Protect the Prince (A Crown of Shards Novel)

by Jennifer Estep

  Something worse.

  But there was nothing I could do about that, so I moved on to something that I could control—my trip to Andvari.

  Over dinner with my friends, I told them that I wanted to leave as soon as possible. I didn’t want to give Maeven another chance to try to kill me before I negotiated a new treaty with King Heinrich. Sullivan agreed to tell his father about the change in plans.

  By the time we finished dinner, I was exhausted, so I retired to my chambers, where Calandre and her sisters were waiting.

  The two girls plucked the pins out of my hair, and then Calandre mercifully lifted the crown off my head and set it on the vanity table. I resisted the urge to massage the heavy, lingering weight of it out of my scalp.

  The silver band gleamed under the lights, while the tearstone shards looked like tiny blue swords jutting up from the metal. I touched one of the shards. The sharp point pricked my finger like a needle, drawing a drop of blood. I winced and pulled my hand away from the crown. I should have known better.

  I should have known better about even taking the throne in the first place, but I pushed away those treacherous thoughts. It was far too late for regrets.

  Calandre and her sisters pulled off my boots, along with my clothes, then wrapped me in a soft blue robe.

  Paloma stood next to the vanity table with her mace propped up on her shoulder and watched the thread master and the two teenage girls to make sure they didn’t stab me with a dagger hidden up their sleeve or run a poisoned brush through my hair.

  I thought the two girls were going to faint at the suspicious looks that Paloma and her inner ogre kept giving them, but they ran a warm bath for me and left, along with Calandre.

  Once they were gone, Paloma prowled around my chambers, making sure that no assassins were lurking behind the curtains or hiding under the bed, even though she had already done that the moment we’d first entered. Once she was certain the room was secure, she left, although she told Alonzo and Bowen, the two guards posted outside, to be vigilant and not to let me go anywhere without summoning her.

  I took a bath, changed into my nightclothes, and crawled into bed. I tucked my sword under one pillow and my dagger under the other one. The matching shield was propped up against my nightstand within easy reach.

  Only when I was surrounded by weapons did I finally lay back against the pillows. To my surprise, I fell asleep quickly, although my dreams were just as dangerous as my day had been . . .

  “Isn’t it lovely?” I asked in a high, excited voice.

  Ansel, my tutor, looked out over the room. “Mmm. Yes, I suppose it is.”

  We were in the main dining hall of Winterwind, my family’s estate in the Spire Mountains in northern Bellona. Normally, at the dinner hour, the hall would have been empty, except for me, my parents, and Ansel, but this evening, dozens of people had crowded in to celebrate my parents’ fifteenth wedding anniversary.

  Flames crackled in the fireplace, while candles flickered on the mantel, bathing the hall in a soft, golden glow. Yuletide was only a few weeks away, and red, green, and silver fluorestones had already been strung up on the mantel and all around the fireplace, adding more light and plenty of holiday cheer to the festivities. Pine trees had also been set up in metal stands in the hall’s four corners, although no glass decorations adorned their branches yet.

  A large table ran down the center of the room, and a feast had been laid out for everyone to enjoy. Roasted lemon-pepper chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, apricot-glazed carrots, kiwi cakes, cranberry-apple pies. All my favorites. I breathed in the delicious scents.

  My father’s laughter rang out, and I focused on my parents, who were standing next to the fireplace, greeting their guests.

  Lady Leighton Larimar Winter Blair, my mother, had the same black hair and gray-blue eyes that I did, while Jarl Sancus, my father, was a tall man with brown hair and blue eyes. They made a handsome couple, and they clearly loved each other, given the way their eyes warmed and their faces softened every time they snuck an adoring glance at each other.

  Peppery anger filled my nose, overpowering the feast’s aromas, and I realized that the scent and the emotion were coming from Ansel. I glanced up at my tutor, who was staring at my parents. My father slid his arm around my mother’s waist, and Ansel’s lips puckered. He probably didn’t like them being so openly affectionate, since he was always so cold, remote, and distant.

  Ansel had come to Winterwind three months ago, after my old tutor had retired. Unlike the rest of the staff, who laughed and joked with each other, Ansel kept to himself. He spent most of his time in the library, either preparing or teaching me my lessons or reading by the fireplace long into the night. My mother was the only one whose company he enjoyed, and she was the only one who could ever coax a smile out of him.

  But Ansel was not without his admirers. Giselle, one of the kitchen workers a few years older than me, walked over and planted herself in front of him. He tried to look past her at my parents again, but she sidled in that direction, cutting off his view of them.

  “Do you want something, Giselle?” Ansel asked in an annoyed tone.

  “I thought you could use a drink.” She offered him the glass of cranberry wine in her hand.

  “No, thank you,” he replied.

  “Are you sure you don’t want some?” Giselle murmured, taking a sip of wine, then licking her lips. “Or perhaps I could interest you in something else. Something more . . . robust?”

  She toyed with the peekaboo lace on the front of her blue gown, as if her meaning wasn’t already clear enough.

  I crinkled my nose. Ewww. Sure, Ansel was handsome with his blond hair, violet eyes, and tall, muscled figure, but he was also in his forties, just like my parents were. He was easily twice Giselle’s age.

  Ansel gave her an annoyed frown. “No,” he repeated in a much sterner voice. “Now, why don’t you run along and play with the other little girls?”

  Giselle’s cheeks flamed. She gulped down the rest of her wine, as if to prove that she wasn’t a little girl, then stormed off.

  Ansel watched Giselle a moment longer, then grabbed the bronze pocket watch hooked to a short chain clipped to his vest. Ansel always carried the watch, which he constantly checked. I wasn’t quite sure why. It wasn’t like the hours moved any faster the more often he looked at it.

  But I’d grown curious about the watch, and I’d snuck a glance at it one day when he’d laid it on the table during my lesson. To my disappointment, it was a plain bronze watch, with no magic or glamours. Ansel must have bought it at some secondhand shop, since a large, fancy cursive M was engraved on the cover, instead of his own A.

  Ansel nodded, as though something about the time pleased him, then let the watch drop back down against his vest. “Come along, Everleigh. Let’s greet your parents.”

  Despite the fact that everyone had been getting ready for the dinner all day long, Ansel had still made me finish my lessons like usual. We were among the last to arrive, and we had to hug the wall to make our way over to the fireplace.

  Several people called out greetings to Ansel, but he nodded and moved on, never taking his gaze off my parents. We were almost to them when he snapped his fingers at one of the servants and grabbed a glass of cranberry wine off the man’s tray. I thought he might take a sip, but he only clutched it in his hand.

  Finally, we reached my parents. We had to wait until they finished speaking with a noblewoman before my parents turned toward us.

  My father reached out and hugged me tight against his side. “There’s my Evie.”

  I grinned and hugged him back.

  “What do you say that we sneak away early in the morning and go down into the mine? We’ve opened up a new chamber of tearstone I want to show you.”

  My father’s mine was located on the edge of Winterwind, and I loved exploring the cool, dark caverns and chiseling bits of tearstone, fluorestone, and more out of the rough, jagged walls.

 
I hugged him again. “Yes!”

  “Jarl,” my mother said in a soft, chiding voice. “You know that Evie has to finish her lessons before she goes gallivanting off with you.”

  Ansel stepped up beside my mother. “Oh, I think that Evie can skip tomorrow’s lesson.”

  I blinked at his unexpected generosity. Sometimes, I thought that Ansel would have lectured me around the clock, if he could have.

  My mother smiled, then laid her hand on his arm. “Thank you, Ansel. That’s very kind.”

  He stared down at her hand, then cleared his throat and shifted away from her. “You’re welcome, my lady.”

  Before I could chime in and thank him, Ansel stepped forward and held out the glass of wine in his hand to my father. “Here, Sir Jarl. You look like you could use a drink.”

  “Indeed, I do.” My father winked at the other man, then grabbed the glass and took a large gulp of wine.

  To my surprise, a thin smile creased Ansel’s face, and he seemed almost . . . happy. Strange. Nothing ever seemed to make my serious, stoic tutor happy.

  “Good,” my father said. “It’s settled. Evie and I will leave for the mine first thing in the morning—”

  He turned his head and let out a loud cough. My father cleared his throat and opened his mouth, but all that came out was another cough.

  My nose twitched. I hadn’t noticed it before, but a foul, sulphuric stench was floating through the air, growing stronger and stronger, despite the fresh tang of the pine trees in the room. I drew in a breath, trying to figure out where the stench was coming from.

  My father kept coughing, each sound louder, longer, and harsher than the last.

  Concern creased my mother’s face. “Jarl? Are you okay?”

  My father tried to smile, but he started coughing again. And this time, he didn’t stop.

  He coughed so violently that the glass slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor. That foul, sulphuric stench rose up again, even stronger than before. It took me a moment to realize that the harsh aroma was coming from the spilled wine and exactly what it was, but sick understanding quickly filled me.

  Poison—my father had been poisoned.

  I sucked in a breath to scream out the words, but my father collapsed.

  “Jarl!” my mother yelled, and fell to her knees beside him. “Jarl!”

  He looked up at her. He coughed again, and blood bubbled out of his lips and trickled down his face. And that was just the beginning. More blood streamed out of the corners of his eyes, his nose, even his fingernails. The coppery stench of it drowned out the poison. All around us, people yelled and rushed forward, trying to figure out what was wrong.

  “Get the bone master!” my mother screamed.

  But it was too late. My father coughed a final time, and then his head lolled to the side. He stared up at me and tried to smile, but his lips turned down instead of up, and even more blood oozed out of his nose and trickled down his face. His blue eyes were still fixed on me, but they were wide and glassy now, and he wasn’t seeing me anymore.

  My father was dead.

  My stomach roiled, and I clapped my hands over my mouth to keep from vomiting.

  “Jarl!” my mother screamed again, shaking his shoulder. “Jarl!”

  She opened her mouth to scream again when a loud boom rang out, along with a violent tremor that shook the manor house and sent me stumbling against the side of the fireplace.

  The noise and the tremor vanished an instant later, and a tense, heavy silence dropped over the dining hall.

  “What was that?” someone whispered.

  As if in answer, footsteps pounded in the hallway outside, growing louder and closer. Screams rang out as well, along with the clash-clash-clash of swords banging together.

  “Mortans,” my mother whispered, fear crackling through her voice. “The Mortan bastards have come for us.”

  Men and women carrying swords and shields rushed into the dining hall. They let out wild screams and yells and charged forward, swinging their weapons at every single person they could reach.

  Behind them, a woman wearing a midnight-purple cloak and clutching a ball of swirling purple lightning in her hand glided forward. Instead of having a hot, electric burn, her lightning seemed bitterly cold, like it would freeze you on the spot.

  The woman waved her hand, and what looked like purple hailstones shot out from her fingertips, growing in size, even as their rough edges sharpened into thick, daggerlike points. The hailstones punch-punch-punched into the chest of the closest guard like frozen throwing stars, killing him.

  I staggered back as though I were the one who’d been hit, and the horrible reality of what was happening slammed into my mind.

  Winterwind was under attack . . .

  My eyes snapped open, and I sucked in a breath. For a moment, I could still feel the weather magier’s frigid power, and I could still smell the sharp, coppery tang of my father’s blood. But then the warm, summery air washed over me, while the softer, more pleasant aroma of the vanilla candles crowded together on the nightstand filled my nose. Another welcome gift from one of the nobles.

  I scrubbed my hands over my face. This wasn’t the first time I’d woken up from a nightmare. Ever since the massacre, my sleep had been more restless and troubled than not, with all sorts of dark, shapeless things trying to murder me as well as my friends. Just last night I’d dreamed that Maeven had burned Sullivan to ash right in front of me.

  I supposed that today’s assassination attempt had sent my mind spinning back to the night my parents had died. Sadly, watching my father choke to death on his own blood and the Mortans storm into the dining hall hadn’t been the worst things that had happened at Winterwind.

  Not even close.

  I scrubbed my hands over my face again, wishing I could shove the awful memories out of my mind. I felt like I couldn’t get a single moment of bloody peace anymore, not even in sleep.

  I lay in bed until my breathing was even again, my heart had quit racing, and the sweat had cooled on my body. All the while, I stared up at the ceiling over the queen’s bed, my bed now, although it was several minutes before I actually focused on it, instead of my horrible memories.

  Unlike the throne room with its metal and jeweled accents, this ceiling was plain, with only a single symbol carved into the stone—a woman’s hand wielding a sword.

  I grimaced. The symbol was yet another reminder of all the queens who had come before me, all of whom seemed to be stronger, smarter, and more powerful than I could ever dream of being, especially considering the fact that I’d almost been murdered in my own throne room today.

  Still, the symbol also reminded me of my duty. For better or worse, I was the queen of Bellona until I either died of old age or someone murdered me. Right now, I was betting on the second option, but that didn’t mean I had to make it easy for my would-be killers.

  If I couldn’t sleep, I might as well get up and fight.

  I sighed and then threw back the covers and got out of bed.

  Chapter Seven

  I put on black leggings and boots, along with a plain blue tunic, one without any of Calandre’s silver-thread embroidery. I also waded into the pile of clothes in the closest corner, fished out a midnight-blue cloak, and slipped into it as well, making sure to pull up the hood over my head to cover my hair and shadow my face. Then I grabbed my sword and my dagger from underneath my pillows and strapped them to my belt.

  By this point, it was almost midnight, which meant that everyone in the palace should be asleep, except for the guards. No one should knock on my doors until morning, much less enter my chambers, but I still shoved my pillows underneath the covers to make it look as though I was sleeping, just in case Paloma, Serilda, or someone else checked on me. I also left the fluorestone lamps on their current dim settings to further sell the illusion.

  Oh, I doubted the old pillow trick would fool anyone for more than a few seconds, but I didn’t want someone to stick their h
ead into my room and panic when they didn’t see me.

  And I especially didn’t want anyone to know that I could leave my chambers without going past the guards outside.

  I pulled the covers a little higher on my pillows, then crept over and put my ear close to the doors, listening. Every few seconds, a faint creak of leather would sound, along with the soft scuff-scuff of boots on the flagstones, indicating that the guards were still awake. Good. They would hopefully keep anyone from entering before I returned.

  Once I was sure that the guards hadn’t heard me moving around, I went over to the ebony bookcase that took up most of one wall. Given my hectic schedule, I hadn’t had time yet to clear all of Vasilia’s things out of my chambers, and painted portraits of my cousin still lined the shelves. Of course the servants had offered to remove the items, but I’d decided to do it myself, just in case Vasilia had left behind any notes or other sensitive information.

  I picked up a gold frame and stared at Vasilia’s blond hair, beautiful features, and gray-blue eyes. Blair eyes, just like mine. Tearstone eyes, some people called them, because of all the tearstone my ancestors had dug out of Seven Spire and the surrounding mountains.

  In the portrait, Vasilia was wearing a gold crown studded with pink diamonds shaped like laurel flowers. I traced my fingers over the crown, then down her face. Vasilia was smiling, and satisfaction filled her eyes, but the longer I studied her image, the more it seemed as though her lips twisted into a sneer and her eyes narrowed, as though she were mocking me about what a terrible queen I was—and just how short-lived my reign would be.

  She was probably right about that.

  I sighed and set the photo back on the shelf. Despite my hatred of her, I had to admit that Vasilia would have been a much better queen than me, especially when it came to palace politics. She would have masterfully played the nobles against one another during the court session until she had gotten exactly what she wanted from them, instead of floundering around and losing her temper like I had.