Protect the Prince Page 4

  “But no law says that we have to do what’s best for our kingdom on empty stomachs,” I said.

  A few people laughed politely at my attempted joke, which was more than I expected, given how I’d lashed out at them. A small victory, but I’d take what I could get.

  I gestured at the kitchen steward. “Theroux and his staff have prepared some delicious refreshments. So please, enjoy their hard work while I meet with everyone.”

  I nodded at Theroux, who whispered to the servants around him. They grabbed their trays of food and drinks and started circulating through the crowd again.

  I did the same, moving from one noble to the next, and making inane chitchat just as I had done at hundreds of other events. Only this time, people moved toward instead of away from me, which was a bit overwhelming and claustrophobic, but I gritted my teeth and carried on.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Paloma frowning at me. We had agreed that I would talk with the nobles, but she’d expected me to do it sitting on the dais, not down in the crowd. But there were too many people and too many scents, and I couldn’t tell where the jalapeño rage was coming from unless I mingled with everyone.

  If I did only one thing right today, then I was going to find the person who wanted me dead.

  An hour later, I had made one lap around the room and had spoken to the most important nobles, although I still wasn’t any closer to identifying who wanted to murder me.

  But most of the nobles had been appeased, and I was about to head up to the second-floor balcony to see if my would-be killer might be lurking there when Diante plucked a glass of sangria off a servant’s tray. She held the glass up high, and everyone quieted and faced her.

  “It’s long past time we toasted to Queen Everleigh’s reign,” Diante called out. “Shall we?”

  I looked at Diante, who gave me a bland smile in return. She hadn’t forgotten how I’d humiliated her, and she was making it clear that she was still in the game. The other nobles followed her example, even Fullman, and soon everyone was holding a glass of sangria.

  A young, pretty blond servant hurried over to me. Unlike the plain crystal glasses that everyone else was drinking out of, a silver goblet inlaid with dark amethysts perched on her tray.

  “Here you go, Your Majesty,” the woman said in a high, singsong voice. She must have had to fetch the goblet from wherever it was stored because she was a bit out of breath.

  I smiled. “Thank you.”

  She smiled back and dipped into an awkward curtsy. She must be new. Or perhaps she was nervous at serving the queen. Part of me still couldn’t believe that I was actually that person now.

  The young woman straightened up, smiled again, and held out the tray. Everyone stared at me, wanting me to grab the goblet so they could get on with the act of toasting and supposedly celebrating my reign. I held back a sigh. Perhaps the blackberry sangria would at least make the rest of the court session bearable.

  I had just touched the goblet when the scent of jalapeño rage filled my nose again.

  To hide my surprise, I curled my fingers around the silver stem and pretended to admire the jeweled goblet. I’d lost the scent among all the perfumes and colognes, and I’d almost given up hope of finding it again.

  My nostrils flared, and I drew in a breath, letting the air roll in over my tongue and tasting all the scents in it. And I finally realized that the jalapeño rage wasn’t emanating from one of the nobles—it was coming from the servant standing next to me.

  I studied her. Blond hair, pretty face, polite smile, blue tunic. She was dressed and acting like the other servants, but two things set her apart. One was the jalapeño rage blasting off her in hot, caustic waves. The second was her eyes, which were a deep, dark purple, like the amethysts in the goblet. I knew another person with eyes like that, and she had tried to kill me more than once.

  Maeven, the bastard sister to the Mortan king.

  Maeven had worked as the kitchen steward at Seven Spire for months, all so she could eventually poison and assassinate Queen Cordelia and the rest of the Blair royal family. And now here was another woman with amethyst eyes offering me a drink, just like Maeven had once upon a time.

  This couldn’t be a coincidence.

  I wondered if this girl had worked for Maeven in the kitchen all along and had stayed behind after Maeven and Nox had fled from Seven Spire. I also wondered if she was one of the Mortan royal bastards, consigned to a life of carrying out assassinations and other foul deeds for her legitimate relatives. Either way, she wasn’t getting away with it.

  No one was murdering me today, especially not in my own fucking throne room.

  Diante must have gotten tired of holding up her glass because she cleared her throat, obviously wanting me to get on with things. I wondered if she knew about the plot to kill me, but there was no time to find out. Not if I wanted to turn the tables on my would-be assassin.

  So I plucked the goblet off the tray. But instead of raising it high, I signaled for another servant and grabbed a regular glass of sangria off his tray. The blond woman frowned and retreated a few steps, but I wasn’t going to let her slip away so easily.

  I turned toward her. “Tell me, girl, what’s your name?”

  She wet her lips. “Libby, Your Majesty.”

  “Well, Libby, it seems silly for me to drink from such a fine goblet when everyone else is using regular glasses. Although I do hate to let good sangria go to waste. Why don’t you take the goblet? After all, you were the one who so thoughtfully fetched it.”

  Before she could protest, I shoved the goblet into her hand.

  By this point, Paloma, Cho, Serilda, Xenia, and Auster had realized that something was wrong, and they were discreetly worming their way through the crowd toward me. On the second-floor balcony, Sullivan was doing the same.

  Libby, if that was even her real name, might have been surprised by my handing her the goblet, but she sidled forward and offered it to me again.

  “Oh, no! I couldn’t possibly drink out of the queen’s goblet!” she said in that high, breathy, innocent voice.

  I curled my fingers even tighter around the plain glass still in my hand. “Funny. I’ve been at court for years, and I don’t remember there ever being a special goblet for the queen. It must be a new tradition. Perhaps Vasilia started it.”

  Libby blinked, not sure what to say.

  I shrugged. “Anyway, I’m giving it to you as a reward for your excellent service. So go on. Drink up.”

  I lifted my glass, as did everyone else, although Diante, Fullman, and the other nobles were frowning, wondering why I was paying so much attention to a servant.

  Libby clutched the goblet, but she didn’t drink the contents. And I knew that she wouldn’t, especially since I could now smell the soft, floral poison in the goblet, only partially masked by the fruity sangria.

  I lifted my own glass even higher. Everyone around me did the same, except for Libby.

  “What’s wrong, Libby? Is the sangria not to your liking?” I arched my eyebrow. “Or perhaps you simply don’t want to drink the poison you slipped into the goblet?”

  Shocked gasps rippled through the crowd. Somewhere behind me, Auster let out a vicious curse, but I didn’t need him to protect me.

  Surprise flashed in Libby’s eyes, but she didn’t bother denying it. Her lips twisted into an evil sneer, and she tossed her serving tray onto the floor. The tray clattered across the stone, making several nobles gasp again and back away, which created an open ring of space around the two of us.

  Libby hadn’t killed me with her poison, but she wasn’t giving up. She lifted her hand, and purple lightning exploded on her fingertips.

  “Die, you Bellonan bitch!” she snarled.

  Then she reared back her hand and threw her magic at me.

  Chapter Three

  Well, Libby tried to throw her magic at me, but I was quicker, and I hurled my glass at her.

  My aim was true, and I beaned her in th
e nose. The glass didn’t break, but the sangria splattered against her face like blackberry rain.

  Libby yelped in surprise and staggered back. She lost her grip on her magic, and her lightning dissolved in a shower of purple sparks. She also lost her grip on the silver goblet, which clattered to the floor. The sangria spilled out and started smoking on the blue carpet.

  People screamed and scrambled back. Paloma, Cho, Serilda, and Xenia had been hurrying toward me, but the stampeding nobles pushed them back.

  “Guards!” Captain Auster yelled above the commotion. “Protect the queen! Protect the queen!”

  The last time I’d heard him scream those words had been during the royal massacre, and hearing them again took me back to that awful day. The throne room, the nobles, even Libby standing in front of me. In an instant, they all vanished, replaced by overturned tables, splintered chairs, and bodies littering the grass like bloody, broken dolls.

  So much blood. So many bodies.

  “Guards!” Auster yelled again. “Protect the queen! Protect Everleigh!”

  The sound of my name broke the spell, and I snapped back to the here and now. Determination surged through me. I had survived that assassination attempt. I would survive this one too.

  I yanked my sword free of its scabbard. The tearstone blade felt as light as a swan feather in my hand, but the slight weight steadied me. I had killed Vasilia with this sword, and I would do the same to this new enemy.

  Libby swiped the sangria out of her eyes and lifted her hand again. More purple lightning exploded on her fingertips, and I could smell the hot, caustic stench of it even above the fruity tang of the sangria. She wasn’t as strong as Maeven, but she was still a powerful magier.

  “Maeven sends her regards!” Libby hissed.

  Then she reared back and threw her magic at me.

  I lifted my sword so that I was holding it upright, with the blade in front of my body, as though I were trying to use the weapon to protect myself from her power. In a way, that was exactly what I was doing, since the tearstone sword was designed to deflect magic.

  But the sword’s ability to deflect magic was nothing compared to mine.

  Magiers, morphs, and masters might look down their noses at mutts, but us mutts had all sorts of skills—strength, speed, enhanced senses. But I had a far more unusual and valuable skill than most.

  I was immune to magic.

  I felt the burning, sizzling power of Libby’s lightning the second it popped into her hand. A cold, hard power rose up inside me in response, eager to lash out and completely throttle her hot, crackling magic.

  So I let it.

  Libby’s lightning slammed into my body with brutal, breathtaking force. My tearstone sword deflected some of her magic, as did the tearstone shards in my bracelet, but the electric heat of her power danced across my skin, trying to burn me alive. So I reached for my own magic, for my own immunity, and used it to push back against the lightning. I’d left my gladiator shield in my chambers, but in a way, my immunity was an even stronger, better shield, this invisible barrier that I could twist, bend, and shape however I wanted.

  And right now, I wanted to use it to throttle all that damned lightning.

  I pictured my immunity like a fist punching back against Libby’s magic. She might be powerful, but my magic was stronger than hers, and my immunity shattered her power. The lightning blasted against my body, but it snuffed out an instant later, dissolving into a shower of purple sparks that dropped down and started smoking on the carpet, just like the poisonous sangria was still doing.

  Libby’s mouth dropped open in surprise. She obviously thought that one bolt of lightning should have been more than enough to kill me, but she reared her hand back and tossed another bolt at me. This time, I used my tearstone sword and the force of my immunity to slap the magic down onto the floor like it was a ball I was hitting in some child’s game.

  The lightning exploded against the flagstones, sending more purple sparks shooting everywhere and causing the nobles to scream again and retreat even farther away.

  Libby must have realized that her lightning wasn’t going to get the job done because she reached under her tunic and drew out a silver dagger from the small of her back.

  “Death to the Winter queen!” she hissed.

  My nose twitched. A soft, lavender scent wafted off the dagger. At first smell, it was pleasant enough, but I drew in another breath, and I sensed the foul rot lurking in the deceptively light, sweet aroma. The blade was poisoned, even more so than the sangria had been. I might be immune to magic, but I had no idea what kind of poison was on that dagger, and I couldn’t let her so much as scratch me with it.

  Libby lashed out with the dagger, trying to bury the blade in my heart. Music started playing in my mind, and I let the quick, steady beat carry me away.

  As a child, I had never been much good at fighting, despite Captain Auster’s repeated attempts to teach me. But I had always loved music and dancing, and Serilda had realized that the key to turning me into a gladiator was to treat fighting for my life as though it were just an elaborate dance that I needed to learn for some ball. She had spent the last several months training me, and now, I could hold my own against the best, most skilled warriors.

  My feet, legs, arms, and hands moved through the familiar patterns of this deadly dance, and I ducked out of the way of Libby’s vicious attack, then swiped out with my own sword in a brutal counterstrike.

  Libby lunged back, whirled around, and faced me again. She moved to her left, and I twirled my sword around in my hand and followed her, matching her step for step. The two of us danced in a slow circle, analyzing and cataloguing the other’s strengths and weaknesses.

  A tense, heavy silence dropped over the throne room. No one said a word, and the only sound was the faint thud-thud-thud-thud of our footsteps. This time, instead of stampeding away, the nobles tiptoed forward, forming a ring around Libby and me and watching our every move.

  It reminded me of fighting in a black-ring match at the Black Swan arena. Bellonans loved their gladiator blood sport, and the nobles more so than most. They wouldn’t pass up this chance to see me in action again, despite the danger to themselves.

  This had morphed from an assassination attempt into a test.

  As I circled around, I spotted Captain Auster, who had shoved his way to the front of the crowd, along with my friends. He started to put himself in between the assassin and me, but Xenia latched onto his arm. He started to pull loose, but she shook her head.

  “It’s all right, Auster,” I called out. “It shouldn’t take me much longer to kill this assassin.”

  Libby let out a low, mocking laugh. “The only one who’s dying is you.”

  “We’ll see.”

  We kept circling each other. No one spoke, and no one moved except for Libby and me. The throne room was eerily quiet, but I could still hear that phantom music playing in my mind, guiding me through the steps I needed to complete in order to finish this dance and kill my enemy.

  Libby grew tired of our circling, and she lunged forward and lashed out with her dagger again. But she wasn’t trying to kill me with it. Not really. Now she was just aiming at my arms and trying to get close enough to cut me, to let the poisoned blade do its foul work.

  I dodged her blow and spun away again. Then, before she could retreat, I moved forward and swung my sword out in a series of quick, vicious moves. I needed to knock that dagger out of her hand first, and then I could bury my sword in her heart.

  But Libby realized what I was doing, and she avoided my attacks.

  Around and around we went, each one of us moving in for a strike that the other either ducked or blocked. This went on for the better part of three minutes. Libby had obviously trained with her dagger, but I had been taught by Serilda Swanson, one of the finest warriors in all the kingdoms, and I slowly started to wear down the younger woman.

  I opened a slice along Libby’s left forearm. Then one along her ri
ght thigh. And finally a deeper gash across her stomach that had her screaming and stumbling back.

  Libby stared at me, pain, fury, and magic shimmering in her amethyst eyes. I expected her to throw her lightning at me again, but she clamped one hand over her stomach, trying to stop the bleeding, and tightened her grip on the dagger still in her other hand.

  “Finish her off!” Diante called out.

  “Kill her!” Fullman agreed.

  “Gut her where she stands!”

  More shouts of encouragement rang out from the nobles, both here on the first floor and up in the balcony. They were all eager for this blood sport to reach its inevitable conclusion.

  Libby’s gaze flicked over the people gathered around us, as if she was just now realizing that if I didn’t kill her, someone else would.

  In addition to Auster and the guards, Paloma had her mace clenched in her hands and a murderous look on her face, as did the ogre on her neck. Serilda and Cho were both clutching their swords, Xenia was holding her cane, and Sullivan was standing by the balcony railing, blue lightning crackling in his palm, ready to rain down his own power on her.

  The magic leaked out of Libby’s eyes, replaced by growing dread. She looked down at the blood gushing out from between her fingertips, and she blanched, her face suddenly pale. She would bleed out if she didn’t get help soon.

  “It’s over,” I said. “You’ve failed. Put down the dagger. Now.”

  Libby glanced at the blade in her hand, then looked at me again. Something surprising filled her eyes.

  Fear—complete, utter, paralyzing fear.

  More fear than I had ever seen anyone show before. More fear than I had ever smelled from anyone before. The sharp, coppery tang of it rolled off her in waves, even stronger than her jalapeño rage had been earlier.

  “I can’t go back,” she whispered. “Not to him.”

  Tears filled her eyes, and I got the sense that they were tears of fear, instead of pain. She kept staring at me, debating her options. She had only two—surrender or death.