Rebel Spring A Falling Kingdoms(78)

So few guards in here, but so many guests—many of whose faces Cleo didn’t recognize. Friends of the king.

Enemies of Auranos.

Jonas, this is your chance. Please don’t let me down.

Finally, she was at the front standing next to the prince. His expression was dour, his gaze flat.

“And here we are,” he said to her.

She pressed her lips together, saying nothing in reply. If everything went right today, Prince Magnus would die alongside his father. He deserved to die for what he’d done to Theon.

Still, she felt a tiny pang of guilt that he would pay so dearly for his father’s more lengthy list of crimes.

He’s evil, she reminded herself. Just like his father. A single tear spilled over his mother’s death means nothing. It changes nothing!

“Let us begin,” the priest said. His dark red sash represented the blood of the goddess Valoria and was attached to his bright red robes with two gold pins of entwined serpents. “This joining of two young people in the eternal bonds of marriage is also a symbol of the joining of Mytica as one strong and prosperous kingdom under the rule of our great and noble king, Gaius Damora. Valoria, our glorious and beloved goddess of earth and water, who generously gives us all strength, faith, and wisdom every day of our lives, also gives her blessings today on this fortuitous union  .”

“Try to withhold your enthusiasm, princess,” Magnus muttered, “at least, until the end of the ceremony.”

With each word the priest spoke she’d swiftly lost her ability to keep hold of anything but a tense expression. Her hard-won strength had already begun to falter, giving way to clawing panic and legs that threatened to crumple beneath her.

“I’ll try my best,” she bit out.

The king simply watched all this, his expression unreadable.

“Don’t tell me you’re not pleased to be here,” said the prince under his breath.

“Likely every bit as pleased as you are.”

“Join hands,” the priest instructed.

She eyed Magnus’s hand with dismay.

“Oh, come now,” he said to her. “You’re breaking my heart.”

Cleo’s jaw tightened. “Such damage would require you to be in possession of one.”

He took hold of her hand. His was dry and warm, just as she remembered it from the day they were betrothed on the balcony. He held her hand as if it was distasteful for him to touch her. It took everything inside her not to pull away from him.

“Repeat the vows after me,” the priest said. “I, Magnus Lukas Damora, do pledge to take Cleiona Aurora Bellos as my wife and future queen. A bond that will begin this day and go forth unto eternity.”

Panic gripped her. It was much too soon for the ceremony to come to an end! Was this it?

There was a pause and a tightening of the prince’s grip on her hand. “I, Magnus Lukas Damora, do pledge to take”—he let out a breath as if fighting to continue speaking—“Cleiona Aurora Bellos as my wife and future queen. A bond that will begin this day and go forth unto eternity.”

Cleo began to tremble. Eternity. Oh goddess, please help me.

The priest nodded, dipping his hand into a bowl of fragrant oil he held before him. He dabbed a little of the liquid on Magnus’s forehead.

The priest turned to her. “Repeat after me. I, Cleiona Aurora Bellos, do pledge to take Magnus Lukas Damora as my husband and future king. A bond that will begin this day and go forth unto eternity.”

She had no voice, no words. Her mouth was too dry, her lips parched. This could not happen.

“Repeat the words,” the king said, his voice low, but his gaze was as sharp as the edge of a dagger.

“I—I Cleiona Aurora B-Bellos . . .” she stuttered, “do pledge to take—”

The sound of metal striking metal caught her attention from the rear of the temple. The next moment, four of the temple attendants in red cloaks threw back their hoods to reveal their faces.

Cleo’s heart leapt into her throat to see that one of them was the rebel leader himself. Jonas’s gaze flicked to hers for the briefest of moments before he surged forward, drawing a sword from beneath his stolen robes. Cleo’s head whipped toward the back where she saw the scattering of red-uniformed guards quickly fall under the blades of rebels who’d been in disguise. Some frightened and confused cries sounded out from the gathered witnesses.

“Nic!” she cried out. If the rebels confronted Nic in his Limerian uniform they wouldn’t know who he was—what he meant to her. He was in danger.

Why hadn’t she considered this before? Despite the promise to say nothing about Jonas’s plan, she could have warned him!