your grace.”

“The more you drink, the less your wound will hurt.”

“I hope you’re right.” Aron grimaced, touching the bandage gingerly. “I would have thought you angry with me for attempting to bed the girl.”

Bed? Looked more like attempted rape to Magnus. “Not at all.” Magnus forced his smile to stay firm. “She was an attractive little thing. Just not for you.”

“Women are deceptive creatures of darkness whose beauty lures us close enough so they can carve their claws into our flesh.” A glint of humor lit Aron’s gaze as he took another deep gulp of the wine. “Which is why they must be declawed as soon as possible, as you’ve done with Cleo.”