Protect the Prince (A Crown of Shards Novel)

by Jennifer Estep

  He strode over to the hedge maze entrance, which was directly across from my balcony, then stopped and started pacing back and forth. He was still wearing his long gray coat, and the tails snapped around his legs as if the fabric were mirroring the obvious frustration on his face.

  I started to call out and jokingly ask him to rescue me from my high, jewel-encrusted prison, but a woman stepped out from underneath my balcony and walked over to him.

  Helene Blume.

  The afternoon sun brought out the flawless perfection of her topaz skin, along with the warm strands of red in her glorious auburn hair. She looked even more beautiful now than she had in the throne room.

  Helene watched Sullivan pace for a few seconds, then stepped in front of him. “I know you’re still upset with me.” Even her voice was beautiful: soft, light, and feminine, with a hint of the Andvarian accent. “And I know I said this earlier in the throne room, but I want to apologize again. For everything.”

  Sullivan let out a harsh, bitter laugh, moved around her, and resumed his pacing. But Helene was not to be denied, and once again she stepped in front of him, stopping him.

  “I truly am sorry, Lucas,” she murmured. “For everything. I never meant to hurt you. That was the last thing I wanted to do.”

  He stared down at her. “So you’ve said. But you broke off our engagement anyway.”

  His words knifed me in the chest like a dagger, and all the air left my lungs in a sickening rush. Engaged? The two of them had been engaged? When? For how long? And why hadn’t they gotten married?

  Then another realization hit me—this had to be what Serilda and Cho had been hiding when I’d asked them about Helene earlier. Why hadn’t they mentioned that she’d been engaged to Sullivan? Instead, Serilda had wanted me to focus on the fight with Rhea, while Cho had suggested that I ask Sullivan about the other woman. Maybe my friends had thought that the information would have been less surprising coming from him. Well, I was getting it from him now, and it was still plenty shocking.

  Helene sighed, and a weary expression filled her face, as though this was an argument they’d had many, many times before. “You know that was my father’s doing. Not mine. I wanted to marry you.”

  Sullivan let out another harsh, bitter laugh. “Your father never liked me. But even more than that, he wanted you to marry a real prince, a legitimate prince, instead of a bastard pretender like me.”

  He started to turn away, but Helene grabbed his arm, holding him in place.

  “I never cared about any of that,” she said. “I cared about you. I loved you, Lucas. No one else.”

  He stared down at her, his face hard, but the charred scent of his ashy heartbreak swirled through the air, overpowering the trees and flowers. Sullivan had loved her too, and quite deeply, given the strong, sharp aroma.

  Helene glanced around, as if making sure they were alone. The servants and guards had vanished back inside the palace, and it was just the two of them—along with me.

  They hadn’t noticed me lurking on the balcony above, and I certainly wasn’t going to call out to them. Maybe it was petty, but I wanted to know more about their relationship—and especially how Sullivan felt about Helene now.

  When she was satisfied that they were alone, Helene tilted her head to the side, making her hair fall prettily over her shoulder. Her red lips curved into a smile. “Do you remember how much fun we used to have sneaking out of the royal balls?”

  Her light, teasing tone cut through some of the tension, and Sullivan’s face softened.

  “I would do my duty. I would smile and laugh and dance and flirt with all the suitors my father wanted me to charm,” Helene said. “And then, as soon as I could, I would slip away and sneak out here.”

  “And I would follow you,” Sullivan replied in a low, strained voice.

  “Yes, you would.” She stepped closer to him, reached out, and toyed with one of the silver buttons on his gray coat. “And then you would find me and kiss me.”

  He didn’t respond, but his gaze dropped to her perfect, heart-shaped lips.

  “And I would kiss you back,” Helene murmured, moving even closer to him. “And then we would go deeper into the gardens and spend the rest of the night together.”

  Sullivan still didn’t respond, but a muscle ticked in his jaw, and his eyes narrowed, as if he was silently remembering all those same things.

  Helene gave him another soft, teasing smile. “And then there were those times when I didn’t want to find a dark, secluded spot in the gardens. All the times when I couldn’t wait to be with you.” She slid her hand past his coat and trailed her fingers up and down his chest. “If memory serves, one of those times was right here, in this very spot. When we got engaged. That was one of my favorite nights with you.”

  Her silky, throaty words stabbed me in the gut like a sword. Lucas Sullivan was a handsome man, a powerful magier, and a bastard prince. Of course he’d had lovers. But it still hurt to listen to one of those lovers talk about the passion they’d shared. And not just any lover, but someone who’d had his heart as well.

  Someone who might have it still, judging from the anguished look on Sullivan’s face.

  Helene cupped his jaw with her hand. “Do you remember that night, Lucas? Because I certainly do.”

  “Of course I remember.” His voice was as hoarse as hers. “I remember everything about that night. The color of your dress, how you did your hair, how you felt against me, how happy I was when you agreed to marry me.”

  His words slammed into my chest like a gladiator’s shield, each soft syllable pummeling my heart into smaller and smaller pieces. He swayed forward, as though he was going to lean down and kiss her, and I had to resist the childish urge to squeeze my eyes shut to keep from seeing that. Or worse, him leading her into the hedge maze as he’d apparently done so many times before.

  But at the last second, right before his lips would have met hers, Sullivan shook his head, forcing Helene to drop her hand from his jaw. He stepped away from her.

  “Oh, yes. I remember everything about that night.” His face hardened. “I also remember the next morning, when you returned my ring and broke off our engagement.”

  Helene’s lips pressed together into a tight line. “I’ve told you a dozen times. My father forced me to do that. He threatened to disinherit me, along with my younger sisters, if I didn’t do what he wanted, if I didn’t marry who he wanted. I didn’t care about the money, but I couldn’t let my family suffer because of me.”

  “Yes, I know how powerful your father was, and how petty and vindictive. Although I have to admit that I was surprised when I heard about your engagement to Frederich.” More hurt rippled through Sullivan’s voice, and the scent of his ashy heartbreak filled the air again. “Although knowing your father’s ambition, I shouldn’t have been surprised at all.”

  For the first time, a bit of anger flickered in Helene’s eyes. “You’re blaming me for that? You’re the one who ran off and joined a gladiator troupe. I had no idea when—or if—you were coming back. So, yes, Frederich took pity on me, and we started spending time together. Of course my father saw that as an opportunity to convince Heinrich that I should marry Frederich.”

  “Until my father decided to break your engagement and marry Frederich to Vasilia to secure a treaty with the Bellonans,” Sullivan said. “That must have been a bitter pill for you and especially your father to swallow.”

  She shook her head. “My father was furious, of course, but I was relieved. Frederich was a dear friend, but I never wanted to marry him. There’s only one prince at Glitnir that I have ever truly wanted.”

  Helene stared at him, making it clear he was that chosen prince. She stretched out her hand toward him again, but Sullivan shook his head and stepped even farther away from her.

  “I have work to do.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “For the Bellonan queen? I saw you speaking with her outside the throne room. She seems quite fond of you.”
>
  His eyes narrowed. “Are you jealous?”

  She shrugged. “Of course. She is a queen, after all.”

  I grimaced. If she only knew that I’d been locked in my room and was witnessing her trying to seduce the one man I couldn’t have. I doubted she would be so jealous then.

  “I don’t care what kind of relationship you have with Queen Everleigh,” Helene declared. “I don’t care if you are just her advisor, or if you’re cooing sweet nothings in her ear, or if you’re fucking her every single night. None of that matters to me. It’s just the business of being a noble.”

  “Maybe I don’t like that kind of business,” he growled.

  She let out an amused laugh. “Like it or not, it’s the business you were born into, and it’s the one you’ll be in until the day you die. Just like me. So we might as well make the best of it—together.”

  Helene stepped forward. Sullivan started to move away from her again, but she reached out and grabbed his gray coat, holding him in place.

  She stared up at him, her face serious. “The only thing I care about is what kind of relationship you and I can have moving forward. I’ve never stopped loving you, Lucas. And now that my father is dead, I am the head of my family, and I can marry whomever I like. So think about that, and especially that night you remember fucking me so well while you’re serving—and servicing—your new queen.”

  She stood on her tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, leaving a red, heart-shaped stain behind on his skin. Sullivan stood rock-still, although his hands were clenched into fists, as though he was trying to keep himself from yanking her into his arms.

  More hurt flooded my heart, but I couldn’t blame Sullivan for his reaction. He’d made no promises to me. Quite the opposite. And he had loved Helene, perhaps even loved her still.

  Helene stepped back. She waited a moment, clearly hoping that Sullivan would reach for her. But when it became apparent that he wasn’t going to, she headed back inside the palace.

  Sullivan watched her go with a desperate, hungry look on his face that wounded me far more than Helene’s words and innuendos had.

  After several seconds, he let out a long, tense breath, scrubbed his hand through his hair, and strode away in the opposite direction. He stepped back inside the palace and disappeared from sight, but I remained frozen in place on the balcony, wishing that I had stayed inside my chambers. Wishing that I had never heard what had happened between Sullivan and Helene, especially how much he had loved her.

  But I wasn’t the only one who’d been watching them.

  A glimmer of glass caught my eye, and I looked to my left. Another balcony curved out from the third floor about a hundred feet away from mine. A woman was standing there, sipping a drink.

  Dahlia, Sullivan’s mother.

  Well, now I knew who the mysterious D was. Dahlia must have ordered the refreshments to be set up on my balcony. As the king’s mistress, she could easily do that. I appreciated her small kindness, although I was mortified that she had caught me spying on her son and Helene.

  But Dahlia seemed amused by the awkward situation, and she smiled and gave me a friendly wave before disappearing back inside her chambers. I wondered at her benign reaction, but I had no way to interpret what it meant. I would have to ask Serilda, Cho, and Xenia what they knew about Sullivan’s mother.

  Either way, my appetite had vanished, and I set my lemonade glass on the table with the remaining treats. I started to head back inside my chambers when a shadow fell over me. A second later, a loud thump sounded on the balcony behind me, along with the sharp, distinctive scrape-scrape-scrape of claws against stone.

  My breath caught in my throat, but I dropped my hand to my sword and forced myself to turn around slowly and not to make any sudden movements.

  A gargoyle stood on the balcony.

  Paloma had been wrong. I wasn’t safe in my chambers.

  I’d already had my heart broken, and now I was in danger of being eaten alive.

  Chapter Twelve

  The gargoyle was about the size of a large dog, although much thicker and more compact, and far more dangerous.

  It was made of solid gray stone and had a rough, weathered texture, although its skin seemed strangely flexible. Two horns sprouted up from its forehead, while jagged teeth curved up and out of its mouth. The sharp, daggerlike points on its horns and teeth matched the ones on the black talons that protruded from its paws, and its long tail ended in a single, deadly arrow-shaped stone.

  The gargoyle cocked its head to the side, studying me with bright, blazing sapphire eyes, and I realized it was the same creature that had been watching me from the city rooftops earlier. Was this Maeven’s doing? Had she somehow enchanted the gargoyle and ordered it to kill me?

  My hand tightened around my sword, and I reached for my immunity. I didn’t know how much magic gargoyles had, but I wasn’t going to be eaten alive without a fight.

  The creature’s eyes narrowed, and it let out a low, angry growl, as if it knew exactly what I was thinking—

  A girl’s face popped out from behind the gargoyle’s right wing, and I had to hold back a surprised shriek.

  “That’s enough growling, Grimley. I think you’re scaring her.”

  The girl moved around the gargoyle’s wing and stepped out where I could see her. Dark brown hair, blue eyes, pretty features.

  “Gemma?” I asked. “What are you doing here?”

  She stared at me, blinking and blinking as though she couldn’t believe that I was really here. Then she let out a long, ragged sigh, rushed over, and wrapped her arms around me.

  Her tight, enthusiastic hug surprised me and knocked me back against the railing. Grimley narrowed his eyes and let out another low, warning growl, telling me what he wanted me to do. I quickly put my arms around Gemma and hugged her back.

  “I’m so glad you’re okay!” She hugged me again. “I was so worried about you!”

  Tears filled my eyes, and this time, my hug was entirely unprompted and completely genuine. “I was worried about you too.”

  I’d thought she was dead, and Alvis and Xenia along with her, but there was no need to tell her that.

  Gemma and I stood there for the better part of a minute, hugging each other. A shudder rippled through Gemma’s body, as if she was remembering everything that had happened that awful day at Seven Spire. Yeah, me too.

  She held on to me a moment longer, then dropped her arms and stepped back. “I wanted to meet you at the rail station, but my father and grandfather wouldn’t allow it.” She rolled her eyes. “Stupid protocol.”

  I grinned. Gemma seemed to have as little use for protocol as I did. “I understand.”

  “I did make you a pie, though. Cranberry-apple, just like the ones you made at Seven Spire. I was going to bring it to you”—she winced—“but Grimley ate it.”

  The gargoyle opened his mouth and let out a short, sharp growl that sounded suspiciously like a burp, as if confirming her words. I wondered if he’d eaten just the pie or if he’d gobbled down the tin with it. I eyed his razor-sharp teeth. Probably both.

  “That’s okay.” I looked at the gargoyle, then over the balcony at the steep drop below. “So you . . . flew up here on the gargoyle?”

  “Of course, silly. How else would I get up here?” Gemma rolled her eyes again, then went over and started rubbing Grimley’s head right behind one of his triangular ears.

  The gargoyle grumbled with pleasure, then flopped down, rolled over onto his back, and stuck his short, stubby legs up into the air so that Gemma could lean down and scratch his tummy like he was an oversize puppy. Made of stone. With razor-sharp horns. And talons. And teeth that could either rip into or completely crush just about anything to bits.

  “Is Grimley your . . . pet?” I asked.

  The gargoyle fixed his bright blue eyes on me again and let out another low, angry growl.

  “Hush, Grimley,” Gemma said, still rubbing his tummy like he wasn’t sec
onds away from jumping to his feet and eating me. “She didn’t mean that. Grimley doesn’t like the word pet. He’s my friend. All the palace gargoyles are my friends, but Grimley is my favorite, and I’m his favorite human. That’s why he came with me from the Spire Mountains when we fled from Bellona after the massacre.”

  The gargoyle had followed her from the mountains all the way back to Glitnir? Gemma truly must have been his favorite human for him to travel such a great distance.

  Xenia hadn’t told me about the gargoyle. Then again, she hadn’t said much of anything about her journey with Gemma and Alvis. But I was getting the impression that the three of them had had more adventures—and had been in much more danger—than I’d realized.

  Grimley let out a happy little grumble, and Gemma grinned and scratched his tummy again. I’d heard of people having special connections to gargoyles, along with strixes and caladriuses, and I had seen some of those connections with the trainers who worked with the creatures at the Black Swan troupe. But even with the trainers, there was always the slight worry that the gargoyles and strixes would turn on them someday, since the creatures would always be wild animals at heart, no matter how much time they spent around humans.

  However, I didn’t get any sense of that from Gemma and Grimley. She was totally unafraid of the gargoyle, and he seemed completely devoted to her. Perhaps she had some magic that let her have a deeper bond with the creature, or perhaps it was part of her royal blood. Legends said that the Ripleys were the first ones to ever befriend gargoyles.

  Either way, I didn’t want to get on Grimley’s bad side, so I walked over, crouched down, and slowly held out my hand. The gargoyle stuck out his nose and sniffed my fingers.

  “Magic . . . killer,” he rumbled in a low voice that reminded me of gravel crunching underfoot.

  I blinked in surprise. “He can talk?”

  Gemma laughed. “Of course he can talk. All gargoyles can talk. Strixes too. Just not everyone can hear them.”

  “But you can.”