Magnus’s vision turned blood red.

Part of him wanted to storm in there, to tear them apart and kill the rebel before he cast Cleo out of the inn and away from him forever.

His more rational mind told him that not everything he saw was the truth and that he shouldn’t jump to conclusions.

Still, if he went in there and confronted the pair, surely someone would die.

Instead, he stormed out of the inn and headed down the road directly to the tavern, growling at the barkeep for wine. He lost track of how many goblets he’d drunk before he began to calm down.

He already knew the princess cared for the rebel, that the two had some romantic history he had not wanted to think much about. Why wouldn’t she want someone like Jonas? Someone brave and strong—albeit poor and pathetic and a deadly jinx upon all he’d enlisted into his command as a rebel leader in the past.

Magnus could still see how someone like Jonas, who openly gazed at the princess as if she were a shining star in the night sky, would be tempting. At least in comparison to Magnus, who was dark and moody and quick to violence.

He stared down into his empty goblet. “With a million other worries and troubles upon me, I am now obsessed about where her true feelings lie.” He glared drunkenly at the barkeep. “Why is my cup empty?”

“Apologies.” The barkeep quickly filled the goblet until the wine splashed over the side.

Someone came to sit on the wooden stool next to him. He was about to bark at the man that he needed his space and that if he valued his life he should go elsewhere, but then he realized who it was.

“Wine never helps one forget their worries for long,” his father said, his face as pale and gaunt as a corpse beneath the heavy hood of his black cloak.

Since the king had been sequestered in a private room upstairs at the inn with his mother since the night they arrived, it was a surprise to see him here. Magnus glanced around to see if he’d brought Milo for protection, but he didn’t see the guard anywhere. Perhaps he still nursed his injuries from their sparring session.

Magnus ignored the king’s comment and drained his cup before speaking. “Does Selia know you’re here? I can’t imagine she’d approve.”

“She doesn’t know. Her concern about my impending death has made me a prisoner. I don’t care very much for the feeling.”

“The feeling of your impending death or of being a prisoner? No need to answer. I’m sure both are vastly unfamiliar experiences for you.” Magnus grabbed the flask of wine from the barkeep and shooed him away with a wave of his hand. He drank directly from the bottle now.

“There was a time when I indulged in such sins,” the king said.

“Wine or intense self-pity?”

“Are you having trouble with the princess?”

“I’m sure that would make you very happy, wouldn’t it?”

“To know that you might wish to separate from someone who I believe will only lead you to your doom? Happy would not be the word I’d choose, but yes. It would be for the best.”

“I will not discuss Cleo with you, not now or ever,” Magnus mumbled, hating that his head was so unclear with his father nearby. He’d prefer to have complete control over his senses, but it was too late to worry about that after the amount of wine he’d already consumed.

“Wise choice,” the king replied. “She’s certainly not my favorite subject.”

“This hatred you have for her . . .” He turned it over in his mind, this seemingly unrelenting loathing the king had for Cleo. “It must have to do with her mother, yes?”

“Yes, actually it does.”

A direct answer. How unusual—and deeply intriguing.

“Queen Elena Bellos,” Magnus continued, spurred by the wine loosening his lips. “I saw her portrait at the Auranian palace before you had it torn down along with the others. She was a beautiful woman.”

“She certainly was.” The king turned away from him and wistfully looked out the tavern windows at the dark city street outside. Magnus could see the faintest smile on his ghostly pale lips.

The realization hit him hard. “You were in love with her,” Magnus said, shocked at his own words but knowing it had to be true. “You were in love with Cleo’s mother.” This accusation drew the king’s gaze back to him, his bloodshot eyes widening slightly as if with surprise. Magnus took a moment to absorb this silent confirmation and another sip of his wine to aid his suddenly dry throat. “It must have been a very long time ago, back when you were capable of such a pure emotion.”

The smile quickly disappeared from his father’s pale, sickly face. “It was a lifetime ago. Such weakness nearly destroyed me, which is exactly why I wanted to watch out for you.”

Magnus laughed at this, a loud bellowing sound that surprised even him. “Watch out for me? Oh, Father, don’t waste your breath on such lies.”

The king slammed his fist down on the bar top. “Are you blind? Utterly blind? Everything I’ve ever done has been for you!”

The force of his sudden anger made Magnus spill some of his drink down the front of his tunic. He glared at the man. “How odd that I forgot that when you chose to end my life—and the life of my mother.”

“Death would be a relief from this world for many of us.”

“I will not forget anything that you’ve done, starting with this.” Magnus pointed to the scar on his right cheek. “Do you remember that day as clearly as I do?”