“But you took precautions.”
“Of course I did. I’m no fool.”
“And yet you said nothing to me.” The words were edged in poison. “This is not the first time you didn’t tell me anything of your plans, Father.”
“I didn’t want to spoil the day any more than it needed to be.” The king’s gaze slid to Cleo’s. “It’s very distressing.” He gestured at the death and carnage before them. She couldn’t look away from the steady drip of blood down the king’s forehead. “You are, after all, only a sixteen-year-old girl, accustomed to a much more privileged and protected life. This must all be quite a shock.”
“It is,” she whispered. “The attack. The—the earthquake. I believe it’s a sign from the goddess. The wedding will have to be postponed. It’s really such a shame.”
When the back of his hand struck her cheek, she reacted more from shock than from the stinging pain. Her hand flew to her face and she stared at him with wide eyes.
“You think I’m going to make it that easy for you, you deceitful brat?” He grabbed hold of the front of her dress and yanked her closer. He flicked a look at Nic, who’d lurched forward to protect Cleo. “I warn you, boy, do not look at me that way if you want to keep your eyes. I will gore them from your head and serve them to Princess Cleiona as part of her wedding feast.”
“But—but how can we continue?” Cleo stammered. “All this blood! All these bodies! The temple is in shambles, the roof will collapse at any moment. We must leave! The wedding can’t—”
He slapped her again, harder this time, and she bit her lip in pain. “They underestimated me, those rebels. They have no idea how much I consider every move I make. They thought they could walk in here so easily and kill me. No one can kill me.” Still, he eyed the fallen pillar uneasily before turning a furious glare on Cleo. He grasped her throat so tightly with one hand that she began to choke. She clawed at his arm but he just tightened his grip until she stopped fighting. Spots swam in her vision.
“Father, stop it,” Magnus said.
“Be quiet, boy. I need to make the princess aware of a couple of important things.” His cold gaze sank into her like death itself, drawing her deeper into darkness. “If you ever underestimate my desire to hold on to this throne, my dear, you will deeply regret it. Consider today only a small demonstration of this.”
She tried to speak, but his strangling grip only tightened like a vise.
Cronus had drawn closer, his sword drawn and pointed toward Nic to keep him back.
Magnus paced angrily in a circle. “Father, this isn’t necessary. You’re killing her.”
“I told you to be quiet. Don’t make me say it again.” A sinister smile then curled up the side of the king’s mouth as he gazed down at her. “Do you know what everyone will say about today? They’ll say that a beautiful wedding was disrupted by heartless rebels. That they wanted to keep you from exchanging your vows with my son. That they failed and we succeeded. That true love conquers all, no matter what the opposition might bring—even the shaking of the world itself. The people will find comfort in such stories in the difficult months and years ahead. Do you think I would marry off my son to an admitted slut like you for any other reason? They’ll devour such a story and ask for more. They will come out in droves to see you on your journey across my kingdom. They will worship you and Magnus like a god and a goddess because they are stupid and naive. And this is exactly what I want. For the more they focus on you, the less they’ll focus on what I’m doing and why I’m doing it.”
He finally released her and she gasped for breath, hands flying to her bruised throat. Nic stood nearby, his fists clenched at his sides, his body shaking. Had he made a threatening move toward the king, Cleo knew he would have died. Just as Jonas’s friends and rebels had died today.
There was no hope in death, only an end.
The king shoved Cleo closer to Magnus.
“Continue,” he snapped.
The priest was there, a streak of blood on his cheek to match his red robes.
“Hands—” His voice shook. “Take her hand.”
Magnus grabbed hold of Cleo’s hand. She looked up at him, but he didn’t meet her gaze. His eyes were straight forward, his jaw tense.
“Repeat after me,” the priest said after a moment. “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.”
Her throat felt crushed, her face stung, her cheeks were wet with tears. Everywhere she looked she saw blood and death and despair.