Glass Kingdom

by M. Lynn

  Helena nodded, angry tears burning her eyes.

  “Don’t touch her,” Cole’s voice rose above the rest. “You’ve already destroyed Madra. You sent Quinn away. I won’t let you hurt Helena too.”

  “Let me?” The king growled. “Helena disobeyed a two-hundred-year-old tradition when she revealed her face to the commoners. And then she escaped her punishment.”

  Stev straightened and turned to their father. “She didn’t escape. I had her released.”

  “You?” The king’s eyes shifted between his children. Stev was the heir, the boy who’d always followed his father’s every command.

  Cole’s jaw tightened. “Are we quite finished, father?” He said the last word as a curse.

  Helena was the one who answered him. “Yes, Cole. Father and I are very much done. I have a ball to prepare for.”

  She pulled Camille along with her toward the door to her room. As she shut it behind them, it surprised her to find her mother and Sophia waiting for her.

  Chloe Rhodipus rose from her seat to envelop her daughter in a soft hug. “We heard everything,” she whispered. “I wish I could have helped you, my sweet girl.”

  For all the strength and wisdom the queen possessed, she had little power over happenings in the kingdom. But the power to soothe her daughter… that belonged to her wholly.

  The tears she’d been holding back flowed freely, soaking into the fur collar of her mother’s dress.

  Chloe pulled back, untying Helena’s mask as she did. “There’s my beautiful girl.” She smiled. “It looks like you’ll have a bruise.” Her thumb rubbed gently over where the king had struck. “But nothing your mask and some cream won’t cover up. Now, let’s prepare you for your night. Madra hasn’t seen a princess’ ball since…”

  “Father’s aunt, right?” Helena asked.

  Her mother shook her head. “No, my dear. Your father’s sister.”

  “I didn’t know he had a sister.”

  “She disappeared soon after the ball. Some said she was taken by pirates, but most knew the truth.”

  “What was the truth?”

  Her mother sighed, running a hand down Helena’s arm. “You cannot keep a princess hidden her entire life and then expect her to suddenly help with the running of the kingdom once you deem her worthy enough to strike the chains from her wrists.”

  Sophia chose that moment to chime in. “There were no chains on that girl’s wrists. I would know. I was her lady’s maid before yours.”

  Helena touched the edge of the mask her mother had laid on the table. “It’s a metaphor, Sophia.” She smiled sadly. “The mask carries the weight of manacles.”

  Sophia huffed. “I’m going to go prepare you a bath, princess. When you stop speaking nonsense, come scrub up.”

  She left and Camille released a breath. “You need a new maid.”

  Helena shook her head. “Sophia is a stubborn woman, but she’s loyal and she loves this family.” She dropped into a chair. “I wish tonight was about more than appearances, Mother. The people of Madra think I will choose my husband. But father has already chosen, hasn’t he?”

  Her mother nodded and reached across the table to grip her hand. “I’m sorry, darling.”

  Camille crossed her arms over her chest as she sat down. “And here I thought Gaule was a mess with magic folk and non-magic folk at each other’s throats. But you people… Madra doesn’t even have magic to tear it apart, yet you’re just as broken as we are.”

  “I think every kingdom has its cracks,” the queen said.

  “Not Bela.” Camille leaned forward. “They’re so loyal to their queen, it’s sickening.”

  “Didn’t she almost die for them or something?” Helena asked. “Father would never even join his men in battle. He thinks the trueborn royals are too valuable. Stev and Kass are forbidden from fighting as well. But I don’t see how one man’s life means more or less than any other.”

  The queen stood and kissed the top of Helena’s head. “A worthy discussion, but one we don’t have time for, I’m afraid.”

  Camille pushed on her cane for leverage to help her rise. “I’m to seek my own bath. I’ll see you soon.”

  Helena nodded as she left to join Sophia and prepare herself for what should have been the grandest night of her life.

  Now she knew it was only another night she’d have to play by the kingdom’s rules.

  Helena ran shaky hands down the bodice of her sky-blue dress. Silver lace created an intricate design around the sapphire jewels sewn on by hand. She twisted her hips to let the flowing skirt swish around her legs.

  The looking glass showed her a girl she didn’t recognize. Dark hair was piled on top of her head in a mass of curls. Charcoal rimmed her eyes and red coated her lips. She lifted the jeweled silver mask, crafted just for this occasion. As she tied it to her face, only then did she recognize herself.

  Who was the princess of Madra without her mask?

  Not even Helena knew.

  She rose and went to retrieve the glass slippers her father insisted upon. He’d chosen her entire outfit to showcase the wealth of the royal family, even while much of Madra starved.

  Only a man would craft glass shoes. They were horribly uncomfortable.

  Helena paced the room, trying to get used to the heaviness of her feet, fearing the glass might crack with every step.

  She put a hand on her stomach. Breathe in. Breathe out.

  It was time.

  A knock sounded on her door and Camille poked her head in, her face hidden beneath a mask similar to Helena’s.

  Helena sucked in a breath. “What are you doing?”

  “You’re not alone in this, Helena.” She smiled, her cheeks pushing against the purple fabric that matched her silky dress to perfection. “Come.”

  Helena followed her out, taking each step cautiously.

  Her brothers awaited her in the sitting room. She breathed deeply to prevent herself from crying and ruining every bit of preparation on her face.

  Estevan, Cole, and Kassander each wore masks of their own that kept the top half of their faces hidden from view.

  Helena shook her head vigorously. “You don’t have to do this.” Their gesture was symbolic at best, holding none of the weight her mask held, but it still meant everything to her. “Father is not going to be pleased.”

  Cole grunted. “I do not live my life to please that man.”

  Stev stepped forward. “I think what Cole means is we should have done this a long time ago. Until you started going into the city on your own, I never considered how hard this life was for you.”

  “Come here.” She held her arms out and Stev stepped into them. She reached a second arm toward Cole and embraced them both. Kassander wiggled his way in between all of them. “I wish Quinn was here.”

  “Children,” their mother’s voice made them break apart. “We must be on our way.”

  Helena turned to her to find she, too, wore a mask over her delicate features.

  Her mother sent her a confident smile and gestured to the door. The six of them filed down the hall with a handful of guards close behind. Servants stared, bewildered as they passed.

  The king awaited his family in the room adjoining the ballroom. Music drifted from the party above the sounds of chatter.

  Out in the city, Madra may suffer, but in that room, the people were truly alive.

  The king scanned his masked family with a scowl on his face. The queen kissed his cheek. “Hello, dear.” He turned away from her with disgust and waited for the doors to open.

  As they did, the orchestra stopped playing immediately.

  A woman dressed in the deep blue livery of the royal family stood to one side as a line of royal guards streamed through the door, stopping abruptly as they cleared a path for the royal family.

  The king stepped forward first, and the queen took his arm.

  The woman cleared her throat. “The king and queen of Madra.”

  The c
heer that wound its way through the crowd was subdued. Helena scanned the faces with a new realization that the people only did as the king demanded. There was no true love in their desire for favor.

  They’d lost faith in him long ago.

  And she hadn’t seen it. She had once loved her father deeply, and it blinded her to the truth.

  But not anymore. Now her trust in him was as broken as the heart beating inside her chest. Irreparable.

  As the herald announced her brothers and Camille, she pasted a practiced smile on her face and glided into the great gold-adorned room.

  Pillars of cherry wood lined the back wall, stretching up to a ceiling painted to depict Madran victory in battle.

  Gauzy white linens wrapped around the pillars giving the room a crisp look. Thousands of candles cast the crowd with an ethereal glow as they waited for her to be announced.

  She sucked in a breath and pulled back her shoulders to lengthen her spine. No fear. The week of her name day had consisted of striking the son of the most powerful merchant in Madra, running away to a secluded beach with a boy she couldn’t stop thinking about, imprisonment in the monastery, and standing in defiance of her father for the first time.

  Compared to the lifetime she’d experienced in the past few days, walking into a ball where many eyes followed her every move was easy.

  “Helena Rhodipus, princess of Madra.” The herald’s voice rang loud and clear.

  There was a moment when no sound reached her ears as if the cheers bounced off a protective barrier, allowing her a moment of peace before stepping into the fray.

  She lifted her eyes, finding Edmund near the back wall with a wide grin on his face. With a tiny shake of her head, she let him know to drop his magic. She was ready.

  As if someone had lifted a veil, noise rushed in, the excitement of the crowd assaulting her.

  To the best of their knowledge, their princess stood among them for the very first time. Not on a platform separated from the crowd as at the Madra games or disguised as someone else. For tonight, she was truly one of them.

  She tore her eyes from Edmund as Reed Tenyson commanded his attention and lifted her hand to wave as she walked toward the long table where her family now sat, their masks a testament to their love for her.

  The king left them to speak with a gaggle of merchants vying for his attention.

  As Helena sank into her seat beside Estevan, she sighed. “I’m already exhausted and we only just arrived.”

  Cole laughed from his spot on her other side. “Do not worry, sister. Soon, all eyes will be on me anyway.”

  “It’s good to know that the center of attention at my ball will be my brother.” She shook her head.

  He flashed her a grin.

  Camille, as the only person not of Madran royalty at their table, leaned forward. “We have balls in Gaule, but nothing so grand as this.”

  The music began anew, sending soft notes drifting on the air.

  Helena opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off as her father appeared with Lord Nirol, a man who spent his life trying to climb the spiral by any means necessary. He was a merchant, but rumors also circulated about his piracy. Helena had met him many times before when the merchant council met with the king at the palace.

  Each time had been more unpleasant than the one before it.

  “Daughter,” her father began. “You will dance.” He nodded to Lord Nirol.

  “Princess.” Lord Nirol dipped his balding head and offered her one bony hand.

  With no other choice before her, she ripped her eyes from her father and stood, taking the lord’s hand.

  He gave her a watery sideways smile as he led her onto the crowded dance floor and placed a hand on her waist.

  This was what she’d been training for her entire life. The dance lessons. Etiquette classes. Helena was bred to be the perfect princess, the perfect hostess. For this night. The night when grown men twice her age would fight for her hand in marriage, some for their sons and some for themselves.

  She searched her mind for something to say.

  “Did you enjoy the games?” Lord Nirol asked.

  She followed his lead in the dance, never once taking it from him—just as she’d been taught. Let the man lead in all things. It was what a princess did.

  And it was utter bull.

  Helena bit back everything she wished she could say and nodded demurely. “I enjoyed them very much.”

  It was the only acceptable answer. A Madran princess couldn’t admit she found boxing rather barbaric. She’d seen what damage it had done to Dell—multiple times. But the sport was as sacred as anything in their kingdom. She much preferred watching swordplay or practicing with her knives.

  Lord Nirol smiled, his yellowed teeth crooked. “I did quite well in my own match.”

  She couldn’t remember seeing him fight before leaving the arena, but he was quite small. Something Stev once told her flashed in her mind. A merchant speaks truth when it suits him and lies when it gets him what he wants. What did a merchant want? She’d been naïve enough to ask. Power.

  So, she’d give him the perceived power he sought. “I saw your match.” She smiled. “You impressed me, my lord.”

  Desire sparked in his narrow eyes. He thought he could gain the power he wanted through her.

  “It is a shame you had to leave the games early.” He leaned in closer, hoping for the truth of that night. The king’s guards had combed the city, but never told the people their princess was missing. They’d been told she retired early to conserve her energy for the ball.

  Lord Nirol didn’t seem to believe that, but she didn’t answer his questioning gaze. As the music rose to a crescendo, vibrating across her skin, she scanned the waiting crowd, many of whom wanted the very thing Lord Nirol assumed he would soon have.

  But Helena had been hidden away her entire life. The people didn’t know her at all. Tonight, every bit of the kingdom’s power rested in her. No matter the ploys her father attempted, in the end, the choice of a husband who would enlarge the Rhodipus grip on Madra was supposed to be hers.

  And she wasn’t going to give up her power. Not to Lord Nirol. Not to any of them.

  Especially not to her father.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A thin stream of moonlight flitted across the dirt floor of the cellar as it broke through a crack in the wooden door.

  Dell gripped the leg of the broken chair he’d found among the barrels of root vegetables and casks of wine.

  He stood on one of the rickety steps leading up to the door and slammed the wood into the rusty lock over and over.

  Nothing.

  He grunted as he pounded on the door and released a howl of frustration.

  His brother couldn’t do this to him.

  He jumped from the staircase to search for something to ram into the wood hoping to break the door since the steel lock wouldn’t budge.

  He gripped the edges of a wine cask, rocking it back and forth to slide it across the floor to access the space behind it where he knew a few tools were kept.

  Dell couldn’t remember the last time he’d had reason to enter the cellar.

  His stepmother’s men who were a constant presence at the estate came and went regularly with loads from the ships that came in.

  Dell had long known there’d be no reason to keep legal merchandise hidden below the house. Most of his father’s goods were transferred from the ship to a warehouse near the docks before being delivered to shop keepers or sent on to one of the other kingdoms.

  But the items in the cellar were… different. He wondered if his family only wanted to avoid import fees or was there something else? Most of their goods were kept in warehouses by the docks, not their personal residence.

  The wine was easy to explain. It was for the family’s consumption.

  Other than the wine, bolts of silk, pounds of fine sugar, and a few other items took up the space.

  But there was no time to consider a
ll his brothers’ illegal activities when only one truly mattered: treason.

  Dell had to get to Edmund and soon.

  He felt his way along the barrels until he reached the other side where an open bucket held tools. Wrapping his fingers around the first one he saw, he pulled it free.

  A shovel with a dirt-crusted iron head. He climbed the stairs once again and stuck the sharp end of the shovel into the crack running the length of the door.

  Wrenching on the shovel, he put all his strength into it.

  It wasn’t enough. He needed more leverage. Shifting his feet so all but his toes hung off the step, he yanked down with such force it pushed him back. His feet tilted and he barely had time to think before he fell back. The shovel clattered to the ground seconds before Dell slammed into one of the barrels on his way down.

  The lid of the barrel had only been resting on top and it popped free, jolting Dell as it crashed onto his head.

  He groaned and rolled onto his side. “Bloody brilliant.” A harsh laugh escaped him and echoed across the dark room. He winced as he rose onto his knees, using the now open barrel to pull himself up. He placed a hand on each lip of the barrel and closed his eyes, willing the pain to fade from his body.

  The sliver of moonlight struck the cask in front of him as he opened his eyes, revealing a black substance.

  Curious, he stuck his hand inside, pulling up a handful of fine black powder, not unlike the sand from the beach he’d taken Helena too.

  But this was no sand.

  His eyes widened as he dug his hand in again, his fall a distant memory.

  He eyed the row of barrels as if they would explode right where they sat, but he had to know. Picking up the shovel, he moved to the next one and pried the round wooden lid free. He barely heard it hit the ground as his mind filled with what was before him.

  The same powdery substance.

  Six barrels, all the same.

  He stumbled back, rubbing the crown of his head.

  What was his family doing with six barrels of explosive powder? They could take down the entire palace wall and a part of the city with it. Was that the plan?