Protect the Prince

by Estep, Jennifer

  “Stop!” I yelled, although my voice came out as a low, croaking rasp since my throat was a bit charred, along with the rest of me. “Sully, stop! We need her alive!”

  Sullivan looked at me, dangerous blue lightning crackling in his eyes, just like it was still hissing and spitting on his fingertips. I tightened my grip on his arm.

  “Please,” I rasped.

  His gaze traced over my face, as if he was double-checking to make sure that I was really standing next to him, and not a dead, burned husk on the floor. He shuddered out a breath, let go of his power, and dropped his hands to his sides, although pale blue smoke wafted off his fingertips, bringing his heady vanilla scent along with it. I wanted to step forward, bury my face in his neck, and just breathe in that scent—his scent—over and over again, until it blotted out everything that had just happened.

  Down on the floor, the magier finally quit screaming, although her arms and legs kept convulsing as the last bits of Sullivan’s power streaked through her muscles. She finally got her breath back, sat up, and glared at us with hate-filled eyes.

  “You idiots,” she sneered. “Do you really think you can stop the Bastard Brigade? Do you really think you can stop the might of Morta? You might have thwarted us tonight, but we’ll keep coming and coming until all of you are dead. Do you hear me? You’re already dead! All of you! You just don’t know it yet—”

  I stepped up and kicked the magier in the face. Her nose broke with a loud, satisfying crunch under the toe of my boot, her head snapped back, and she dropped down to the floor.

  I loomed over her, making sure she was truly unconscious. Good. I didn’t want to listen to her crow any longer.

  “Highness!” Sullivan said. “Are you okay?”

  I wiped the sweat off my forehead with a trembling hand. “More or less. What about Dominic?”

  I looked over at the crown prince, who was still slumped up against the glass wall. His eyes looked unfocused, but he was blinking, and he drunkenly waved his hand at the sound of his name.

  “You’re not okay,” Sullivan said. “You’re hurt.”

  He gently took hold of what was left of my tunic sleeve and lifted my arm up where we could both see it. I immediately wished that he hadn’t, since my entire right arm was a blistered mess of flesh, except for a ring of smooth, perfect skin around my bracelet. Even now, I could still feel the cold, hard power pulsing through the crown crest. I shuddered. Those seven blue tearstone shards were the only things that had kept the magier from burning me alive.

  But it was still a gruesome, painful injury, and the magier’s lightning kept crackling through my skin like it was never going to stop. I drew in a ragged breath, and the acrid aroma of my own fried flesh filled my nose again. Given my mutt magic, I could literally smell my skin melting, melting, melting.

  My stomach roiled. I forced down the bitter bile rising in my throat, but white and gray stars started winking on and off in front of my eyes.

  “Evie!” Sullivan said. “Evie!”

  He hardly ever called me Evie, which made it even more special when he did. I started to tell him how much I loved the sound of my name on his lips, but those white and gray stars darkened to an ominous black.

  Try as I might, I couldn’t stop those black stars, and Sullivan’s concerned face was the last thing I saw before the darkness pulled me away from him.

  * * *

  Hands grabbed my shoulders, pulling me away from my father’s body.

  I dug my feet into the floor and stretched out my hand, but I couldn’t reach him. A sob rose in my throat, but it didn’t matter that I couldn’t reach him.

  My father was dead.

  The hands turned me away from that awful sight, but I was greeted by another one—my mother’s panicked face.

  “Stay behind me, Evie!” she yelled, although I could barely hear her over the screams and shouts filling the dining hall.

  All I could do was nod. My mother tried to smile, but her features twisted with worry, and she shoved me back and up against the wall.

  My position gave me a clear view of the dining hall, although I wished that it didn’t, since everyone was screaming, yelling, fighting, and dying. The Mortans had chosen the perfect moment to attack, and they’d taken everyone by surprise. Our guards raised their swords and rushed forward, trying to drive back the invaders, but the Mortans just kept coming and coming, like waves crashing onto a shore, and they cut our men down one by one.

  A guard actually broke through the deadly line of Mortans and rushed toward the magier in the midnight-purple cloak. The woman’s hood was up, hiding much of her face, but I could see her lips. They were painted a dark, blackish purple, and they curved up with delight at all the chaos, death, and destruction.

  The guard screamed, raised his sword high, and charged at the woman, who watched him come with that same amused expression. Right before the guard would have cut her down, the woman casually flicked her fingers, sending more of her sharp, deadly hailstones spinning toward him. The hailstones punched into the guard’s chest, killing him where he stood, and he dropped to the floor without a sound. Another screaming sob rose in my throat, along with more bile, but I choked them both down.

  The weather magier must have sensed my horrified gaze, because she looked at me. I still couldn’t see her face, but her purple lips drew back into another, wider smile, exposing her white teeth, and she headed in my direction, casually flinging her cold magic at anyone who got in her way.

  While the fighting raged on, my mother dropped to her knees beside my father. She cupped his face in her hands, tears streaming down her cheeks. Then she wiped away her tears, reached down, and yanked my father’s sword and dagger from his belt.

  She surged back up onto her feet and shoved the dagger into my hand. “Here! Take this!”

  My sweaty, trembling fingers curled around the cold, hard hilt, and I slid the weapon into my dress pocket to keep from dropping it. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the Mortans running toward my mother.

  “Look out!” I screamed.

  My mother whipped around, and a blue ball of magic erupted on her palm. She reared her hand back to throw her magic at the assassin, but he slashed out with his sword, forcing my mother to lurch to the side and spoiling her aim. The ball of magic slipped through her fingers and dropped to the floor, spraying hard bits of snow and ice everywhere.

  My mother hit the wall and bounced off, losing her grip on my father’s sword, which clattered to the ground. She stumbled back toward the assassin. He yelled, raised his weapon, and started to bring it down on her head—

  Clang!

  A sword thrust forward, stopping the assassin’s blade.

  Suddenly, Ansel was there. The assassin’s eyes widened in surprise, but Ansel coolly spun around and slashed my father’s sword across the other man’s chest. With a loud, bloody gurgle, the assassin hit the floor, landing on top of my father.

  I had never seen my tutor so much as hold a sword before, and I’d never dreamed that he actually knew how to use one. But another assassin came up on my mother’s left side, and Ansel stepped forward and cut that man down as easily as he had the first one.

  Ansel turned back to my mother, a smile on his face. How could he look so happy at a time like this?

  The scent of sour, sweaty eagerness blasted off his body, but it was quickly overpowered by the caustic stench of magic. My head snapped to the right. The Mortan magier was drawing her hand back to throw her power at Ansel.

  “Watch out!” I screamed again.

  I darted forward and shoved him out of the way. A dense ball of purple hailstones exploded against the wall where he’d been standing. A few of the hailstones clipped my shoulder, their sharp edges slicing into my skin and making me scream. I gritted my teeth and reached for my immunity, using it to snuff out the worst of the stinging cold, although I couldn’t do anything about the blood running down my arm.

  “Evie!” My mother rushed over to
me.

  She started to grab my injured arm but then thought better of it. Instead, she took hold of my other shoulder, her gaze searching mine. “Are you okay?”

  I didn’t have to look at my arm to know that it was badly cut as well as frostbitten. I could still smell the stench of the magier’s power, and I could feel all the damage her hailstones had done. Tears streamed down my face from the intense pain, but I gritted my teeth and forced myself to nod at my mother.

  “We have to get out of here!” Ansel yelled. “This way!”

  He waved his hand at my mother, who pushed me forward.

  “Follow Ansel!” she yelled. “Hurry! Hurry!”

  I cradled my injured arm up against my chest, then fell in step behind my tutor.

  Ansel swung my father’s sword in vicious arcs, cutting down every assassin who got in his way. All the while, he headed toward the corridor that led from the dining hall to the kitchen. Behind me, my mother blasted anyone who came near us with her ice magic.

  “Get the Blairs!” I heard the Mortan magier yell over the continued chaos. “Don’t let them escape! Or the traitor!”

  Traitor? Who was a traitor?

  But I didn’t have time to figure it out. The stench of magic filled the air again, and I knew what was coming next.

  “Watch out!” I screamed. “Get down!”

  In front of me, Ansel ducked, and another ball of purple hailstones sailed over his head and slammed into one of the wall tapestries, slicing it to shreds. Ansel cursed and veered away from it.

  I glanced back over my shoulder. The Mortan magier was standing in the middle of the dining hall, magic now swirling in both her palms. Even from this distance, I could feel how strong she was. She easily had enough magic to kill all three of us at once.

  My mother must have realized that too, because she shoved me forward. “Hurry, Evie! Get into the hallway! Now!”

  Ansel disappeared into the hallway. Despite the stinging pain in my arm, I forced myself to move faster and follow him into the corridor. My mother rushed in behind me. She started to push me forward again, but I slipped around her, putting myself in between her and the magier.

  “Evie! What are you doing?” she screamed.

  But I didn’t have time to explain. Instead, I shoved my mother forward, even as I reached for my immunity, calling it up, up, up, just like she had taught me to. I imagined my immunity like a hard, strong gladiator’s shield covering my body—

  The magier’s power hit the wall beside me and exploded with a thunderous roar. Her cold lightning blasted over me, but this time, I was ready for it, and I gritted my teeth and pushed back with my own immunity.

  For a moment, I didn’t know which one of us would win—if I could shatter the magier’s power or if it would freeze me alive. But my plan worked, and her lightning and hailstones hit the invisible shield of my immunity, broke apart into brittle chunks, and dropped to the floor.

  “Evie!” In a panic, my mother grabbed my injured arm this time. “Come on!”

  I hissed with pain, but I didn’t stop her from pulling me along behind her.

  Together, we followed Ansel down the hallway and into the kitchen. No one was fighting in here; the area was deserted, although several pots and pans were boiling over on the stoves.

  Surprise flickered through me. Why was the kitchen empty? I would have thought that some of the servants would have been hiding in here. Or perhaps they had fled as soon as the fighting had started. Either way, no one was here to help us.

  “This way! This way!” Ansel hissed.

  He crossed the kitchen and opened one of the side doors. My mother followed him, still dragging me along behind her.

  The three of us rushed outside into the cold, snowy, moonlit night. Ansel turned right. Keeping low, he hurried along the side of the manor house. My mother pushed me forward, and I fell in step behind my tutor.

  Ansel never hesitated, not for a second, and he kept plowing forward. It was like he knew exactly where to go without even looking around to see where the assassins might be. Weird.

  We quickly rounded the corner of the manor house and moved over to one of the barns. Ansel led us along the length of that building as well.

  He stopped at the far corner and stabbed his finger at the trees in the distance. “The assassins are still in the manor house. We can escape through the woods.”

  I frowned at the certainty in his voice. How did he know there were no assassins in the woods?

  My mother stared at Ansel in confusion, as if she was wondering the same things I was.

  For the first time, a bit of annoyance and impatience flickered across his handsome features. “Your husband is dead,” he hissed. “And you will be too if you don’t come with me.”

  For a moment, the scent of my mother’s ashy heartbreak overpowered everything else, even the stench of my own cut and frozen skin. More tears streamed down her cheeks, and she glanced back at the manor house.

  I followed her gaze. Even at this distance, I could still hear people yelling and screaming inside, and through the windows, I could still see our guards fighting and dying as the Mortans cut them down. Every once in a while, purple lightning would flash, followed by loud, crackling booms as the Mortan magier unleashed her power.

  The manor house was lost, and everyone inside was going to be slaughtered.

  My mother must have realized it too because she shuddered out a breath, then looked at Ansel again and nodded.

  He smiled wide, and a strange light flared in his eyes, making them burn an even brighter violet. Then he grabbed my mother’s hand and dragged her off toward the woods.

  My mother planted her feet in the snow and reached back for me. I rushed up beside her, and she threaded her fingers through mine and pulled me toward the woods . . .

  For a moment, I could still feel the warmth of my mother’s fingers against mine, still see the fear and panic in her eyes, still smell her ashy heartbreak.

  My hand twitched, but my palm slid over silk sheets instead of her skin. My eyes popped open, and my gaze cut left and right. It took me a moment to recognize my surroundings and realize that I was in bed in the guest chambers at Glitnir.

  I shuddered out a relieved breath. For several seconds, I lay there, just breathing in and out, trying to slow my racing heart and mentally shake off my nightmarish memory—

  A soft creak sounded. Someone was in the room.

  Panic filled me, but then I breathed in, and a familiar scent filled my nose—cold vanilla mixed with a hint of spice.

  Sullivan was here.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I sat up, my heart picking up speed again.

  Sullivan was sitting in a chair close to the fireplace, with his legs stretched out on a low ottoman. His sword was laid across his lap, and he had arranged the chair and ottoman so that he was in between my bed and whoever might come through the closed doors.

  The warm, cheery glow from the fire highlighted his dark hair and the stubble on his chin. His head was wedged into a corner of the chair, and soft snores rumbled out of his mouth. It touched me that he was guarding me, protecting me.

  I glanced down. Someone had cleaned me up while I’d been unconscious, and I was now wearing blue silk pajamas. I gingerly touched my right arm, which was bandaged from the top of my shoulder all the way down to my fingertips. I moved my arm back and forth and flexed my fingers—everything worked the way it was supposed to. One of Heinrich’s bone masters must have healed me.

  I drew in another breath, and a light scent filled my nose, like honey mixed with lemons. I could smell and feel some sort of cool salve underneath the bandages. Probably an ointment to help further heal my gruesome burns.

  I glanced around the room again. Someone—Paloma, most likely—had propped up my tearstone sword, dagger, and shield in a chair beside the bed, while someone else—Calandre, most likely—had laid my crown on the vanity table, along with my bracelet.

  Sullivan must have heard
me stirring because he let out a sudden, short snore, as though he had just startled himself awake with his own loudness, then opened his eyes. He glanced at the doors, as if to make sure they were still closed, then looked over at the bed.

  He blinked a few times, and then his eyes widened as he realized that I was awake. Sullivan set his sword aside, got up, and hurried over to the foot of the bed. Then he reached out and grabbed one of the gargoyle bedposts, as if he didn’t trust himself to come any closer to me.

  “Highness! How are you feeling?”

  “I’m okay. Just tired and sore.” I propped up some pillows behind my back. “What’s going on? Where is everyone?”

  “Everyone’s fine,” Sullivan said, rushing to reassure me. “Serilda, Cho, Paloma, and the Bellonan guards are making sure that Calandre, her sisters, and the other servants are safe. Xenia is off doing whatever it is that she does.”

  “And Dominic?” I asked.

  “He’s fine too. He had a nasty cut on the back of his head from hitting that glass wall, but one of the bone masters healed his injuries. The last time I checked, Gemma and Rhea were still fussing over him.”

  Some of the tension drained out of my body. “Good.”

  The crown prince had survived, which was the most important thing right now, even more important than my own survival. Although I couldn’t help the guilt that flooded my chest. Maeven had been trying to kill me. Dominic had just been unfortunate enough to get in her way, and he had almost paid the ultimate price for her vendetta against me.

  “And how is Heinrich handling things?” I asked.

  Sullivan grimaced. “You mean the fact that another one of his sons was almost assassinated while you were in the immediate vicinity? Not well. He was going to throw you and the others out of Glitnir as soon as you woke up, but my mother pointed out that it wasn’t your fault the Mortans attacked. So he’s going to let you stay—for now.”