Protect the Prince (A Crown of Shards Novel)

by Jennifer Estep

  My hand fisted around the watch. I was tempted to hurl it as deep into the woods as I could, but I didn’t. The watch was the only thing of value I had, and I might need to trade it for food.

  Plus, a small part of me didn’t want to let it go. No, I wanted to keep the watch as a memento—and a promise to myself.

  I would never forget this day and what the Mortans had done to my family. I didn’t know how or when, but someday, I would have my revenge on them.

  But first, I had to escape. Shouts sounded in the distance, and I didn’t want to be here when the Mortans found their dead magier. So I shoved Ansel’s watch into my pocket next to my bloody dagger, got to my feet, and staggered deeper into the woods . . .

  My eyes fluttered open, and I spotted several dark, shadowy trees in the distance. For a moment, I thought I was still in the snowy woods that awful night so long ago, but then I realized that I was in the gazebo in the Edelstein Gardens. Someone had propped me up against one of the cushioned benches.

  I blinked a few times, focusing on my surroundings, even though the small effort made fresh pain bloom in my jaw. I touched my chin. My face had already puffed up and bruised from where one of the assassins had hit me. Still, I was lucky I had woken up at all.

  “Are you sure the guards are gone?” a familiar voice hissed.

  Maeven was crouching in the shadows at the front of the gazebo, peering out into the gardens. The other assassins were also crouched down and hiding in the shadows inside the structure.

  “They’re gone,” one of the assassins murmured.

  “Why were they out here?” Maeven asked.

  The assassin shrugged. “They’re looking for the Ripley brat. Apparently she got bored and snuck out of the ball.”

  Maeven and the assassins kept staring out into the gardens. They didn’t realize that I was awake, so I moved my hand onto my lap, patting my side. Where was it? Where was it?

  My fingers touched a hard lump tucked away in the folds of my gown, and I sighed with relief. The assassins must not have searched me, because my tearstone dagger was still hidden in my pocket. I didn’t know how much good one small weapon would do me, but at least I had a chance to fight back.

  Maeven looked over her shoulder at me. She got to her feet and snapped her fingers at the assassins. They too stood and faced me, and I was once again surrounded.

  I sighed, reached out, and slowly pulled myself up into a seated position on the bench cushion, as though I didn’t have the strength to stand. My face throbbed again, the sensation spreading out through my skull, but I pushed away the pain.

  Still, it was best to appear as weak as possible, so I let out a soft groan and gingerly touched my bruised chin again. While Maeven and the assassins stared at my face, I dropped my right hand down to my side, discreetly wiggled it into the folds of my dress, and wrapped my fingers around the dagger in my pocket.

  Thank you for the pocket, Calandre. I just hoped the weapon would be enough to save me.

  When I had a good, firm grip on my dagger, I dropped my other hand from my face, straightened up, and glanced around. I was sitting on one of the cushions in the back of the gazebo, with Maeven standing in front of me and the other magier assassins spaced around me in a loose semicircle. I drew in breath after breath, tasting the air.

  The assassins reeked of magic, and their eyes burned a bright, eerie purple. I didn’t know if they all had lightning magic like Maeven, or fire, or ice, or something else, but it didn’t really matter. They were all ready, willing, and eager to blast me with their power the second I did anything they didn’t like. Maeven wasn’t taking any chances on my escaping her trap. Not this time.

  “Ah, Everleigh,” Maeven purred. “I’m so happy you’re awake.”

  “Why am I awake? Why haven’t you killed me yet?”

  “You have a couple of wandering Andvarian guards to thank for your stay of execution. But don’t worry. Your reprieve is going to be extremely short-lived. I just have to set the scene first. My cousin insisted on it.”

  For a moment, it was almost like she was speaking a foreign language I didn’t understand. But then her words sank into my mind, along with their horrible implications.

  “Cousin? You have a cousin at Glitnir? Another member of your Bastard Brigade?”

  Throughout the gazebo, the other Mortans stood up tall, seemingly proud of that name and all the awful things that went along with it. Fools.

  “Oh, yes,” Maeven said in a smug voice. “We have relatives in every kingdom on this continent and the ones beyond. But I’m particularly proud of this cousin. She’s done such a good job of keeping an eye on the Ripleys and feeding us intelligence over the years.”

  So the traitor was someone close to the king, just like I’d feared. I opened my mouth to ask more questions when another scent drifted over to me—a strong, rosy perfume.

  My heart clenched, and my stomach twisted. I’d smelled that perfume before, and I knew exactly who it belonged to. But the implications of sensing it here and now were downright sickening.

  “You captured her without getting Lucas involved. Excellent.” A voice floated out of the darkness, confirming my terrible suspicions.

  Footsteps sounded, and a woman stepped into the gazebo and walked up next to Maeven. Like the magier, this woman was also wearing a midnight-purple cloak, and she reached up and lowered the hood so I could see her face.

  Part of me was still desperately hoping Helene was hiding under there, but of course it wasn’t her. It was so much worse than that.

  It was Dahlia.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Even though I had suspected that she was here, shock still jolted through my body, burning through me even more intensely than a magier’s lightning.

  “You’re the traitor?” I whispered. “You’re a Mortan? A member of the Bastard Brigade?”

  A thin smile curved Dahlia’s lips. “One of the longest-serving members, as a matter of fact.”

  With her black hair and green eyes, Dahlia didn’t look anything like Maeven or the other assassins, the majority of whom had blond hair and purple eyes. My gaze dropped to the gold locket around her neck, the heart embossed with a large, fancy cursive D. I cursed my own foolishness. Dahlia had been wearing a Mortan symbol this whole time. I had just been too blind and suspicious of Helene to see it.

  I drew in a breath, and the overpowering scent of Dahlia’s rose perfume washed over me again. The aroma was another clue that I’d missed. No one wore that much perfume by accident. Sullivan must have mentioned my magic to her at some point, and Dahlia had deliberately doused herself with the cloying rose scent to keep me from smelling her emotions—and her evil intentions. Smart of her, and stupid of me not to realize it before now.

  “I was sent to Glitnir as a child with instructions to climb as high as possible,” Dahlia continued. “And I’ve done quite well for myself, just like you said, Everleigh.”

  “So all this time, all these years, you’ve been the king’s mistress because you were ordered to?” I asked. “So you could spy on him and report back to the Mortan king?”

  “Something like that,” Dahlia said.

  My mind whirled around, trying to make sense of the depths of Dahlia’s deception and everything she’d done, all the secrets she must have shared with Maeven and the Mortans that had led to us all ending up here.

  “So you would have known the second Heinrich decided to marry Frederich to Vasilia. You would have known about the Andvarians’ trip to Seven Spire weeks, if not months, in advance. That’s how Maeven was able to assassinate Frederich, the rest of the Andvarians, and the Blairs at the luncheon.”

  Another thin smile curved Dahlia’s lips. “Oh, yes. I was able to help with that and a great many other things.”

  I stared at her, horror filling every single part of my body. But then another, even more terrible thought occurred to me.

  “And Sully?” I whispered. “Does he know who you really are? What you re
ally are? Is he . . . one of you?”

  My heart squeezed tight. I thought that I’d been protecting Sullivan, but if he knew about his mother, if he was part of her deception, if he’d brought me out here, fucked me, and then left me for the Mortans . . .

  I didn’t know how I would ever recover from that.

  Dahlia let out an amused laugh. “Of course not. I’ve thought many times about telling him, but he’s far more like his father than I anticipated.” She frowned. “Lucas actually loves Andvari and wants to do what’s best for its people and creatures.”

  Relief slammed into me, even as guilt knifed through my stomach. Of course Sullivan didn’t know who and what his mother really was. He was a good man, and I was ashamed of myself for doubting him, even for a second. But I shoved my guilt away, still trying to make sense of Dahlia’s schemes.

  “So you’re the one who’s been poisoning Heinrich. How?”

  Then I remembered that first dinner in the dining hall, when Dahlia had taken such great care in fixing the king a cup of tea.

  “The sugar cube,” I said. “The one you dropped in Heinrich’s tea and so thoughtfully stirred around so that it would melt. That’s how you’ve been poisoning the king. One sugar cube at a time.”

  “Well, aren’t you clever,” Dahlia said. “But yes. Heinrich is a creature of habit, and I’ve been poisoning his after-dinner tea for months, ever since Frederich died. I had to be careful not to give him too much at once, to make his decline seem like it was born of a broken heart, rather than my slowly killing him. I initially wanted to give Heinrich one large, fatal dose, but Maeven said that it would be so much more satisfying to watch him suffer. She was right.”

  Dahlia smiled at her cousin, then looked at me again. “I saw him right after your meeting in the library. I was most upset when I realized that you had cured him and destroyed all my hard work.” Her eyes narrowed. “How did you do that, Everleigh? How did you cure Heinrich?”

  “I told you that she’s a Winter queen,” Maeven cut in. “Ruining our plans is what they do best.”

  Dahlia frowned, not liking her cryptic answer. I didn’t like it either. Once again, I felt like Maeven knew something about my magic that I didn’t.

  “But how could you have made the poison?” Then I remembered the faint spark of magic I’d sensed when I’d touched her hand in the gazebo earlier this week. “You’re a plant magier, just like Helene is.”

  Dahlia nodded. “Yes. I don’t have Helene’s raw, obvious strength, but it doesn’t take much magic to grow an Amethyst Eye cactus and harvest the poison from the flowers. Helene was nice enough to give me the plant, never knowing what it could be used for. And then, when I realized that you’d discovered Heinrich was being poisoned, it was easy enough for me to slip my cactus into her greenhouse so you would suspect her.”

  I’d thought the cactus had looked familiar when I’d found it in the greenhouse, and now I remembered seeing the plant on the balcony railing outside Dahlia’s chambers. So she had put her own plant in the greenhouse to convince me that Helene was poisoning the king, and I’d fallen for her simple trick. What an idiot I was.

  My mind kept spinning, and I thought back to that jalapeño rage I’d sensed in the throne room. “You wanted me dead from the start. You used your magic to trip me when I was fighting Rhea.”

  Dahlia shrugged. “The carpet wasn’t a plant, so I couldn’t do much more than twist it around your foot, but it almost worked.”

  “You sent Frederich and Gemma off to die at Seven Spire, you’ve been poisoning Heinrich, and you helped that weather magier slip into the palace so that she and those other assassins could try to kill Dominic in the library.” I ticked off her crimes. “But why? You’re not married to Heinrich, so you won’t be queen when he dies.”

  Dahlia let out another amused laugh, although this one had a bit more bite to it. “I told you before, Everleigh: I never wanted to be queen.”

  Once again, she reeked of lime truthfulness, just as she had when she’d said those same words to me before.

  “But with Henrich, Dominic, and Gemma dead, the only other member of the royal family would be . . . Sullivan.” My eyes widened in understanding. “You’re telling the truth. You don’t want to be queen. But you would be quite happy being the mother of the king. That’s what this has all been about—putting Sullivan on the throne.”

  The implications spun through my mind. With all the legitimate heirs dead, Dahlia would present Sullivan as the perfect solution. The other nobles might kick up a fuss, but that’s when Helene’s wealth, power, and influence would come in handy.

  Helene might not know about Dahlia’s true scheme, but she still cared deeply about Sullivan. Helene would help Dahlia put him on the throne, although I doubted that Dahlia would let her live long afterward. And Sullivan would feel duty-bound to take on the responsibility, never realizing that it was exactly what his mother wanted, what she’d been planning for years.

  “Of course this has all been about putting Lucas on the throne,” Dahlia sneered. “My son is a powerful magier. He’s always been stronger than his brothers, and he’ll be an excellent king. Under my guidance, of course. With you dead, it won’t be too difficult for me to find some way to dispatch Heinrich, Dominic, and Gemma. And, after an appropriate mourning period has passed for the Ripleys, Lucas will marry a woman of my choosing, someone of good Mortan stock, although he won’t know that.”

  A sick, sick feeling filled my stomach. “And then when their children are on the throne, Andvari will belong to Morta.”

  I’d thought that Bellonans were good at playing the long game, but Dahlia put us to shame. She’d been playing a long game ever since she was a child, and now, she was going to force Sullivan to play it too, whether he realized it or not.

  “This will break Sully’s heart when he finds out,” I said.

  Dahlia shrugged again. “He’ll never know that I was involved. Besides, he’ll be too busy being king to wonder how he got the throne.”

  She was probably right about that, but I didn’t tell her so.

  “Did you ever care about Heinrich? Even a little? Or was he just a mission?”

  For the first time, a bit of hurt flickered in Dahlia’s eyes, overcoming her smugness. “I did care about Heinrich,” she admitted. “Until he married another woman over me. That was the beginning of the end for us, even if he was too blind and stupid to realize it.”

  “But that was his duty as king,” I pointed out.

  “Oh, fuck Heinrich and his damned duty.” Dahlia spat out the words. “He certainly wasn’t thinking about his duty every time he came to my bed. No, if he truly cared about me, if he truly loved me, then he would have married me, despite the fact that I was a poor kitchen servant. But no, Heinrich wanted to appease his father and the nobles, so he married that wretched Sophina instead. As far as I’m concerned, Heinrich is getting exactly what he deserves.”

  As much as I hated to admit it, she had a point. And I could see how her hurt had slowly grown and festered over the years. Heinrich wasn’t the only one who’d been poisoned. Whether she realized it or not, Dahlia had also done it to herself.

  “And Sully?” I asked. “Do you love him at all? Or is he just another game piece for you to move around and manipulate?”

  “Of course I love my son,” Dahlia snapped. “Just as Maeven loves her children.”

  More shock blasted through me. Maeven had children? How many? Who were their fathers? Were they legitimate nobles? Or bastards like her?

  My gaze zoomed over to the magier, but her face had gone ice-cold. She didn’t like Dahlia revealing that information.

  “I have always loved my son, from the moment he was born,” Dahlia continued, not noticing Maeven’s chilly stare. “That’s why I’m doing this—so he can have the future he deserves. So he can finally be king and look down his nose at everyone who’s ever done that to him.”

  Once again, she had a point, although I didn’t tell her
so.

  Maeven laid her hand on Dahlia’s shoulder. “It’s time to put the next part of our plan into action.”

  The hot, peppery scent of Dahlia’s anger filled my nose. She was still pissed I’d dared to suggest that she didn’t love her son, but she nodded at Maeven.

  “Excellent! Now I finally get to do something that I’ve been wanting to do for quite a while now,” Maeven purred again.

  I tensed, expecting her to blast me with her lightning, but Maeven had something else in mind. She reached into her cloak and pulled out a glass vial filled with a dark purple liquid. Even though the vial was tightly stoppered, I could smell the soft, lavender scent of the liquid inside. More amethyst-eye poison—a large, single, fatal dose.

  “Going to kill me like you did the weather magier in the dungeon?” I asked.

  “I couldn’t free Lola from the dungeon, and Rhea was going to question her,” Dahlia said. “I couldn’t risk Lola slipping up and revealing my true identity.”

  “So you slipped poison into her water, and she drank it without realizing what you were doing. You killed Lola, the weather magier, your own cousin.” I let out a bitter laugh. “There’s not much loyalty between members of the Bastard Brigade, is there?”

  “It’s not about loyalty—it’s about getting the job done no matter what, no matter who we have to sacrifice.” Maeven lifted her chin with pride. “That’s what true soldiers do.”

  Dahlia nodded, as did the other assassins. I gave them all a disgusted look.

  “You are not soldiers.” I spat out the word. “Soldiers fight for their kingdom, for their people, for a leader and a cause they believe in.”

  “And that perfectly describes me and my many cousins,” Maeven crowed.

  The other assassins stood up even taller with pride. They really did believe that their cause was noble and just and that they were serving the greater good. They didn’t see how their king so casually used and sent them to their deaths, just as all the other legitimate heirs had done before him. For a moment, I almost felt sorry for the members of the Bastard Brigade. Almost.