“You said you don’t like blood spilling anymore.” Magnus furiously pointed at his bandage. “He gave me this! He called it a lesson and swore me to secrecy!”
Calum didn’t speak for a moment as he silently stroked his own scar. “I’m sorry for your pain, your grace. Truly. But life is a series of injuries. Our scars are like the rings in a tree trunk, showing its progress through life. How we heal and move forward through adversity . . . that is what makes the difference. We can’t run from our problems; we need to face them.” His expression grew serious, his brow furrowing. “Come. I will take you back to your home.”
Magnus wanted to argue, wanted to rant and scream and make demands. But was this man right? Would his father really kill many people for his decision to run away?
Yes. Of course he would.
With a heavy heart, Magnus reluctantly allowed Calum Stolo and his daughter to accompany him back to the palace. As soon as they entered the palace grounds, guards rushed forward to surround the trio. The sound of heavy footsteps came down the frozen pathway, and the guards parted to let a furious King Gaius through.
The king’s anger wasn’t focused on Magnus, though. It was focused on Calum.
“You would dare steal my son away from me?” the king snarled. “For what? Ransom? Is that what you thought?”
A guard ripped the pouch of coins away from Calum and gave it to the king, who inspected it carefully. “Magnus, come here.”
With only a second’s hesitation, Magnus went to his father’s side.
The king shook the pouch in Magnus’s face. “Did he steal this from you?”
No, Magnus stole them from his father. But the admittance of this died on his tongue. Instead, he found himself nodding, shameful tears welling in his eyes, so frightened that he was now trembling. Magnus glanced at Kara, clutching her father’s strong hand, and quickly looked away, shamed by his lie.
“You’re home.” His father put his hand firmly on Magnus’s shoulder, then crouched down in front of him. “You’re safe. Thank the goddess.”
“Your majesty—” Calum began.
“Silence.” The king rose to his full intimidating height, his face a mask of hatred. “I allowed you to leave your post, Stolo, since you were unable to continue doing your job to the level I required after your injury. And this is how you repay me for that kindness? By abducting my son and stealing from us?” He nodded at the guards. “Take him to the dungeons. I want him executed immediately.”
“No! Papa!” A cry escaped from Kara as her father was dragged away by guards toward the dungeon.
“Let my daughter go!” Calum demanded. “She had nothing to do with this.”
“Yes.” The king nodded and flicked his finger. “Let the girl go. She can freeze out there tonight for all I care.”
Kara’s wide eyes were on Magnus, expectantly, as if hoping he might say something to stop this.
But Magnus had no words. He couldn’t admit the truth, not now. His punishment would be far worse than any cut cheek. Lies—especially to the king himself—were often met with the liar’s tongue cut from his head.
I’m so sorry, he thought as the little girl—tears streaming down her freckled cheeks—turned and ran away into the cold, snowy night.
? ? ?
The memory of that horrible moment was as fresh today as if it had happened only yesterday.
“You wish to kill me,” Magnus said, his throat parched.
“I’ve wanted to kill you for ten years,” Kara confirmed.
“Perhaps I could fight for my life.”
She laughed at this. “Sadly, I don’t believe that you can. I’ve been watching you lately. I’ve witnessed your classes—swordsmanship . . . you seem barely interested in raising the weapon, let alone learning how to fight with it. If you win any matches, it’s only because your opponent allows it. Archery is a laugh, but then again I’ve heard you despise hunting. Why learn to aim a bow? There hasn’t been a war in generations, and you’re all soft and cozy here behind the palace walls. Doesn’t look like you want to run away anymore, does it? So, no, I don’t think you could properly fight for your life right now, not without getting your throat cut.”
He wanted to argue with her but knew it was the truth. “You think so, do you?”
“Come now, the prince of Limeros is known for one thing . . . his deeply morose sense of humor. You have no better rebuttal for me? Would you like to compare me to the girls who follow you around, drooling over you, hoping for the chance you might look their way? The ones who pretend they don’t find that scar on your face repulsive?”
He flinched. “Your words are as sharp as your dagger. Your father’s dagger, isn’t it?”
“It took me some time to get it back. Only recently, in fact. This dagger was important to him; it represented the new life he wanted to lead that held none of the violence that was required when he worked for your father. The new life that you stole from him.”
“I never wanted him to be executed.” His jaw tensed. “I understand your need for vengeance, but there must be another way. I know you won’t believe me, but what happened . . . I have deeply regretted it.”