The injury was his own fault. He’d been distracted during battle when something caught his eye—golden hair streaked with bright red blood. The body of Andreas Psellos, his sister’s suitor and Magnus’s fiercest rival since childhood, lay in pieces on the battlefield. The sight had stolen Magnus’s breath long enough for an Auranian to land not one but two deep blows with his sword before he too had been slain by a Paelsian soldier. Andreas was dead and would no longer be a problem. The victory felt much more shallow than Magnus ever would have expected. He’d despised the boy, it was true. But to
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