Protect the Prince (A Crown of Shards Novel)

by Jennifer Estep

  The creatures were one of the main reasons why Morta hadn’t been able to conquer the other, smaller kingdom yet. The gargoyles were the fierce, natural enemies of the strixes, the enormous hawklike birds with purple feathers that Mortan soldiers often rode into battle. Still, the gargoyles and the magic they possessed were probably another reason why the Mortan king lusted after Andvari, along with the kingdom’s mines.

  The carriage stopped to let other traffic cross the street, and a shadow fell over the vehicle, blocking the sunlight. I looked up again and realized that a gargoyle was sitting on a nearby rooftop, staring down at me.

  The creature was roughly the size of a large dog, with two sharp horns that jutted up like curved swords from its dark gray forehead and a long tail tipped with what looked like a stone arrow. The gargoyle’s eyes burned a bright sapphire-blue, and its gaze slowly sharpened as it studied me, as if it was thinking about how I might taste for dinner. Gargoyles mostly ate gravel and other small stones, along with mice, rats, birds, and the like, but this one looked like he wanted to branch out and snack on my blood and bones. I shivered and leaned back against the cushions.

  Thirty minutes later, the carriage slowed, and I peered out the window again. We had arrived at Glitnir, the glittering, gleaming heart of Andvari.

  The palace was made of a pale marble that was somewhere between white and gray, and it glowed like an enormous opal in the noon sun. Balconies, terraces, and crenellations adorned the palace’s wings and towers, along with large, diamond-shaped windows. Ribbons of hammered gold, silver, and bronze flowed across the stone and curled up many of the steps, walls, and archways, while precious gems added little pops of color here and there, as though they were flowers blooming in the marble and opening up their jeweled petals to the blue sky.

  The centerpiece of the palace was a tall, wide wing topped with an enormous dome that rose above all the other levels. Several spiked towers jutted up out of the dome, making it look like a crown of swords.

  Gargoyles were flying from one tower to the next and back again, although not nearly as many as I’d expected. Perhaps the creatures preferred to explore the city or the rolling, wooded hills of the surrounding countryside during the day before coming back to the palace to roost at night.

  My carriage rattled to a stop in the main courtyard. I climbed out, with Paloma trailing along behind me, her hand on her mace again. Serilda, Cho, Sullivan, and Xenia got out of their carriage, while the rest of the Bellonan servants and guards climbed down from their vehicles. We all milled around the courtyard, studying everything around us.

  Especially the Andvarian royal guards.

  Guards lined the courtyard walls three deep in places, all armed with swords and angry glares that were aimed at me. Maeven didn’t have to send another Bastard Brigade assassin after me. Not here. Any one of these guards would probably be more than happy to shove a blade in my back to avenge their murdered prince and ambassador. I would have to be even more careful here than at Seven Spire.

  But I wasn’t the only one the guards were glaring at. They were also eyeing Sullivan with . . . well, I wasn’t quite sure what to call it. Some of the guards smiled and nodded, seeming happy to see him, while others gave him stares that were almost as dark and murderous as the ones they were directing at me.

  Sullivan politely returned the nods, although his face remained a blank mask. I could smell the emotions blasting off him, though. Lots of hot, peppery anger and vinegary tension, mixed with a surprising amount of minty regret and ashy heartbreak. The first two made sense, but I wondered at the others. Why would Sullivan regret coming home? And what—or who—here had broken his heart?

  Captain Rhea walked over to me. “King Heinrich is waiting in the throne room.”

  Instead of giving me a chance to respond, Rhea whirled around and strode away. Oh, yes. She definitely hated me. Still, all I could do was follow her.

  My friends fell in step with me. Paloma, Serilda, and Cho surrounded me on three sides, their hands on their weapons. Sullivan was on the far side of Cho, once again not quite with us, but not with the Andvarians either. Xenia was a few feet behind us, stabbing her cane into the ground over and over again. The sharp, steady beat was oddly comforting.

  I glanced over my shoulder. Calandre and her sisters were walking behind Xenia, along with the rest of the Bellonan entourage. The Andvarians brought up the rear, their hands also on their weapons, steadily shepherding us into the palace.

  No escape now.

  We left the courtyard, stepped through a wide archway, and entered the palace. The inside of Glitnir was even more ornate than the outside, and gold, silver, and bronze gleamed everywhere, from the threads in the fine rugs underfoot to the framed paintings that covered the walls to the crown molding that lined the ceilings. Gold, silver, and bronze leaf also ringed the windows, while chandeliers made of precious gemstones dripped down like rainbow icicles clinging to the ceilings.

  I had known that Andvari was a wealthy kingdom, much wealthier than Bellona, and even Morta, but something sparkled and flashed in every hallway and around every corner. The sheer, dazzling, luxe opulence was overwhelming, and I felt like a drab little girl walking through some rich queen’s life-size jewelry box and gaping at all the beautiful facets.

  Finally, we reached the end of a long hallway and stopped in front of a set of enormous double doors that stretched from the floor all the way up to the ceiling. The Ripley royal crest—a snarling gargoyle face—was carved into the stone and stretched across both doors. This crest was studded with sapphires and diamonds bigger than my fists, indicating that we had arrived at the throne room.

  Captain Rhea looked at me. “Your friends, servants, and guards will enter through another entrance and will be seated on the second-floor balcony with the lesser nobles. You will walk straight down the length of the room to where King Heinrich is waiting on the dais at the far end. Do you understand?”

  I bristled at her cold commands, but I swallowed my annoyance. Now was not the time to remind everyone that I was a queen—not when I was surrounded by so many hostile guards. Besides, the captain’s order was the same thing I had done at Seven Spire during the court session and a common practice during visits by foreign royals, so there was little reason to object to it.

  But I heard the underlying threat in Rhea’s voice. Any deviation from her orders could result in some very unpleasant consequences for me.

  Rhea gave me another hard warning stare. “Good. Let’s proceed.”

  She gestured at my friends. Serilda, Cho, Paloma, and Xenia all gave me encouraging nods, then followed Rhea through another door in the wall a short distance away. That left me standing alone in the corridor with Sullivan, with the Andvarian guards flanking us.

  Under the guards’ sharp, watchful, suspicious stares, Sullivan finally closed the distance between us.

  “My father respects strength above all else,” he murmured in a low voice. “And Dominic will follow my father’s lead. So just be yourself, highness, and everything should be fine.”

  He gave me a small, crooked grin that made my heart squeeze tight with longing and other things I couldn’t afford to think about right now.

  “Thank you for the advice,” I whispered.

  His grin dropped away, and he shook his head. “Don’t thank me until it’s over.”

  I ached to thread my fingers through his, to feel the warm, reassuring strength of his hand pressing into mine. The urge was so strong that I had to curl my own hand into a fist to keep from reaching for him. Instead, I limited myself to a single, polite nod. Sullivan stared at me a moment longer, his blue gaze burning into mine, then turned and disappeared through the same door the others had gone through.

  Now I was truly alone, except of course for my escort of royal guards. I glanced from one Andvarian face to the next, but they all glared back at me, the same as before. Tough crowd.

  I stood in the hallway, staring at the closed doors, for the better
part of ten minutes. The guards shifted on their feet and whispered among themselves, but I stood perfectly still and quiet. Maybe I should have been angry, but the delay didn’t bother me. I had spent the last fifteen years at Seven Spire waiting for some boring tea, recital, or other event to begin. Besides, the lag gave me a few extra minutes to convince myself that I could somehow win the king’s favor and earn his trust, along with a new treaty—or at least try to convince myself that I could do it.

  I might not think that I deserved to be queen, or that I had the skills, strength, or magic to truly be a Winter queen, but it was my duty to do what was best for Bellona. Performing well in Heinrich’s court would be an important step forward, not just for my kingdom but for me personally. It would be a sign that perhaps my pretender status could slowly morph into one of true confidence and power. That was my hope, anyway.

  The opening strains of the Blair royal march sounded, although the thick doors muffled the loud, cheery music. The march played and played, but the doors still didn’t open. While I waited, I touched my sword on my belt, then my dagger beside it, and finally the silver bracelet on my wrist. Perhaps it was silly, but feeling the tearstone shards and their distinctive crown crests under my fingertips soothed me.

  Over the past several months, I had done so many things that had once seemed utterly impossible. I had survived a massacre, won a black-ring gladiator match, and triumphed in a royal challenge to the death. What was one angry, grieving king and a court full of hostile nobles compared to all that?

  The Blair royal march ended. In the distance, a faint creak sounded, slowly growing louder and louder, as the double doors were drawn back, revealing the throne room beyond.

  I fixed my face into a benign, pleasant mask, then strode forward for my most important performance as queen so far.

  Showtime.

  * * *

  I stepped through the open doors, my gaze flicking left and right, taking in everything around me.

  In many ways, the Glitnir throne room was like the one at Seven Spire. An enormous, cavernous space with columns here and there, a second-floor balcony that wrapped around three sides of the area, and a throne perched on a raised dais.

  But that’s where the similarities ended.

  A wide black carpet led from the doors all the way to the dais at the opposite end of the room. The Ripley gargoyle crest done in glittering silver thread marched down the center of the carpet, repeating itself over and over again, while black banners bearing the same silver-thread crest hung from many of the columns.

  But those weren’t the only gargoyles in the throne room.

  The creatures’ faces were carved, embossed, or emblazoned on practically everything, from the floor to the walls to the columns. Most of the gargoyles were made of silver, with flashing jewels for eyes, and the bright, winking facets made it seem as though the creatures were glaring at me, the treacherous Bellonan in their midst.

  I glanced up, half expecting to see real gargoyles circling overhead, ready to swoop down and tear me to pieces, but the ceiling only featured chandeliers made of jet, along with alternating patterns of white and gray diamonds. It took me a few seconds to peer past the dazzling gems and realize that the chandeliers were also shaped like enormous gargoyle faces, all of which seemed to be glaring down at me. I grimaced and dropped my gaze.

  I had always thought that the Seven Spire throne room was grand, but I was once again reminded just how much wealthier Andvari was than my own kingdom. And the wealth wasn’t limited to the furnishings. It was also on full display on the people.

  Nobles lined both sides of the carpet, all of them dressed in fine silks and velvets and practically dripping with gold and gems. The stench of beauty glamours and other soft, subtle magics clung to their jewelry, and I had to twitch my nose to hold back a sneeze. Still more finely dressed nobles were seated on the second-floor balcony.

  Guards clutching silver spears were spaced along both sides of the carpet. I wondered who the guards were supposed to protect—me or the nobles. Hard to say, since the nobles were giving me the same murderous stares as the guards.

  I kept my shoulders up and my head held high as I walked along, trying to seem regal, confident, and queenly. My gaze focused on the people on the raised dais at the opposite end of the room. I’d seen paintings of the royal family, so I knew who they were.

  King Heinrich Aldric Magnus Ripley was sitting front and center on a large throne made of polished jet. White and gray diamonds were embedded in the top of the chair, fitting together to form the gargoyle crest.

  Heinrich looked to be in his fifties and had the same dark brown hair, strong jaw, and piercing blue eyes as Sullivan. The king was wearing a black tunic, along with leggings and boots, and a short, formal gray jacket covered with medals and ribbons stretched across his shoulders. He was a handsome man, although his face seemed pale, and wide streaks of gray glinted in his hair. A silver crown set with pieces of jet, along with white and gray diamonds, rested on his head. It was easily three times the size of my own crown.

  I drew in a breath, tasting the air. Despite the distance between us, I could still easily pick out the king’s scent—cold vanilla mixed with a hint of caustic magic. Not surprising, since Heinrich was a magier, just like Sullivan.

  My gaze shifted to the man standing beside Heinrich. He was in his mid-thirties, a few years older than Sullivan, and he too had his father’s dark brown hair, strong jaw, and blue eyes. Crown Prince Dominic was also wearing a gray jacket, along with a sword and a dagger, and he too smelled of vanilla and magic. Another magier, just like Heinrich and Sullivan.

  To my surprise, a woman was standing to the right of the king, although she was much farther back on the dais. She had to be in her fifties, the same as Heinrich, although her beautiful bone structure and lovely tan skin made her look much younger. Her black hair was piled into a high bun, and her dark green eyes were the same color as her gown. A gold, heart-shaped locket dangled from a chain around her neck. I had never seen a portrait of her, but I still knew who she was: Dahlia Sullivan, the king’s mistress.

  A fourth and final person was standing on the dais next to Dominic. The girl was about thirteen, with blue eyes and dark brown hair that was pulled back into a pretty braid. Crown Princess Gemma, Dominic’s daughter and the girl I had helped save during the Seven Spire massacre. She had grown up so much since the last time I’d seen her on that horrible day, and she looked far more mature than I remembered. Taller, stronger, and more confident too.

  Unlike everyone else, Gemma was smiling, and she kept bouncing up and down on her toes, as though she could barely contain her excitement. The quick movements made her dark blue skirt swish back and forth.

  The smile on my face grew far easier to hold and much more genuine the longer I stared at Gemma. I winked at her, and she beamed back at me.

  One of the noblewomen sidled forward, stepping up to the carpet a few feet away from the bottom of the dais. She looked to be about my age and was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. Her auburn hair hung in loose waves that cascaded past her shoulders, while smoky shadow accentuated her bright jade-green eyes. Her flawless skin was a lovely topaz, and her lips formed a perfect red heart in her face.

  She wore a stunning gown made of green silk trimmed with gold thread shaped like vines and flowers, and square emeralds gleamed in the gold choker that ringed her neck. Even among all the other finery, her clothes and jewels were outstanding, and I could tell that she was among the wealthiest nobles. Her choker alone would have easily bought a small island in the Blue Glass Sea. She kept glancing around, as if she was searching for someone.

  I walked past the woman. I was almost to the bottom of the dais when a man stepped out of the crowd and stopped at the edge of the carpet, even beyond where the guards were stationed. Several people frowned, wondering what he was doing, but he only had eyes for me, and I for him.

  He was an older man, in his late sixties, with ebony s
kin, hazel eyes, and wavy black hair peppered with a generous amount of gray. He was wearing a dark gray tunic, and a black cloak was draped over his shoulders. His features were as familiar to me as my own, and even more precious, since I’d thought him lost to me forever.

  “Alvis,” I whispered.

  I had expected the former Seven Spire jeweler to be here, but that knowledge didn’t lessen the impact of finally seeing him again. My heart lurched, my breath caught in my throat, and my feet stopped. I stood there, frozen in the middle of the carpet, staring at him.

  Alvis stared back at me with his usual stern, inscrutable expression. Then his eyes crinkled, his face softened, and he opened his arms.

  Somehow, I managed to choke down the sob rising in my throat. Suddenly, I wasn’t thinking about proper protocols or the guards with their spears. My feet moved of their own accord, and I ran toward him.

  Gasps rang out, and several guards stepped forward and lowered their spears, but I kept going. Let them attack me. Let them stab me. Nothing mattered but getting to Alvis.

  I threw myself forward, wrapping him up in a tight, bone-crushing hug. I drew in a breath, and his scent—that sharp, metallic tang of magic that was uniquely his—filled my lungs. That’s when I knew that it was truly him and that I wasn’t just imagining this as I had so many times before.

  Alvis hugged me back just as tightly. More shocked gasps and sharp whispers rang out, as the nobles gossiped about our impromptu reunion, but I didn’t care. I’d lost Isobel, and I’d thought that Alvis was gone too, so I was going to cherish this moment for as long as possible, no matter the consequences. Let the nobles think me weak, let the king deem me an overwrought fool. I didn’t care about any of that—not one damn bit.

  “All right, all right. That’s enough,” Alvis grumbled in a low voice that only I could hear. “Winter queens aren’t supposed to be so openly emotional. Especially not in a place as dangerous as this.”