Protect the Prince

by Estep, Jennifer

  “And why is that?” Maeven snapped, finally rising to my bait.

  I stopped and looked at her again. “Because none of you will ever sit on the Mortan throne. So who cares if your king’s orders get you and your cousins slaughtered like sheep?”

  She blinked, as though she had never thought of it that way. Her brow furrowed, and her arms slowly dropped to her sides.

  “For as miserable as my life was here, Cordelia never ordered me to do anything more strenuous than make polite chitchat. But you? I can’t even imagine the horrible things you’ve done for your king. What’s it like? Going hither and yon on your brother’s orders and doing his dirty work while he sits in his palace in Morta?” I shook my head and clucked my tongue in false sympathy. “It doesn’t seem like much of a life to me. Then again, I don’t suppose that many in the Bastard Brigade make it to ripe old ages. Face it, Maeven. Your life doesn’t matter, and neither do the lives of your bastard relatives. Not to your king.”

  But my insults certainly mattered a great deal to Maeven. Rage sparked in her eyes and stained her cheeks a dark, ugly red. Her hands curled into fists, and purple lightning crackled along her knuckles, as though she was thinking about blasting me with her magic.

  I didn’t know if her lightning would actually come through the mirror, but I tightened my grip on my sword and reached for my own immunity, ready to defend myself.

  “It matters, we matter, I matter because I am proud to serve!” Maeven hissed. “Morta is stronger than Bellona will ever be, and soon we will crush you and swallow up your pathetic kingdom!”

  I gave her a thin, razor-sharp smile. “We’ll see about that. Although I’ve always wondered exactly why it was so important to Morta to conquer all the other kingdoms. And why specifically target Bellona and the Blair family? You have plenty of land, magic, and resources. Why not be happy with all that you have?”

  Maeven tilted her head to the side, studying me as if I were some exotic creature in a menagerie that she’d never seen before. She let out a soft, sinister laugh. “You still don’t know, do you? What being a Winter queen really means?”

  “Then tell me.” This time, I was the one who couldn’t keep the anger, questions, and frustration out of her voice.

  The nobles might not realize that I was a pretender, but Maeven certainly did. She knew that I was only queen because of Vasilia’s arrogance and failure to kill me during the massacre.

  She laughed again, and the mocking sound scraped against my skin like sandpaper. “Oh, no, Everleigh. You’ll have to figure that out on your own. Although you’ll be dead long before you know what it really means to be a Winter queen, much less actually become one.”

  Become one? How could I become something I already was? Every word she said only confused me more.

  Maeven opened her mouth, as if she was going to taunt me again, but then she looked off to the right at something I couldn’t see through the mirror. She nodded, almost as if she was signaling to someone, then focused on me again.

  “As much as I’ve enjoyed our little chat, I have other things to attend to,” she purred. “But I’ll leave you with a piece of advice—you should wear your crown as often as possible.”

  I couldn’t help but ask the obvious question. “And why is that?”

  She leaned forward so that her face was close to the mirror. Magic crackled in her amethyst eyes, and a mocking smile curved her lips. “Because you won’t be alive to wear it much longer, Queen Everleigh.”

  I stepped up to the mirror, but before I could deliver some clever, cutting remark, Maeven waved her hand. A silver light exploded in the center of the mirror, so bright that I had to turn away from it. By the time I looked back at the glass, the light had vanished, taking Maeven along with it, and the mirror was just a mirror again.

  My nemesis was gone, but I knew that it wouldn’t be long before Maeven and her Bastard Brigade tried to kill me again.

  Part Two

  The Second Assassination Attempt

  Chapter Eight

  We left for Andvari three days later.

  I stood in the main palace courtyard, watching trunks being loaded onto wagons. Calandre and her sisters flitted from one trunk and wagon to the next, making sure they contained the necessary clothing, fabrics, and other supplies. I’d told Calandre that she and her sisters didn’t have to go to Andvari, but she had said she would never forgive herself if she let me go to another royal court without the proper servants and attire.

  My friends were here too. Sullivan and Xenia were talking and sipping mugs of mochana, while Serilda, Cho, and Paloma were speaking with some of the gladiators-turned-guards who were staying at Seven Spire.

  “You should let me come with you,” Auster said. “It’s my duty to protect you.”

  I looked at the captain, who had been pleading his case for the last five minutes. “I need you to stay here, Auster. The nobles respect you. Even better, they fear you, along with your guards. I need you to keep the peace between Fullman, Diante, and everyone else and make sure that the palace stays secure. It won’t do me any good to broker a treaty with the Andvarians if I don’t have a throne to come back to.”

  Auster opened his mouth to protest, but I cut him off.

  “Besides, it’s not like I’m going alone. Serilda, Cho, and the rest of my friends will take good care of me. They have so far. I trust them to protect me, and you should too.”

  Auster stared at Serilda and Cho, who were still talking to the gladiators-turned-guards. Pride filled his face, softening his stern features. “Serilda and Cho are two of the finest guards to ever serve Bellona. If anyone can protect you from this Bastard Brigade, it’s them. But that doesn’t mean that I still won’t worry.” He paused, as if he was having trouble voicing his thoughts. “I already lost one queen. I don’t want to lose you too, Everleigh.”

  Auster had never been verbose, and the months of torture he had endured at Vasilia’s hands had made him even quieter. So I knew what an effort it was for him to share his worry.

  I squeezed his arm. “You won’t lose me. I survived my first session with the nobles. Dealing with King Heinrich will be as easy as baking a pie in comparison.”

  He smiled at my joke, but his eyes remained dark and troubled. I smiled back at him, but my expression was as forced as his was.

  “I will do my duty and hold the palace until you return,” Auster said. “Be safe, my queen.”

  He bowed low in the traditional Bellonan style, and I returned the gesture with a formal curtsy. Auster straightened up and gave me another tight, forced smile, then headed over to talk to the gladiators-turned-guards, along with Serilda and Cho.

  Footsteps scraped on the stone, and Paloma strode over to me, with her mace propped up on her shoulder. “You ready for this?”

  I sighed. “I feel like you ask me that every single day.”

  “Because there’s some new challenge or crisis or devious plot that you have to deal with every single day.” She shook her head. “Being the queen’s personal guard isn’t nearly as much fun as I thought it would be. All I do is stand around and watch while you try not to lose your temper with people.”

  “So sorry to bore you,” I sniped.

  “I haven’t gotten to fight anyone in weeks. Not like the other gladiators have,” she grumbled, and the ogre on her neck actually pouted a bit.

  Many members of the Black Swan troupe were now working at Seven Spire. Theroux had taken over as the kitchen steward, Aisha was the head of the bone masters, and several gladiators moonlighted as guards. Serilda hadn’t disbanded her troupe—it made her and everyone else far too much money to do that—so the gladiators and others took turns working at the palace and putting on the usual weekend shows at the Black Swan arena. Paloma was clearly longing to return to the action. Couldn’t blame her for that. She had been a gladiator long before we’d become friends.

  “You should forget about being nice and let me crack a few skulls.” Paloma hoisted her
mace off her shoulder and swung it back and forth like a clock pendulum, making the spikes whistle through the air. “A couple of whacks upside the head would make the nobles fall in line.”

  Calandre and her sisters chose that moment to walk by, so of course they heard Paloma’s words. Calandre sniffed, while her sisters let out their usual shocked gasps. I gave them a reassuring smile, but Calandre arched her eyebrow in response and shepherded her sisters into one of the wagons.

  My fake smile twisted into a very real grimace. “We’re not in the arena anymore, which means that you can’t whack people with your mace, and I can’t run them through with my sword, no matter how much I might want to,” I said, muttering the last few words.

  “Oh, we’re still in the arena. You just have to fight with words now, instead of weapons.” Paloma thought about it. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m right and that it’s terribly boring. However do you stand it?”

  I gave her a sour look, but she grinned, as did the ogre on her neck.

  We watched while a few final things were loaded onto the wagons, and then it was time for me to be loaded up as well.

  Auster had suggested that I ride in a plain enclosed wagon like everyone else, in order to make it more difficult for any would-be assassins to target me, but I’d refused. It would have made me seem weak and cowardly, especially since I’d been holed up in Seven Spire since the night I’d killed Vasilia.

  The people needed to see their new queen looking well and strong, so I climbed into an open-air carriage at the front of our procession. Cho was in the driver’s seat, with Paloma riding beside him. Serilda, Sullivan, and Xenia were following in the wagon behind my carriage.

  Cho looked over his shoulder at me. I nodded, telling him that I was ready. He slapped the horses’ reins, and the carriage jerked forward. Even though I’d been expecting the violent, rocking motion, I still almost slid off the slick leather seat. At the last second, I managed to latch onto a metal bar embedded in the side of the carriage and hold my position.

  I couldn’t help but think it was the perfect example of how I was barely holding on to everything right now, including the throne.

  But this trip had been my idea, and there was no turning back. The palace gates opened, and we left Seven Spire, crossed the bridge, and entered the city.

  The trip to Andvari hadn’t been formally announced, also to help cut down on would-be assassins, but so many wagons leaving the palace at once made people curious, and they trickled out of their shops and homes to line the streets and watch the convoy roll by.

  I sat as straight and tall in the bouncing carriage as possible, silently hoping that Calandre had put enough pins in my hair to keep the silver crown from falling off, clattering to the cobblestones, and rolling away down the street. Not exactly the message I wanted to send.

  We entered one of the many plazas spread throughout the city. Water rose and fell in sweeping waves in a gray stone fountain shaped like two embracing lovers that stood in the center of the wide, open area. A few folks were throwing coins into the fountain, making wishes, but most people were gathered around the wooden stalls that lined the plaza, selling freshly baked bread and cuts of meat.

  As soon as the carriage clattered into view, everyone turned to stare at our procession.

  “The queen!” someone shouted over the steady clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp of the horses’ hooves. “It’s the new queen!”

  In an instant, everyone left the stalls behind and hurried forward. People hopped up onto the rim of the fountain, and one particularly quick, industrious girl waded through the water and climbed up into the crook of the lovers’ arms so that she had the best view possible.

  Cho looked over his shoulder at me again. “I’m going to go around a few times! Let them really see you!”

  I grimaced, but I nodded back. Cho steered the horses around the fountain, but instead of exiting through the street on the far side of the plaza, he tugged on the reins and circled around the fountain again.

  I plastered a smile on my face, lifted my hand, and waved. The people realized what Cho was doing, and they clapped in appreciation. A few folks also yelled and cheered and whistled, but the carriage was going slow and was close enough to the edge of the crowd that snatches of conversation drifted over to me.

  “She’s not much to look at, is she? Not like Vasilia was. Now she looked like a proper queen.”

  “She’s not even wearing the queen’s crown. Why, you can hardly see that tiny band on her head.”

  “Don’t insult the poor woman. She’ll probably be dead in another month.”

  I had to grind my teeth to keep the smile from slipping off my face. The Bellonan people didn’t have any more confidence in me than Maeven did. I wondered if they were placing bets on how long I would be queen, like the palace servants and guards were. Probably.

  Cho made two more laps around the fountain, then steered the carriage out of the plaza.

  The second the crowd was behind us, my hand plummeted to my side, the smile dropped from my face, and I sagged back against the cushions. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to lie down on the floorboard, curl up into a ball, and hide for the rest of the ride, but I couldn’t do that.

  The queen of Bellona never, ever cowered.

  So as Cho swung into the next plaza, I straightened up, plastered another smile on my face, and waved to everyone. All the while, though, I tried to ignore the harsh comments speculating about my impending demise, along with my own fear that my people were right and that my death would come sooner rather than later.

  * * *

  Given all the laps around the various plazas, it took us almost an hour to reach the rail station on the edge of the city. Normally, given the warm, late-summer weather, we would have driven the wagons to Andvari, especially given my sizable entourage of friends, servants, and gladiators-turned-guards. But Serilda and Cho had pointed out that the last time we had taken wagons into the mountains, a weather magier had unleashed a blizzard that had almost killed the entire Black Swan troupe. We weren’t going to risk being trapped like that again, so we were taking the train to Andvari.

  A rail line ran from Svalin all the way to Glanzen, the capital of Andvari, although from the reports I’d heard, few people had been journeying there since Vasilia had falsely blamed the Andvarians for the massacre. So I was also hoping that my taking the train would convince others to start doing the same and help to restore a more normal level of travel and trade between the two kingdoms.

  Workers were lined up outside the train, along with the leader of the rail guild, all as curious to set eyes on me as the people in the plazas had been. I went down the row of them, shaking hands, asking about their jobs and families, and cracking jokes. The workers were polite, but they didn’t seem overly pleased to see me, and the guilder brushed off my attempt to set up a meeting when I returned to Bellona. They all probably thought that I would be dead soon, like everyone else did.

  Finally, all the luggage and people were loaded on board, and I stepped into the queen’s private car at the very back. The only other time I had ridden the train was when I’d first come to Svalin after my parents had been murdered, and I was pleasantly surprised by the cushioned settees, chairs, and other comfortable furnishings.

  But the biggest surprise was that everything was still swathed in Cordelia’s red-and-gold colors, and her rising-sun crest still adorned the furniture. Vasilia must have had more important things to do than redecorate the train in her garish fuchsia-and-gold colors and sword-and-laurels crest. Still, my heart ached as I trailed my fingers over the rising sun carved into one of the tabletops. Cordelia should have been here, and she should have been taking this trip. Once again, I felt like I had just stumbled into being queen, and I had to resist the urge to snatch the crown off my head and toss it out the window.

  Fifteen minutes later, the steam engine screamed, and the train slowly pulled out of the station. I sat in a seat next to the windows an
d peered out at the passing scenery. My friends moved around the car and up into the ones beyond, checking on things. I should have been working too, going over strategies for dealing with King Heinrich with Xenia, talking about security with Serilda and Cho, or even just trying to laugh and relax with Paloma, but I needed some time to myself, so I stayed in my seat.

  The others must have sensed my mood because they left me alone—except for Calandre. Her sisters were riding in another car, but she’d boarded this one, although she had been huddled in the corner so far, drawing in a sketchbook. Finally, she worked up the nerve to come over to me.

  Looking ill at ease, Calandre cleared her throat. “My queen? May I sit?”

  I waved my hand toward the opposite seat, and she dropped into it. We silently scrutinized each other for the better part of a minute before she cleared her throat again.

  “I wanted to ask you something that has been on my mind for several weeks now.”

  I waved my hand again, telling her to continue.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” she said. “I was quite honored to be chosen to be your personal thread master . . .”

  “But you’re wondering why I picked you?”

  Calandre nodded. “Yes. I only became Queen Cordelia’s thread master because the man serving her took ill and no one else was readily available. But Cordelia was never very particular about what she wore or how she looked, and she kept me on out of routine and convenience.”

  She grimaced, as though what she was about to say next pained her. “And Cordelia didn’t care that my father was a common tailor who married a minor noblewoman and that neither one of them had much money. She also didn’t care that I don’t have nearly as much magic as others at court.”

  Her cheeks flushed, and I knew she was thinking about Fullman’s insult. “After Cordelia’s death, Vasilia chose someone else as her thread master, and I was banished to a little workshop on the seventh floor. Even though I was expecting such a thing, it was still . . . humiliating to be dismissed so abruptly. But as you know, I have never been particularly powerful or popular at court.”