The king raised a dark brow and regarded Felix. “I never allowed Amara to do anything. She makes her own choices. By the time I knew what had happened, it was too late to intervene. I was told you were already dead. Otherwise, I would have done whatever I could to free you.”

Felix kept his gaze fixed squarely on the king, his single eye bereft of anything except cold malice. “Of course you would have. Why would I ever doubt your word, your highness?”

With a sigh, the gaunt and sickly-looking king turned to Jonas. “You have every reason to hate me. But you must hear me now and realize that together we are strong. We have a common enemy now: Amara Cortas.”

“Your wife, you mean,” Jonas managed to choke out.

“Of necessity and circumstance only. I have no doubt she’s already conspiring to have me killed, especially now that she has taken control of Mytica and knows her soldiers far outnumber mine. I have now dedicated myself to fixing some of my more recent mistakes, starting with casting Amara out of this kingdom.”

“Sounds like a fine start,” Jonas allowed.

The king moved forward slowly, wincing as if sudden movement caused him pain, and stretched his hand out. “I ask that we put our differences aside until this goal is achieved. What do you say?”

If he wasn’t so stunned, Jonas would have laughed. The King of Blood had just offered him—the very same person he’d accused of murdering Queen Althea—an alliance.

Jonas looked around at the others, all of whom were staring at him and the king with silent shock. Nic’s and Cleo’s faces were pale, and Felix’s top lip curled with disgust. Olivia kept her eyes emotionless and unreadable as always. Enzo, Cleo’s guard who dressed in civilian clothing, stood with his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. In contrast, Magnus had taken a seat and leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest, his head cocked to one side.

Finally, Jonas gripped the king’s hand in his right, meeting his gaze directly. “What do I say, your highness?” With his left hand, he thrust his jeweled dagger into the monster’s heart. “I say go to the darklands, you lying son of a bitch.”

The king grunted weakly, excruciating pain apparent in the weak sound. Jonas twisted the knife deeper then, until Gaius staggered backward.

Dimly, Jonas heard Nic howl in victory at this act, just as Enzo slammed into him, taking him to the floor. Felix was there in an instant, pulling Enzo off of him. Another one of the king’s guards appeared and wrenched Jonas’s arms behind him. A flash of blond hair joined the pile—Cleo was trying to pull the second king’s guard back from Jonas. Magnus was on his feet, his grim focus on the king. Olivia stood in Jonas’s periphery, waiting. She only ever intervened if he was in mortal danger.

The rage Jonas felt, his hatred of the king, buzzed anew within him, making him tremble. As he watched the dying king from his prone position, not a single part of him felt even the slightest fraction of regret.

Finally, he’d been given this chance. And he’d damn well taken it.

“See?” he said, looking up at Magnus. “I keep my promises.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Magnus said, his attention still on his father, as if curious rather than gratified at this act. “It’s just a shame you couldn’t have done it before now.”

“And what do you mean by that?” Jonas eyed the prince, puzzled as to why he seemed disappointed by the situation at hand. Jonas had done exactly what Magnus had wanted him to do, had accomplished the task that had sent him to Kraeshia in the first place.

“Milo, let Jonas up.” Cleo had the unfamiliar guard by his arm.

“He assassinated the king,” Milo snapped.

“No,” Magnus said. “Death has chosen to take its time when it comes to my father.”

“Jonas, look at him,” Felix urged.

King Gaius was no longer lying there on the bloody floor. Instead, miraculously, he was kneeling and bleeding profusely into the worn wooden slats, the hilt of the dagger sticking straight out of his chest.

The king’s agonized expression was fixed upon Jonas.

“He’s not dead,” murmured Nic, shaking his head with disbelief. “Why is he not dead?”

In a sudden and unnaturally stilted motion, King Gaius grabbed hold of the dagger’s jeweled hilt. With his narrowed gaze still focused upon Jonas, he yanked the blade from his flesh, roaring mightily as he did. The blade clattered to the floor as he pressed his hands against the wound.

“This is magic at work,” Jonas managed to say through his utter shock.

“How incredibly perceptive of you,” Magnus said flatly.

“Explain to me what’s happening!”

Magnus nodded at Milo. “Release the rebel. I can’t talk to someone pinned like a beetle to a board.”

Milo released the pressure on Jonas’s arm. Jonas immediately got to his feet and looked accusingly at Magnus, who shared an unsubtle and knowing look with Cleo. Cleo’s jaw tightened, and Magnus rolled his eyes.

“Very well,” the prince said. “I’ll try to be brief in my explanation. What’s happening is the result of a potion he took many years ago, a potion that has ensured that, no matter what kind of final, fatal blow destiny throws his way, my father has some time to . . . linger after being killed.”

“I’m not sure that’s exactly how it works,” Cleo said patiently.

Magnus sighed and gestured at his struggling father. “Close enough?”