Protect the Prince Read online

  “Put down the dagger,” I repeated. “Just put it down.”

  Libby shook her head and staggered back another step. “You don’t know what he does to people who fail. I can’t go back,” she whispered again. Then her jaw clenched, and her face hardened. “I won’t go back.”

  She wrapped both hands around the dagger and lifted it overhead. I tensed, expecting her to try to attack me again, but Libby had something far worse in mind.

  She whipped the dagger down and plunged it into her own stomach.

  “No!” I yelled, surging toward her.

  But I was too late. Screaming all the while, Libby twisted the dagger even deeper into her own stomach, then ripped it out. The blade slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor. Her legs buckled, and she landed next to it.

  The nobles gasped, while my friends cursed. I hurried forward and dropped to my knees beside Libby. Blood had already pooled under her body, staining the stone a slick, glossy red. The warm, coppery stench punched me in the gut. It matched the smell of her fear.

  Libby looked up at me. Pain glazed her amethyst eyes, but her lips drew back into a grim smile. “I’m just the first. There are . . . more of . . . us . . .”

  “How many more?” I demanded. “Who are they? Where are they? Are they already inside Seven Spire?”

  “We’re . . . everywhere . . .” she rasped.

  Libby laughed, as though her cryptic words were highly amusing, although her chuckles morphed into a racking cough that sent blood bubbling out of her lips and trickling down her chin. I started to grab her shoulders to try to shake some answers out of her when I realized that the blood sliding down her face wasn’t red—it was as black as black could be.

  I drew in a breath. I could still smell the coppery scent of her blood, but another, stronger aroma drowned it out—the deceptively sweet, light, lavender aroma of the poison on her dagger. It was spreading through her veins and quickly killing her, even more so than the gruesome wound she’d inflicted on herself.

  Libby blinked a few times, and tears leaked out of her eyes. “It’s not . . . so bad . . .” she mumbled. “Doesn’t hurt . . . as much . . . as other things . . .”

  She was talking to herself instead of to me, although after a few seconds, her gaze locked with mine again. Another grim smile curved her lips.

  “Don’t worry . . . I won’t . . . die alone . . .” she rasped. “He’s coming . . . for you too . . .”

  I started to ask who he was, but once again, I was too late.

  Libby exhaled, her eyes became fixed and frozen, and her body relaxed, even as more blood gushed out of her stomach wound.

  My would-be assassin was dead—and she had left me with far more questions than answers.

  Chapter Four

  No one moved or spoke, although everyone watched to see what I would do next. I was wondering that myself.

  I shifted on my knees, causing my shadow to move on the floor. My gaze locked onto the dark outline, specifically the crown on my head, and I gingerly reached up and touched the thin silver band. Calandre had been right. The crown hadn’t fallen off, hadn’t really moved at all, despite my vigorous fight with the assassin. I shuddered and dropped my hand down to my side.

  Footsteps sounded, and a shadow fell over me, blotting out my own grotesque one. Captain Auster crouched down on the other side of Libby. He looked at me, making sure that I was okay, then down at her, making sure that she was dead.

  The silver dagger was lying on the floor where she had dropped it. Auster started to reach for it, but I held out my arm, stopping him.

  “Don’t touch that. It’s poisoned.”

  Auster bowed his head. “Yes, my queen.”

  Yes, my queen.

  Those three soft, simple words stabbed into my heart like the sharpest sword, reminding me yet again that I was the cause of this gruesome situation. Disgust filled me. Not because Maeven had sent someone to assassinate me. I’d been expecting that for weeks. No, what truly disgusted me was that someone—he—had scared this woman, this girl, enough to make her kill herself rather than surrender. What a fucking waste of a life.

  But Libby had made her choice, and there was no bringing her back. I let out a long, weary sigh and slowly got to my feet. I turned away from the dead woman and realized that I still had a problem.

  The nobles.

  Now that the fight was finished, everyone was staring at me—or, rather, at the sword in my hand.

  Fullman, in particular, was eyeing the tearstone weapon with obvious, hungry interest. Everyone had seen me use the blade to slap away Libby’s lightning, and it seemed as though they all thought that it was the source of my power.

  People still didn’t know how I’d managed to survive Vasilia’s lightning during the royal challenge. Oh, rumors had flown fast and furious, and everyone had speculated about what kind of magic I might have. Herbs, protection charms, glamour-filled jewelry, ancient runes. I’d heard all those theories and a dozen others that were even more ridiculous.

  But no one seemed to know about my immunity, and the nobles still thought that I was a mutt with an enhanced sense of smell and nothing more. Now they would probably assume that my sword had saved me from Libby’s lightning, and Vasilia’s as well. That my weapon had some special power or property that set it apart from normal tearstone.

  That was better than them trying to use my magic for their own ends, but I’d have to be careful of thieves from now on. Not only would they lust after my sword, but they’d also want the dagger on my belt, the bracelet on my wrist, and the shield in my chambers.

  I tightened my grip on my sword, as though I didn’t want to let it go, even though the danger had passed. Even more hunger sparked in Fullman’s gaze, as well as in those of some of the other nobles. Good. Every lie they believed gave me an advantage over them.

  The longer I stared at the nobles, especially Fullman’s smug face, the angrier I became. I fully expected Maeven to keep trying to kill me, either by proxy or in person, until one of us was dead. Someone always wanted to kill the queen. That was my burden to bear, whether I liked it or not.

  But what made me truly livid was that none of the nobles would have cared whether I lived or died. If the assassin had killed me, they wouldn’t have even waited until my body was cold before they started scheming to see which one of them could take the throne.

  I would always have to fight Maeven and the Mortans, but I wasn’t going to fight my own people too. Not anymore.

  “Did you enjoy the show?” I called out. “Did you enjoy watching that girl kill herself after she failed to kill me?”

  No one answered, but I didn’t want them to.

  Cold rage surged through me, and I didn’t try to hide it. Not this time. Instead, I stabbed my sword at the girl’s body. A few drops of blood flew off the end of the blade and spattered onto the floor at the feet of Fullman and the other nobles, but I didn’t care about that either.

  Let them get drenched in the blood of all the people they’d had to kill the same way that I was. Let them hear the screams of their dead loved ones ringing in their ears. Let them have nightmares about all the innocent people they’d seen slaughtered. Maybe then they would understand who our true enemy was.

  “This is what I’m facing,” I snarled. “This is what we are all facing. Do you think the Mortans will stop with just me? They want all of us dead. Anyone in Bellona who could possibly be a threat to them is at risk. That includes the sorry lot of you, whether you realize it or not, along with your children and spouses and everyone else you care about.”

  I turned around in a circle, glaring at first one noble, then another. “I am going to Andvari. And I am going to secure a new peace treaty with King Heinrich. While I’m gone, you all have a decision to make. You can set aside your petty differences and power struggles and stop your fucking games. You can stand with me and help me protect Bellona against the Mortans. Or you can sit back, do nothing, and wait to be slaughtered, just
like the Blairs were slaughtered. The choice is yours.”

  I gave the nobles one more disgusted look, then whirled around and stormed out of the throne room.

  * * *

  I expected someone to come running after me. Paloma, maybe, or Captain Auster. But my friends must have realized that I needed a few minutes alone because I didn’t hear any footsteps.

  I didn’t really think about where I was going, only that I wanted to get away from the blood, death, and poisonous politics. I marched down a couple of hallways, rounded a corner, and shoved through some glass doors.

  I wound up on the royal lawn.

  I jerked to a stop, my body tensed, and my gaze cut left and right. For a moment, I felt as though I had stepped back in time to the massacre nine months ago, and I half expected to see a group of turncoat guards rushing to cut me down, just as they had that awful day.

  It took me several seconds to realize that there were no guards, turncoat or otherwise, and that I was the only person here. I drew in several slow, deep breaths, trying to get my rage and memories under control.

  It was mid-September, the last, waning days of summer, although the morning sun had already baked the air. Perfectly manicured grass rolled out for thousands of feet, while stone paths wound past towering trees and enormous flower beds filled with bright, colorful blossoms. Bees buzzed through the heavy, sticky air, moving from one blossom to the next, and the scent of pollen mixed with the flowers’ heady perfumes and tickled my nose.

  Everyone had flocked to the court session, so the lawn was deserted. No guards roamed along the paths, and no one lounged on the black, wrought-iron benches. Good. I wanted to be alone right now.

  I strode forward, not quite sure where I was going, other than away from everyone inside the palace. But my respite would be brief, at best. The queen was never left to her own devices. And since someone had just tried to kill me, Paloma and Captain Auster would probably show up any second, along with several guards. But I was determined to enjoy this moment of relative peace and quiet for as long as possible, so I walked on, putting even more distance between myself and the palace.

  Eventually, I stepped off the path and stopped in a spot in the grass. This was where the royal massacre had taken place and where so many people had died, including Isobel, the cook master who’d been like a second mother to me.

  Evie! Evie!

  Isobel’s screams sounded in my mind, and I almost thought that I could smell her scent—powdered sugar mixed with cinnamon. At least, that had been her scent before a turncoat guard had shoved his sword through her chest, drenching Isobel in her own blood.

  Suddenly, the sun wasn’t so bright, and the day wasn’t so unbearably hot. Instead, a chill swept over me, and I had to wrap my arms around myself to hold back a shiver. I hurried on.

  I wound up at the low stone wall that cordoned off the lawn from the two-hundred-foot drop below. Seven Spire palace jutted out of the mountain of the same name, and the lawn offered sweeping views of the Summanus River as it tumbled down from the surrounding Spire Mountains and flowed toward the southern sea.

  Down below, seven cobblestone bridges arched over the river and led into Svalin. Buildings of all shapes and sizes stretched out for miles, including the hulking dome of the Black Swan arena near the edge of the city. But no matter how large or small, well-kept or run-down, the buildings all boasted metal spires at the corners of their roofs. The sharp, slender points represented swords and Bellona’s gladiator tradition, and they also emulated the seven towering tearstone spires that topped the palace and gave Seven Spire its name.

  Normally, I loved the views of the river and the city, but right now, the pointed spires glinting in the sunlight reminded me of Libby’s poisoned dagger. Once again, I couldn’t help but feel disgusted that the young woman had wasted her life trying to end mine.

  But my thoughts quickly turned from Libby to Maeven, since I knew that she was the true architect of this assassination plot, just as she had been of the Seven Spire massacre. I wondered where Maeven was, and especially what she was doing.

  Was she in Svalin? Hiding in some fine home and waiting for word of my murder to reach her ears? Or was she farther away? Maybe even back in Morta? I didn’t know, and I supposed that it didn’t really matter where Maeven was, only what she would do when she realized that her plot to kill me had failed.

  But I unfortunately knew the answer to that question—she would once again try to murder me as soon as possible.

  “A crown for your thoughts?” a low voice murmured.

  My heart stuttered at the sound of his voice. I drew in a breath, letting his cold, clean vanilla scent fill my lungs. Suddenly, my heart was beating so hard and fast that I thought it might pop right out of my chest and tumble down over the rocks, but I didn’t care. Instead, I drew in breath after breath, letting his scent seep deep down into my lungs and using it to drive away the lingering stench of the assassin’s blood and poison.

  Lucas Sullivan stepped up to the wall next to me and looked out over the city. While he admired the view, I admired him, greedily drinking in his dark brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and the stubble that clung to his jaw. I had been so busy dealing with various crises and trying to secure the throne that I hadn’t seen much of him over the last several weeks. And never like this, when it was just the two of us, alone.

  “Hello, Sully,” I drawled. “Did Serilda send you to check on me? To make sure that I wasn’t tempted to do another swan dive over the cliffs and put myself out of my own misery?”

  A crooked grin lifted his lips. “No, Serilda didn’t send me. I wanted to check on you myself.”

  My heart stuttered again at the obvious concern in his voice, but I forced myself to rein in my attraction and especially my feelings. Sullivan had made it absolutely clear that we could never be together, a bastard prince and a queen, and I was going to respect his wishes, no matter how much they hurt us both.

  He turned toward me. “You did well today.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “You mean because I survived being poisoned and assassinated for the second time this year at Seven Spire?”

  He shook his head. “No. I meant that you did well during court. Dealing with the nobles. You’re good at it.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  He shook his head again. “I shouldn’t be. I know that you lived at the palace after your parents were killed when you were younger. But the way you handled Fullman and Diante . . . It was very skillful. I couldn’t have done that.”

  “You’re the magier enforcer for the Black Swan troupe. Surely wrangling some scheming nobles isn’t any harder than keeping gladiators and their enormous egos in check.”

  Another faint smile lifted his lips. “You know as well as I do that things were far simpler at the Black Swan and that the gladiators could take out their anger and frustrations on each other in the arena. I would much rather deal with an angry gladiator with a sword in their hand and fury in their heart than I would a noble with sly words on their tongue and schemes galore in their mind.”

  I couldn’t argue with that.

  “Besides, I was never very good at being at court, at . . . dealing with people.” A dark, distant look filled his eyes, as though he was thinking back to his own experiences in the Andvarian royal court.

  “What happened? Was it your father? Did he treat you . . . poorly?”

  “No. He was actually very good to me, and to my mother as well. We had our own chambers in the palace, and we were always included with the queen and her children, my half brothers. Everything was always equal—except for how other people treated us.”

  His jaw clenched. I could well imagine how the Andvarian nobles had tried to use him, and his mother too, to further their own agendas.

  Sullivan shrugged, as though he was trying to slough off his anger, along with his bad memories. “The palace games never seemed to bother my mother, but they infuriated me. I always wondered why people couldn’t just say
what they meant and do what they promised.”

  “Is that why you left?”

  “Partly. There were also some . . . extenuating circumstances.”

  Those circumstances must have been quite extreme, given the tension in his voice and the scent of ashy heartbreak that swirled around him. I waited, hoping he would elaborate, but he didn’t.

  “And now you’re going back to Andvari, back to the Glitnir royal court,” I said. “All because of me.”

  He nodded. “You were correct before. Securing an alliance between Andvari and Bellona is the most important thing right now. If we aren’t united, then we’ll both fall to the Mortans.”

  “Is that why you set up the trip?”

  As soon as I had killed Vasilia, I had started thinking about the best way to repair relations between our kingdoms. To my surprise, Sullivan had volunteered to contact his father, and he had brokered the deal for me to travel to Andvari.

  He shrugged again. “More or less. But I also want to see my mother, and Gemma too. I want to make sure that she’s really okay.”

  Gemma was Sullivan’s niece and the king’s granddaughter. The girl had been part of the Andvarian contingent that had been at Seven Spire during the massacre, and she was the only one of them who’d survived the slaughter. I wondered if she had nightmares about it like I did. Probably.

  Sympathy filled me, and I laid my hand on top of his, which was resting on the stone wall. Sullivan jerked, as though my soft touch burned, but he didn’t pull his hand out from under mine and step away like he had in the past. Instead, he swayed toward me, a hungry look in his eyes. It matched the aching, breathless hunger pounding through my own body.

  A gust of wind whistled down from the mountains, whipping my black hair around my face. Sullivan lifted his hand, as though he was going to brush my hair back, but then his gaze drifted up and locked onto my crown. The slight weight suddenly seemed as heavy as a boulder crushing my head, and my heart along with it.

  Sullivan’s lips twisted, and he dropped his hand to his side and slid his other one out from under mine. I stretched out my hand to grab his again, but I thought better of it and curled my fingers into a tight fist instead. For a moment, I could still feel the warmth of his skin against my own, but another gust of wind swept over us both and ripped that away as well.