Aron nodded grimly. “I have.”
Magnus leaned closer and offered the edge of a smile to set the boy’s mind at ease. “I think we’ve managed to put aside our many differences and become close friends during this journey.”
Aron’s brows rose. “You think so?”
“Yes, of course. I would like to be friends with you. Friends share secrets. They lean on each other for support in times of need.”
“It’s been a long time since I had a friend like that,” Aron said wistfully, swirling his wine.
“Me too.” Not since Lucia, when she could look at him without revulsion tainting her opinion of him. The reminder of her was a dull pain in the center of his chest.
Even still, the world had taken on a shimmering edge that brought with it a sliver of light-headedness. Paelsian wine was very strong—it could inebriate a man with only one glass.
Cleo liked wine. He’d watched her drink a great deal of it on the night of their wedding, and also during the tour. Perhaps it was all that had helped her tolerate the pain of being near someone she hated so completely.
“My first assignment for the king weighs heaviest on me.” Aron looked up at Magnus.
“Tell me more.”
Aron turned away, his grip tightening on his glass. “The king swore me to secrecy.”
“May I guess what he asked you to do? If I’m correct, I promise to forgive you.”
That hopefulness again lit in Aron’s eyes. “Really?”
“Really. After all, I took the princess away from you. I suppose that means I owe you a favor.”
Aron considered this. “Very well. You can guess, but I doubt you’ll be correct.”
Magnus nodded, then he leaned over and snatched up the dagger Aron had dropped to the ground. He placed it between them on the wooden surface of the table. The jewels embedded in the hilt sparkled in the candlelight. The wavy blade was still coated in blood and sticky peach juice from before.
Aron stared at it as if seeing it for the first time.
“This is your dagger?” Magnus asked softly.
There was a noticeable hesitation before he spoke. “It is.”
“It is identical to the dagger used to kill the queen; the evidence my father the king felt pointed entirely to the rebel leader. I had believed it was one-of-a-kind, but it appears you have its twin still in your possession. Just how many of these daggers exist, Lord Aron?”
Aron’s brows were tightly drawn together. “There is a reason for this, I assure you.”
“That’s not an answer to my question. How many of these jeweled daggers exist? Two? One the rebel used to kill my mother and another in your personal collection? Or are there three daggers, Aron? If I found Jonas Agallon, would I see that he still had the dagger you left in his brother’s throat?”
A chill had spread through the tent, but perhaps it was only Magnus’s blood cooling with each word he spoke.
Lord Aron might have the appointment of kingsliege, but he was not a skilled knight. He was not a capable fighter. He had no great capacity to lie about something so important. He was only a boy who had aspirations of greatness and a taste for blood when it served him.
When the sweat that now beaded on Aron’s forehead told more than words ever could, Magnus continued. “Ever since you executed the rebel I’ve had my suspicions. But they were only whispers in the back of my mind. You didn’t want Brion Radenos to keep talking, to convince me that Jonas had nothing to do with my mother’s murder. Because he didn’t, did he? You were the one who killed her. You killed her at my father’s command.”
The accusation left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he felt the truth of it.
Such painful truth.
Aron eyed the dagger rather than meet Magnus’s gaze. “She was a deceptive woman, one working hard to hold the king back from achieving his full glory. Cold and incapable of love, he told me, even toward her own children. She could have destroyed him. Destroyed everything.”
“So you agreed to be her assassin.”
“Yes. One does not argue with the king.”
“No, not if one values his life.” Magnus blew out a long sigh and attempted to steady himself, to shake off the mild inebriation caused by the wine. He placed the dagger down upon the table. “Believe it or not, I do understand. My father makes people do things they might not agree with. He manipulates them for his own gain and he’s been very successful at it.”
Even his own son.
“You said you’d forgive me,” Aron said, his voice strained.
“I did say that, didn’t I? But how can I forgive anyone for something like this? You murdered my mother.” Magnus unsheathed his sword and pointed it at the boy.