Protect the Prince (A Crown of Shards Novel)

by Jennifer Estep

  The crowd roared in response, as did everyone on the lawn. How could they not?

  Sullivan grinned up at me, then strode forward across the bridge.

  “He’s actually serious,” I whispered. “He’s actually going to do it.”

  “Of course he’s serious,” Paloma said. “He wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

  I whirled around to my friend. “Did you know about this?”

  Her smug grin, along with the one on the ogre on her neck, was all the confirmation I needed.

  “But when— How—” I sputtered.

  Paloma put her hands on my shoulders. “The when and the how don’t matter. Not right now. All that does is that he’s here.”

  Her amber eyes gleamed with sincerity. She was right. Sullivan was here, and that was all that mattered.

  A wide, crazy, happy grin spread across my face, and I turned back to the wall and looked down, as did everyone else on the lawn.

  Sullivan was on this side of the bridge now, staring up at Seven Spire’s jagged cliff face and trying to figure out where to begin climbing. Finally, he picked a spot, stretched up a hand, and reached for the nearest rock.

  I swear that I felt his fingers close around that first rock as though he was reaching inside my chest and was somehow touching my heart at the same time. I stood there, holding my breath, my hands clenched into fists on top of the wall, while he stretched out another hand and reached for a rock a little higher up than the one before.

  He did this over and over again, slowly but steadily scaling up the cliffs. Ten feet, twenty, fifty, a hundred. He was doing it, and he was actually going to make it all the way up to me.

  Until he slipped.

  Sullivan grabbed a rock, but it cracked off the cliff, sending him sliding down. My heart stopped, and my breath caught in my throat. For a moment, I thought he was going to lose his grip completely, bounce off the jagged rocks below, and fall to his death, but he managed to catch himself at the last instant.

  With only one hand on the rocks, he hung there in midair for several seconds before he finally found a crack in the cliff face that he could shove his boots into and regain his balance.

  He let out a low, angry snarl, then shrugged out of his long gray coat and tossed it aside, as if it was weighing him down. A gust of wind caught the coat and sent it spinning out across the river. It hit the rippling surface, and the water quickly drowned it.

  Sullivan looked up at me. A bloody gash slashed across his forehead, cuts and bruises dotted his hands and arms, and his black tunic and pants hung in tatters where the rocks had shredded them during his fall. But his eyes were as bright as ever, and his mouth was set in a determined line. He took a few seconds to get his breath back, then reached for another rock above his head.

  And suddenly, I knew what I had to do.

  “I’m not waiting around up here. I’m going down to him.”

  I swung my legs up and over the wall so that I was standing on the other side and staring down at the cliffs below.

  “Queen Everleigh!” Fullman protested. “You can’t do this! Tradition clearly dictates that he must climb all the way up here by himself! With no assistance whatsoever!”

  “And I am the queen,” I snapped back at him. “I love him, and I’m going to help him. I don’t care what you or anyone else says, and I’m going to make my own tradition starting right now. And if you don’t like it, then too damn bad.”

  Fullman opened his mouth to protest again, but I stared him down, and he swallowed his words. I looked at the other nobles, and they all slowly wilted and bowed their heads under my cold glare.

  Diante was the only one who met my gaze. After a moment, she shrugged and gave me a wry smile, as if she knew that she had lost and that there was no stopping me. Even more surprising, she actually curtsied. “As you wish, my queen.”

  I nodded back at her, then turned around and stared down at the cliffs. I drew in a deep breath and let it out before leaning down and grabbing hold of the first rock.

  “What are you doing?” Sullivan called out. “I’m supposed to come to you.”

  “And I don’t want you to break your fool neck!” I yelled back. “Just stay where you are.”

  He ignored me, of course, and started climbing even faster. I did the same thing, picking my way down the side of the cliff and trying to get to him before he slipped again.

  I couldn’t bear to lose him again.

  Somehow, we met in the middle, on a small outcropping of rock that was just big and strong enough to hold the two of us. We were both breathing hard, and it took us a moment to find our words. My heart was beating so hard and painfully that I thought it might explode, but it was worth it to see Sullivan again, to see the love shining in his eyes, the love I knew was reflected in my own gaze.

  “I thought you were staying in Glitnir with your family,” I said in a breathless voice. “Or running away to join a gladiator troupe.”

  “I thought about doing both of those things. But there’s nothing for me at Glitnir, and the only troupe I want to be in is the Black Swan—with you.”

  He reached up and brushed a bit of hair back from my face, smearing blood from his cut fingers onto my skin, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything but the fact that he was standing here with me.

  “But what about your mother?” I asked. “And everything that happened?”

  He grimaced. “I’m still dealing with that. I’ll probably always be dealing with that.” He paused for a moment, then looked at me again. “But my mother was right about one thing. She told me not to make the same mistake she did, not to let my anger rule me. And Helene was right too. I was so wrapped up in how other people saw me that I let it ruin some of the good things in my life.”

  His grimace melted away, and determination filled his face. “But I’m not going to do that anymore. I’m not going to worry about what other people think of me, and I’m not going to throw things away just because they aren’t exactly how I want them to be. Instead, I’m going to fight like the fiercest gladiator for what I love, and what I love is you, Evie.”

  My heart soared, but I forced myself to think things through like a true Winter queen would. “But what about your father? And Andvari? What about your people, your kingdom?”

  Sullivan gave me a fierce look. “You are my kingdom. You always have been, ever since that first morning I found you sleeping in the corner of my house. You’re all I’ve ever wanted, highness, and you’re all that I need, Evie.”

  “You’re my kingdom too,” I whispered.

  I cupped his face in my hands, then stood on my tiptoes and crushed my lips to his. Sullivan growled and pulled me closer.

  All around us, I could hear cheering. From the people on the bridge and lining the river below, from my friends above on the royal lawn, even from the nobles. But their cheers were nothing compared to the feel of Sullivan’s lips on mine, his skin against mine, his heart beating under my fingertips, hammering just as hard as mine was.

  We would have kept right on kissing, but something slapped my shoulder. Sullivan and I broke apart. I looked up and realized that Paloma had dropped down a rope to the two of us.

  “How about you two lovebirds do the smart thing and climb up here before you both plunge to your deaths?” Paloma said in her usual matter-of-fact tone.

  I ignored her, turned back to Sullivan, and wrapped my arms around his neck. “Do we have to? I want to stay here for just a little while longer.”

  He grinned back at me. “I was thinking the same thing, highness.”

  He reached up and grabbed the rope, yanking it out of Paloma’s hands. Then he tossed it aside, and it floated down to the river below to be swept away, just like his jacket had been.

  All around us, the crowd roared again, but I only had eyes for Sullivan, and he for me. He grinned at me again, and I pulled his head back down to mine.

  And as I kissed him, I made a vow to myself—that I would spend the rest of my li
fe protecting my prince.

  Acknowledgments

  My heartfelt thanks go out to all the folks who help turn my words into a book.

  Thanks go to my agent, Annelise Robey, and to my editor, Erika Tsang, for all their helpful advice, support, and encouragement. Thanks also to Nicole Fischer, Pamela Jaffee, Angela Craft, and everyone else at Harper Voyager and HarperCollins.

  And finally, a big thanks to all the readers. Knowing that folks read and enjoy my books is truly humbling, and I hope that you all enjoy reading about Evie and her adventures.

  I appreciate you all more than you will ever know.

  Happy reading! ☺

  An Excerpt from Crush the King

  Turn the page for a sneak peek at the next book in Jennifer Estep’s Crown of Shards series

  Crush the King

  Coming in 2020

  Chapter One

  Xenia had some other business to take care of, so Paloma and I left her finishing school.

  It was almost six o’clock, and the sun was slowly sinking behind the Spire Mountains that ringed the city. The December air was already quite chilly, but it would turn even colder once the last golden rays vanished behind the high, rugged peaks and took their meager warmth along with them. My nose twitched. A faint, metallic scent hung in the air, indicating that it would snow before the night was through.

  Only a few people were walking on the side streets that flanked Xenia’s finishing school. Most had their heads down and their arms crossed over their chests, trying to stay as warm as possible in their scarves, coats, and gloves, and no one gave Paloma and me a second look as we made our way over to one of the many enormous square plazas that could be found throughout Svalin.

  We stood in the shadows in a narrow alley that ran between two bakeries and looked out over the plaza. Brightly painted wooden carts manned by bakers, butchers, farmers, tailors, and other merchants lined all four sides of the area, while a large gray stone fountain of two girls holding hands bubbled merrily in the center.

  People of all shapes, sizes, stations, and ages moved across the gray cobblestones, going from one cart and merchant to the next and shopping for breads, meats, cheeses, vegetables, clothes, and more. Still more people cut directly through the plaza, bypassing the colorful carts and loud, squawking merchants, skirting around the gurgling fountain, and steadfastly trudging home after a long, hard day at work. Miners, mostly, wearing thick, dark blue coveralls, boots, and hard, ridged helmets, all of which were coated with light gray fluorestone dust.

  I opened my mouth and drew in breath after breath, letting the air roll in over my tongue and using my mutt magic to taste all the scents swirling through the plaza. Fresh, warm bread and almond-sugar cookies from the bakeries next to the alley. The coppery stench of blood from the meat on the butchers’ carts. The sharp, tangy cheeses. The bits of dirt on the farmers’ potatoes and other produce. The fine layers of crushed, chalky stone clinging to the miners.

  I sensed all that and more, but the one thing I didn’t smell was magic.

  Normally, I would have welcomed its absence. More often than not, I sensed the hot, caustic stench of magic only when someone was trying to kill me. But this evening, I found the lack of power disappointing.

  “I don’t like this,” Paloma muttered, her hand on her mace. “You shouldn’t be here. What if this rumor about another Blair is just a trick to get you out of the palace and into the city where you’re more vulnerable? And leaving Xenia’s finishing school without any guards is just asking for trouble.”

  In addition to being my best friend, Paloma was also my personal guard, a job she took very seriously.

  “Coming here without any guards is part of the plan. We’re trying to blend in, remember?” I arched an eyebrow at her. “Besides, didn’t you once tell me that a gladiator and an ogre morph like yourself is worth twenty regular soldiers?”

  “That was Halvar.” Paloma’s chin lifted with pride. “But he was right. I am worth twenty soldiers.”

  Halvar was Xenia’s nephew and a powerful ogre morph, just like Paloma was. He and Paloma were good friends, along with Bjarni, another ogre morph.

  I rolled my eyes. “Well, then you should be happy that we left the finishing school. Xenia is just as skeptical about this rumor as you are. If the two of you are right, then we’re probably going to run into trouble.”

  Paloma’s eyes gleamed with anticipation, and the ogre on her neck grinned, showing off its jagged teeth. “It has been a while since I’ve gotten to fight anyone.” She plucked her mace off her belt and gave it an experimental swing, making the spikes whistle through the air. “It’ll be good to get in some practice before the Regalia and knock the dust off Peony.”

  It took me a moment to realize who—or rather what—she was referring to. “You named your mace Peony?”

  She gave me an incredulous look, as if my question were utter gibberish. “Of course. Years ago. Haven’t you named your sword yet?”

  “No.”

  “Well, you should. And your dagger and shield too.”

  My hand dropped to the sword belted to my waist, and my fingers traced over the crown-of-shards crest in the hilt. The sharp points of the shards digging into my skin always comforted me. Perhaps because the sensation reminded me of all the other Bellonan queens—especially the Winter queens—who had come before me.

  Hmm. Maybe I should take Paloma’s advice and name my sword . . . Winter. Nah, that was too obvious, too on the nose, too cliché. I’d have to think of something more original.

  Paloma kept swinging her mace, as if she were warming up for a gladiator bout.

  “Why Peony?” I asked.

  She froze mid-swing and slowly lowered the weapon to her side, her knuckles going white around the handle. “My mother always wore peony perfume,” she said in a low, raspy voice.

  Sympathy filled me, and I reached over and squeezed her arm. Paloma gave me a small, sad smile, then turned her attention back to the plaza.

  “I still don’t like this,” she repeated. “You’re far too exposed and vulnerable, and that cloak is barely a disguise. At least put your hood up so people can’t see your face so clearly.”

  I opened my mouth to point out that half the people in the plaza were wearing cloaks and that her swinging that giant mace made her far more noticeable than me, but Paloma and her inner ogre both gave me a fierce glare. So I bit back my words and pulled up my hood, hiding my black hair and casting my face in shadow.

  “I don’t know why you’re so worried,” I murmured. “It’s not like we came here alone.”

  I waved my hand at the fountain in the center of the plaza. A forty-something woman with slicked-back blond hair and a scar at the corner of one of her dark blue eyes was tossing pennies into the fountain, as though she were making wishes. She was wearing a black cloak, although I could still see her white tunic with its distinctive black-swan crest peeking out from beneath the flowing fabric. She also had a tearstone sword and dagger belted to her waist, just like I did.

  Serilda Swanson, the leader of the Black Swan gladiator troupe and one of my advisors, nodded at me, then discreetly pointed her finger to her right.

  I looked in that direction and focused on a forty-something man with glossy black hair, black eyes, golden skin, and a lean, muscled body on the far side of the plaza. He too was wearing a black cloak over a red jacket and a ruffled white tunic. A sword and a dagger hung off his belt as well, and a morph mark was visible on his neck—a dragon face with ruby-red scales and gleaming black eyes.

  Cho Yamato, the Black Swan ringmaster, was leaning up against a bakery cart, nibbling on a giant raspberry-peach cookie. Cho had a serious sweet tooth, as did his inner dragon. He noticed my gaze and winked at me, then gestured up at the roof of a building across the plaza.

  A man was standing next to a silver spire that decorated one corner of the roof. He was tall and handsome, with dark brown hair, intense blue eyes, and a bit of stubble that clung to his
strong jaw. A midnight-blue cloak was draped over his shoulders, and his black tunic was perfectly tailored to his muscled body. He too was wearing a sword and a dagger, although he kept flexing his fingers, ready to unleash his lightning magic at the first sign of trouble.

  I drew in a deep breath. Even among all the floral perfumes and musky colognes swirling through the plaza, I could still pick out his unique scent—clean, cold vanilla with just a hint of warm spice.

  Thanks to my mutt magic, scents and memories were often tangled up together in my mind, and his rich, heady aroma made my heart quicken, my stomach clench, and hot, liquid desire scorch through my veins. All sorts of images and sensations washed over me. My lips on his, our tongues dueling back and forth, my fingers sliding through his thick, silky hair, my palms skimming down his bare, muscled chest, then going lower and lower, even as his hands slid across my skin . . .

  Lucas Sullivan, the magier enforcer of the Black Swan troupe and my unofficial consort, grinned, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking and couldn’t wait to return to the palace to make it a reality.

  I grinned back at him. That made two of us.

  “Oh, quit mooning at Lucas,” Paloma grumbled. “That will get you killed quicker than anything else tonight.”

  I grinned at him a moment longer, then turned my attention back to the plaza. “See? The others are in position, and I am perfectly safe. Now, we just have to wait and see if anyone shows up.”

  In addition to hearing whispers that another Blair might still be alive, Xenia and her many sources had started spreading their own rumor in return—that any Blair who came to this plaza tonight would be taken in and guaranteed safety at Seven Spire palace.

  Xenia and her network had been spreading the rumor for about two weeks, and my friends and I had ventured here tonight to see if anyone would take the bait.

  Paloma eyed the people moving through the plaza. “Even if this woman, this supposed Blair, does show up, how are we going to pick her out of the crowd? There are hundreds of people here. We might not even see her.”