Protect the Prince (A Crown of Shards Novel)

by Jennifer Estep

  I was surprised I hadn’t woken up in the dungeon—or that I’d woken up at all. “Well, I suppose that’s better than Heinrich asking Rhea to bring him my head on a platter.”

  Sullivan grimaced again. He didn’t appreciate my black humor. Not right now.

  His hand tightened around the bedpost, and he shifted back and forth on his feet, as though he was suddenly uncomfortable. He let out a tense breath and lifted his gaze to mine.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “For how I acted before in the library. Maybe if I had stayed, none of this would have happened.”

  “It’s not your fault. Maeven wants me dead, and she’ll do anything to make that happen, no matter who she has to work with or who she has to hurt.”

  I hadn’t meant to, but I had just echoed what Felton had said about the Mortans. Maeven and her Bastard Brigade had already proven they could get to anyone at any time and anywhere, but I started to wonder exactly how so many of them had infiltrated Glitnir.

  The obvious and most troubling answer was that they were working with someone inside the palace.

  The more I turned over the idea in my mind, the more certain I became, especially given the hot, jalapeño rage that I’d sensed in the throne room earlier. Someone at Glitnir wanted me dead, and they were willing to align themselves with the Mortans to make it happen.

  Why me, though? Sure, someone could want revenge for the Andvarians being slaughtered at Seven Spire, but Maeven’s involvement made me think this was about something much bigger than mere revenge. But how could my death possibly benefit one of the Andvarians?

  “Well, I still feel guilty,” Sullivan said, interrupting my dark thoughts. “Seeing you in the library with Dominic, with the fire crackling and the moonlight streaming all over your face . . . It reminded me of . . . a similar situation.”

  “With Helene?” I asked in a soft voice.

  He jerked back as though I had slapped him. “What do you know about Helene?”

  I gestured at the glass doors. “I was out on the balcony earlier. I heard the two of you talking down below in the gardens.” I paused, choosing my next words carefully. “You and Helene seem to have quite an interesting history.”

  Sullivan barked out a bitter laugh. “That’s one way of putting it. But if you heard us talking, then you know that I was engaged to Helene.”

  My heart squeezed tight, but I nodded. “Yes. It sounded like it ended . . . badly.”

  “That’s one way of putting it,” he said, echoing his own harsh words.

  Sullivan shoved his hands into the pockets of his long gray coat and started pacing. He made a few passes back and forth before he spoke again.

  “The Blumes are one of the wealthiest and most powerful families in Andvari, so Helene grew up at court with me and my brothers. We were all a little bit in love with her at one time or another. Dominic and Frederich eventually grew out of it and moved on to other women, but I never did. I always loved her, and she loved me back.” His steps slowed. “At least I thought she did.”

  “Until she called off your engagement.”

  He nodded and resumed his pacing. “The older my brothers and I got, the more obvious it became that I was the bastard son, the bastard prince, and that’s all I would ever be. That my brothers would always be held in higher regard, that I would never have any real power or influence at court, and that the other nobles would never treat me as an equal. Marcus, Helene’s father, never liked me, and he wanted more for himself and his daughter, more power, money, and influence than I would ever have.”

  “So he forced her to break off your engagement,” I said.

  “Yes. I loved Helene, and I was devastated when she said that she couldn’t marry me. I told her that I didn’t care about her father, or his money, or having power at court, or anything else—that I only cared about her.”

  Once again, his steps slowed, and anguish filled his face. It took him a moment to resume his pacing and his story.

  “So I asked Helene to run away with me. I told her that as long as we loved each other, everything else would work itself out. But of course Helene’s father got wind of it, and he threatened to disinherit her, along with her younger sisters. She told me that she couldn’t leave them with nothing. I understood that, truly I did, and I probably would have done the same for my mother, if our positions had been reversed.”

  “But?”

  He let out a tense breath. “But part of me has always thought that Helene didn’t want to end up with nothing either. That her father’s money meant just a little bit more to her than I did.”

  The raw, naked hurt in his voice made my own heart ache, but I didn’t respond. Nothing I could say would take away his pain.

  “After Helene refused to run away with me, I packed my things and left the palace,” Sullivan said. “I didn’t have a real plan or destination in mind, except to get as far away from Helene and Glitnir as possible. A few weeks later, I wound up in a town where the Black Swan troupe was performing. Cho spotted me in the crowd. He knew who I was and asked me to have a drink with him and Serilda after the show. Somehow, I ended up telling them my whole sad story. Serilda asked me to join the troupe that night, and I’ve been with the Black Swan ever since.”

  Of course Cho had recognized Sullivan and realized that his magic, fighting skills, and connections would make him a fine addition to the troupe. But I was willing to bet that Serilda’s magic had also told her much more about him, that she’d gotten some hint or glimpse of how Sullivan might influence future events. After all, Serilda had known that Vasilia would one day kill Cordelia, even when Vasilia was just a girl. I wondered what Serilda had seen about Sullivan that had made her bring him into her troupe.

  “Eventually, I heard that Helene was engaged to Frederich. The news didn’t really surprise me, but it still hurt, much more than I expected. It was just another instance where I had been passed over for one of my brothers, for one of the legitimate princes.”

  Sullivan shook his head, as though he was trying to push away his bad memories. “I’ve been back to Glitnir several times over the years to visit my mother, but only when I knew that Helene wasn’t at court. But now here I am with Helene again, while Frederich is dead.”

  He let out another harsh laugh. “You were wrong before at dinner, highness. Life isn’t a game. It’s a fucking joke, and only the gods are laughing.”

  I didn’t want to cause him any more pain, but I needed an answer about something, not just for my head but for my heart too. “Did you have any idea what your father was planning? That he was going to demand that I marry Dominic?”

  Sullivan jerked to a stop, and he grabbed the bedpost again, as if he once again needed something to hold on to. “No,” he said in a low, strained voice. “I didn’t know about his plan, but it doesn’t surprise me. In some ways, my father is just as ambitious and ruthless as the Mortan king. I’m sorry he blindsided you.”

  “That’s the way these courtly games are played. It wasn’t your fault. None of this is your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault, except for Maeven and her damned Bastard Brigade.”

  I paused, wondering if I should ask the other questions on my mind, but I didn’t want to play games with Sullivan, so I voiced my thoughts. “You and Dominic seem to be on good terms, though.”

  Sullivan pushed away from the bedpost, but instead of resuming his pacing, he went over to the balcony doors, leaned his arm up against one of them, and stared out through the glass into the dark night.

  “I love Dominic. He’s always been a good brother. He and Frederich always treated me like I was one of them, like we were all equal, even though we all knew we weren’t. Dominic was the most important, since he was the heir. Then Frederich, since he was the spare. And then there was me, somewhere far, far below.”

  Sympathy filled me, but I stayed quiet. I got the feeling that if I interrupted, he would stop talking, and I wanted to know more about his life at Glitnir. I wanted to know more about him.


  “And now it’s just Dominic and me. My mother says that my father has been taking Frederich’s death particularly hard. That it’s made Heinrich physically ill, and that he just can’t seem to get over his grief. If my father had lost Dominic tonight too . . .” Sullivan’s voice trailed off, and he shook his head. “It might have killed him outright.”

  He fell silent, still staring out into the night, lost in his own thoughts. It was several moments before he spoke again. “Sometimes, I wish that my mother had never stayed at court. That she had lived out in the city or the countryside. Anywhere but here.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t get me wrong. I loved growing up with my brothers.” Sullivan softly rapped his knuckles against the glass door. “But I always felt like I was on one side of a door, staring through the glass at Dominic and Frederich. I could see them, but I could never truly be with them; I could never truly be one of them, no matter how hard I tried.”

  His face remained blank, but the scent of his ashy heartbreak filled the room. I might not be able to protect him from his memories, but I could help him deal with the pain that came with them. So I threw back the covers, got out of bed, and walked over to him.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “For everything that’s happened to you. But I’m especially sorry for everything that’s happened to your family because of mine.”

  “It’s not your fault, highness. None of this is your fault. We’re just trapped in an impossible situation.”

  I reached out and squeezed his shoulder, offering him all the support and comfort I could with that one small gesture.

  Sullivan turned toward me, hot hunger flaring up and melting the icy pain in his blue eyes. The same hunger coiled through me, burning through my veins even brighter and faster than the magier’s lightning had scorched through my body.

  My fingers curled tight around his shoulder, and I longed to touch him—to really touch him.

  To run my fingers through his hair and rumple it even more than it already was. To trace the faint laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, skim my hand down his face, and stroke my fingertips through the stubble that darkened his jaw. To smooth my palms over the curve of his neck, along his broad, muscled shoulders, and then down his chest until I could feel his heart pounding under my fingertips.

  But most of all, I longed to kiss him and to have him kiss me back. To have his lips and tongue tangled up with mine. To run my hands over every muscled plane of his body and bring him as much exquisite pleasure as I could, even as his hands did the same to me. To feel the hot, hard length of him pressing me up against the glass doors, or sinking down onto the soft bed with me, or even drawing me down to the cold stone floor.

  But I didn’t want to just fuck Sullivan, like Helene had said in the gardens earlier—I wanted to feel his heart too. I wanted to see the heat, the passion, in his eyes, and the care, and the concern. I wanted us to feel and fly and fall together until neither one of us could tell where the other left off and we began.

  So I took a chance.

  “I’m right here, Sully,” I murmured in a low, husky voice. “I’m on this side of the glass—with you. I’ll always be right here with you.”

  He wet his lips, and he actually swayed toward me, as though he was going to lower his head and press his lips to mine. My breath caught in my throat, and my fingers clenched even tighter around his shoulder. We stood there, frozen in place, staring into each other’s eyes.

  “You say that now, but we both know that it’s not true,” Sullivan rasped. “That it can never be true. Because you’re a queen, and I’m a bastard, and nothing will ever change that. No matter how much we might want it to.”

  A shudder rippled through his body, and he stepped away from me. My hand slipped off his shoulder, and I had to clench my fingers into a tight fist to keep from reaching for him.

  Sullivan turned away, putting even more distance between us, so he didn’t see the embarrassed blush that scalded my cheeks. A small victory, but I’d take what I could get, especially given the hurt that stung my heart over and over again, like a morph’s talons ripping me to shreds.

  This was twice now that he had rejected me. What a glorious fool I was. Perhaps I was more like Maeven than I cared to admit. She kept trying to kill me, and I kept trying to get Sullivan to . . . well, I didn’t know what, exactly. Love me, perhaps? Or at least bend his principles and lust after me the same way that I did him. But Maeven kept failing in her mission, and I kept failing at this . . . whatever this truly was.

  Sullivan cleared his throat and faced me again. “I should have told you before, but all the Mortan assassins are dead, except for the weather magier.”

  Back to business, then. More hurt knifed through my heart, but I pushed it aside.

  “Where is she?” I asked.

  “In the dungeon. Rhea has been questioning her, but so far, the magier hasn’t said anything. Rhea is going to try again in the morning.”

  I frowned, surprised that the magier hadn’t killed herself, like Libby had at Seven Spire. Perhaps the magier hadn’t had the chance yet. I glanced over at an emerald-crusted clock on the nightstand. Just after midnight, which meant that morning was hours away. Determination surged through me, and I hurried over to the armoire, threw open the doors, and started grabbing clothes.

  “What are you doing?” Sullivan asked. “You should be resting.”

  “There’s no time to rest. I want to talk to the magier before she tries to hurt herself. Can you take me to the dungeon?”

  He nodded. “Of course, just let me summon Paloma and some of the guards.”

  I stabbed my finger at him. “No—no Paloma, no other guards. We go down there right now. Just you and me. I don’t want anyone else to know what we’re doing.”

  His eyes narrowed in understanding. “You think the magier is working with someone inside the palace?”

  I once again thought of that hot, jalapeño rage I’d sensed in the throne room, along with that gust of magic when I had tripped and Rhea had almost skewered me with her sword. I hadn’t told anyone what I’d sensed, and I didn’t tell Sullivan about it now. I wanted to keep my suspicions to myself. At least until I knew exactly who wanted me dead and why.

  I shrugged, not really answering his question. “I want to know exactly how the weather magier and those fake guards got inside the palace. So can you take me down there?”

  He nodded.

  “Good. Then let me get dressed.”

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, Sullivan cracked open one of the doors to my chambers. He glanced outside, then opened the door the rest of the way, revealing the empty hallway beyond. Serilda, Cho, Paloma, and the Bellonan guards must still be making sure that the servants were safe.

  Sullivan and I slipped out of the chambers, hurried along the hallway, and went down a flight of stairs. From there, we crept through the palace, keeping to the shadows and moving from one corridor to the next. Eventually, we ducked into a small alcove filled with gargoyle statues to let a couple of Andvarian guards pass by out in the hallway.

  “You’re awfully good at avoiding the guards,” I whispered.

  He grinned. “It was a game my brothers and I used to play. Our rooms were in the same hallway, and the three of us would sneak out in the middle of the night. Whoever got the farthest away without getting caught by the guards was the winner. I won more often than not.”

  The guards marched by, and we slipped out of our hiding spot and hurried on. We wound our way down several sets of stairs until we reached the dungeon.

  Two guards with spears were posted in front of an open archway. There was no way to sneak past them, so we didn’t even try. Sullivan strode forward, his boots snapping against the flagstones, as if he had every right to be here. I walked along behind him, my head ducked and the hood of my midnight-blue cloak pulled up over my hair. I hadn’t put on my crown, so hopefully the guards wouldn’t look too closely and realize who I was.

&nbs
p; But the guards definitely recognized Sullivan, and they bowed their heads.

  “My prince,” one of the men said. “How may we serve you?”

  “I want to see the magier,” Sullivan said in a loud, authoritative voice. “Rhea sent me to see if I can shock some answers out of her.” He held up his hand, and blue lightning flashed on his fingertips.

  The guards nodded, lowered their spears, and stepped aside, letting him pass. I ducked my head and followed him. I half expected the guards to stop me, but Sullivan’s order was enough for them to let me through as well.

  Just like at Seven Spire, the dungeon here featured several long hallways with cells embedded in the walls, although I couldn’t tell if anyone was languishing inside the small rooms, given the solid metal doors that fronted them.

  Sullivan stepped into another hallway and walked down to the far end, where the corridor opened into a much larger room in the very back of the dungeon.

  Thick tearstone bars cordoned off part of the space, forming a single cell along one wall. A few dim fluorestones were set into the ceiling, but there was enough light to see the magier lying on a cot in a pool of shadows in the back of the cell.

  Sullivan went over and touched a panel in the wall, making the fluorestones blaze to life and flooding the area with light.

  “Get up,” he snapped. “It’s time for you to answer some questions.”

  But as soon as he said the words, I knew we wouldn’t be getting any answers.

  The weather magier was lying on the cot, her hand dangling off the side, right above a glass that was resting on the floor, as though it had slipped out of her fingers. Water had dribbled out of the glass, forming a small pool. Her purple eyes were fixed and frozen open, and black blood had trickled out of her mouth, down the side of her face, and spattered onto the floor next to the glass.

  The magier was dead.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sullivan yelled for the guards to fetch the bone masters, but it was too late. The magier was as dead as dead could be.