Protect the Prince (A Crown of Shards Novel) Read online

  “Dominic loves Rhea,” Sullivan snapped. “He doesn’t care about you. Not like I do.”

  My heart squeezed tight at his words, but I forced myself to keep spewing lies and venom. “You told me once that you would never be satisfied with just one night with me. What do you think this is, Sully?”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I don’t know, but I want to find out. Together.”

  He stepped forward and held out his hand. That one simple gesture almost broke me, but I hardened my heart. Nothing mattered except making sure that he left the gardens, that he left me behind—forever.

  “I am the queen of Bellona, and you are a bastard prince,” I repeated, making my voice as cold as possible. “We had our one night, and now it’s over.”

  More hurt flashed in his eyes, but it was quickly drowned out by anger—so much anger. My heart squeezed tight again, but I made myself stay cold and impassive, as if I didn’t care about him at all.

  “I truly thought that you were different,” Sullivan said in a harsh, accusing voice. “I truly thought that titles and power and what other people think didn’t matter to you.”

  “And now?” I asked the inevitable question, knowing his answer would crush my heart.

  He let out a low, bitter laugh. “And now I realize that I’m the one who doesn’t matter to you. Not in the slightest.” His face hardened, and his eyes glittered like ice. “I hope that you enjoy your marriage to Dominic, Your Majesty.”

  He pressed his fist to his heart and gave me a low, mocking bow. Then he straightened up, whirled around, and stalked away. I watched him leave the gazebo, cross the grass, and disappear into the hedge maze. The sharp snap-snap-snap-snap of his boots against the flagstones felt like knives ripping into my heart, slicing it to shreds.

  I waited until the sound of his footsteps had faded away and I was sure he wasn’t coming back before I spoke again.

  “You can come out now.”

  For several seconds, nothing happened, but then a figure wearing a midnight-purple cloak stepped out of a pool of shadows close to the hedge maze.

  And she wasn’t alone.

  Several more figures, also wearing dark cloaks, slipped out of the shadows as well. The figures surrounded the gazebo, then drew back their hoods. I didn’t recognize their faces, but they all had the same purplish eyes.

  They were all members of the Bastard Brigade.

  The woman in the purple cloak glided forward and stepped into the gazebo. She waited a moment, making sure that I wasn’t going to attack her, then reached up and flicked back her hood, revealing her face.

  Blond hair sleeked back into a high, elegant bun, dark, amethyst eyes, a smug smile creasing her beautiful features. She looked the same as when I had seen her through the Cardea mirror at Seven Spire.

  “Hello, Maeven. I was wondering when you were going to show yourself.”

  “Hello, Everleigh. You’re looking particularly lovely tonight.” Her gaze pointedly flicked over my still-tangled hair and rumpled gown. “Illicit affairs suit you.”

  My hands clenched into fists, but I forced myself to stand still and not rise to her obvious bait. “I see you brought some more of your charming relatives with you.”

  Maeven gave a not-so-modest shrug, then waved her hand. “Take her.”

  The assassins rushed forward and converged on me. I braced myself, thinking they were going to blast me with their magic, but they swarmed me instead.

  I fought back, of course, punching, hitting, and kicking with all my might. But there was nothing that I could do. Not against so many of them.

  I landed a few blows, but multiple sets of hands quickly latched onto my arms, holding me still. A fist zoomed forward and snapped into my face. Pain exploded in my jaw, and the world went black.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Ansel dragged my mother into the woods, and my mother dragged me along behind her. Together, the three of us formed a human chain, running away from Winterwind.

  Yells rang out from the manor house in the distance, and I looked back over my shoulder. Through the trees, I spotted men armed with swords and torches pouring out of the kitchen door that we had come through a minute ago.

  “Where is the Blair bitch?”

  “We have to find her!”

  “No one escapes!”

  Their shouts tore through the air, and it was only a matter of time before they found our footprints in the snow and chased after us.

  But once again, Ansel didn’t appear to be concerned. Even more curious was the fact that my tutor seemed to know exactly where he was going, even though I’d never seen him so much as walk out here before. We moved deeper and deeper into the woods, and the shouts of the Mortan assassins quickly faded away.

  Five minutes later, we ran into a small clearing. To my surprise, two horses laden down with saddlebags were tied to a tree. My heart lifted. We were going to escape after all.

  But then I noticed that these weren’t two random horses. One was a black stallion that belonged to Ansel, while the gray mare was my mother’s mount. I frowned. How had they gotten out of the barn and all the way back here?

  My mother sucked in a surprised breath, and she stopped and let go of Ansel’s hand, along with mine. My tutor hurried over to his horse and stuck my father’s sword into a saddlebag, then turned back around to us.

  “What’s wrong? We have to leave,” Ansel hissed. “Now! Before they find us!”

  “Why are these horses waiting here?” my mother whispered, voicing my thought.

  Ansel opened his mouth, but my mother snapped up her hand. He bit back whatever he’d been about to say, but I could smell his garlic guilt. He reeked of it.

  My mother stared at him with wide, horrified eyes. “You planned this,” she accused. “You knew that the Mortans were going to attack Winterwind. That’s why you had the horses waiting. So you could escape.”

  Ansel stalked over and grabbed her hands, squeezing them tight in his. “So we could escape, Leighton. I did it for you.”

  “But . . . why?” my mother asked in confusion.

  Ansel stared at her, a strange, bright, almost fanatical light flashing in his eyes. This time, instead of garlic guilt, the stench of his cherry lust filled the clearing. The scent made me want to vomit.

  “Because I love you,” he declared. “And I know that you love me too.”

  My mother’s eyes widened again, and she tore her hands out of his. “I love Jarl, my husband! Not you! Why would you ever think that?”

  “Because you were always smiling at me, and talking to me, and laughing at my jokes,” Ansel said. “I knew that you loved me, even if you couldn’t show it whenever your idiot husband was around.”

  My mother sucked in a ragged breath and swayed on her feet. “You . . . you handed Jarl that glass of wine. You poisoned him. You killed him.”

  “I did it for us!” Ansel yelled, his voice rising to a near scream. “So we could finally be together!”

  His voice boomed through the woods loud enough to make the owls nestled in the snowy trees squawk and take flight. My heart pounded, even as my stomach twisted itself into hard knots.

  Ansel had murdered my father so he could . . . what? Be with my mother? Or whatever sick, twisted fantasy he’d invented in his head? Part of me didn’t want to know the answer.

  Anger burned in my mother’s gray-blue eyes, and her lips curled up in disgust. She glared at him, then dropped her gaze, as if she couldn’t stand to look at him anymore. She froze, as if something had caught her eye. Then she surged forward, reached out, and tore the bronze pocket watch off his vest.

  She looked at the fancy cursive M engraved in the metal. The symbol must have meant something to her, because she held the watch out to him.

  “You’re one of them,” she said, spitting out the last word. “You’re a fucking Mortan.”

  Ansel grimaced, but he didn’t deny it. My mother gave him another disgusted look, then threw the watch at him. It bounc
ed off his chest and dropped into the snow.

  “You have to come with me, Leighton,” Ansel said, pleading with her. “I’m trying to save you.”

  She shook her head and stepped away from him. “You murdered my husband,” she hissed. “I’m not going anywhere with you!”

  Then her eyes narrowed, and she actually smiled, as if something about this whole horrible situation pleased her. “Your relatives won’t be happy you’ve betrayed them. They’ll come for you, and they’ll give you all the horrors you deserve.”

  “No, we certainly are not happy about that,” another voice murmured. “And you’re right. Ansel is going to regret betraying us.”

  The three of us whirled around. The magier in the midnight-purple cloak was standing in the clearing. Her hood was down, revealing her blond hair and bright, eerie purple eyes, and a ball of cold lightning crackled in her palm.

  My mother lurched forward, putting herself in between the magier and me.

  Ansel wet his lips, held his hands out in front of him in supplication, and tiptoed forward. “Marisse, wait, let me explain—”

  Marisse snapped up her hand and blasted him with her magic. Purple hailstones mixed with cold lightning streaked through the clearing and slammed into Ansel’s chest, cutting into and then freezing him where he stood. He screamed and screamed, but there was nothing he could do. A few seconds later, he dropped to the ground, with several hailstones sticking out of his chest like knives and his eyes bulging like glassy marbles in his frozen face.

  Marisse stared down at Ansel, then shook her head. “Ansel always was weak and foolish. I can’t believe he thought that he could save you, or that you would willingly go with him after he murdered your husband.” She shrugged. “But love makes us do stupid things, doesn’t it?”

  My mother didn’t answer, but I could smell her lemony worry. My nose twitched. I could also smell the cold, crisp scent of my mother’s magic as she reached for it, gathering it up and up inside her. I did the same with my immunity.

  “And now, Winter queen,” Marisse hissed, “it’s time for you to die, along with your precious daughter—”

  Blue light flashed to life in my mother’s palm, and she snapped up her hand and threw her magic at the other woman. The light split apart and sharpened into long, jagged needles of ice. Hope filled my chest. All we needed was one needle to skewer the magier, and we could escape.

  But Marisse unleashed her own magic. Her purple hailstones blasted apart my mother’s blue needles, and all the pieces of ice crashed together and shattered in midair.

  “Run, Evie!” my mother screamed, even as she raised her hand for another attack. “Run!”

  But I never got the chance. Marisse was faster than my mother, and she snapped up her hands, unleashing more of her sharp, deadly hailstones, along with bolts of cold lightning. My mother pushed back with her own power, but one of the hailstones slipped past her defenses and slammed into her chest, spinning her around.

  Her hot, sticky blood spattered onto my face.

  I hissed, jerked back, and slapped my hand to my cheek before pulling it away. I stared down in horror at the scarlet specks staining my fingertips, at the awful sight of my mother’s blood on my own skin. Then, determination filled me, overcoming my fear and panic. I’d already lost my father to these Mortan bastards. I wasn’t losing my mother too, even though I had no idea how I could save her or myself.

  But it was already too late.

  My mother staggered forward, and I realized that Marisse’s hailstone had plunged into her heart like an amethyst dagger. Blood gushed out of the wound, staining the purple ice an ugly, mottled brown.

  Marisse laughed and lifted her hand for another strike. My mother must have seen my eyes widen because she wrapped her arms around me, still determined to protect me.

  “Mama!” I screamed. “Mama!”

  My mother tightened her grip on me. “Use . . . your magic . . .” she mumbled. “Save . . . yourself . . . Evie . . .”

  More sharp hailstones punched into my mother’s back, making her scream again. She pitched forward, and we both tumbled to the ground. My mother fell on top of me, still trying to protect me, and her warm blood oozed over my neck and chest, even as my body sank deep into the wet snow.

  A bolt of cold purple lightning slammed into my mother’s back, making her scream again. Marisse wasn’t finished with us.

  Wave after wave of power blasted into my mother. My right hand was trapped in between our bodies, but I wrapped my left arm around my mother’s back, even though the lightning froze my skin. For several seconds, I screamed along with my mother, but then I forced myself to grit my teeth and grab hold of my immunity.

  Somehow, I managed to push back against the magier’s icy lightning. Oh, my hand and arm were still frostbitten, horribly so, but the magier’s lightning didn’t freeze the rest of my body, like it was doing to my mother.

  Desperate, I squeezed my mother even tighter, trying to share my immunity with her, trying to shield both of us with my magic. But she was already more dead than alive, thanks to that gruesome wound in her chest, and I could feel the magic freezing what little life she had left.

  My mother drew back, and her gray-blue eyes filled my vision. Blair eyes, tearstone eyes, just like mine. She opened her mouth to say something, but all that escaped was a soft sigh, and she pitched forward, her head dropping down to my shoulder.

  That’s when I knew she was dead.

  Tears streamed down and froze on my face, and a sob rose in my throat, but I choked it down and focused on my immunity. I didn’t know how long I laid in the snow, clutching my dead mother and fighting back against the magier’s cold power.

  Eventually, the purple lightning dissolved into a shower of ice pellets. By this point, I was half buried in the snow, with my mother’s frozen body on top of me, her arms still wrapped around me, even though they were cold and as stiff as boards. My own hand and arm were somehow frostbitten and burning at the same time, and this horrible, throbbing pain pulsed through my body with every breath.

  As much as I wanted to unwrap my arm from around my mother, I forced myself to lie absolutely still. Footsteps crunched through the snow. The magier was coming to make sure we were dead.

  I hadn’t realized it until now, but I’d shut my eyes during the attack, and I forced myself to crack them open.

  My mother’s cold, frozen face loomed up in front of mine.

  Thankfully, her eyes were closed, but her skin had turned a horrible blackish-purple, and she reeked of frosted death.

  Somehow, I choked down a shrieking sob. My gaze flicked left and right, but I was buried so deep that all I could see was the snow rising up on either side of me, with the sickening sight of my mother’s frozen face in the middle. I kept lying still and quiet, scarcely daring to breathe—

  Lightning zinged through the air, blasting my mother’s body off mine. I yelped and reached out, but she was gone, tossed across the clearing. I scrambled up and onto my feet and whirled around.

  Marisse was standing right in front of me, an amused smile on her face. “Don’t you know? Playing dead has never worked for anyone.”

  Rage surged through me at her mocking words, and my hands fisted in the folds of my dress. To my surprise, I felt something hard through the fabric, and I realized that the dagger my mother had given me in the dining hall was still in my pocket. My breath caught in my throat, but I started worming my right hand into the opening.

  Marisse looked me up and down, taking in my wild, disheveled hair, my blood- and snow-crusted dress, and the bluish-purple tint to my left arm and fingers. Her eyes narrowed in thought. “What kind of magic let you survive mine?”

  Instead of answering, I shifted on my feet, using the motion to hide my hand darting inside my pocket. My fingers fumbled through the fabric, but they finally closed around the dagger. I clenched the hilt.

  Marisse shrugged. “I suppose it doesn’t matter, since you’re still going to die.
”

  She lifted her hand, and more of those damned purple hailstones started swirling around her fingertips. “Any last words, little girl—”

  I didn’t wait for her to finish speaking or, worse, throw her magic at me. Instead, I yanked the dagger out of my pocket, lunged forward, and stabbed it into her heart.

  Marisse’s eyes bulged, and she screamed in surprise. Her hailstones slipped through her fingers and splattered onto the ground. She staggered back, but I followed her. I yanked the dagger out of her chest, then stabbed her with it again.

  And I didn’t stop.

  I stabbed the magier over and over again, cutting into every part of her I could reach. She screamed and screamed and tried to throw her magic at me, but my attack was too brutal, frenzied, and vicious, and she couldn’t summon up so much as a single spark of power.

  It seemed to take forever, although it couldn’t have been more than ten seconds before her eyes rolled up in the back of her head, and she dropped to the ground. I loomed over her, the dagger still clutched in my hand, but the magier’s eyes were fixed and frozen.

  I don’t know how long I stood there, breathing hard, her blood dripping off my hand, my entire body shaking with rage and grief and fear. But slowly, I realized that the magier was dead, and that I wasn’t, and that I couldn’t just stand here lost in the fog of my feelings.

  So I shoved the bloody dagger back into my dress pocket and glanced around, still trying to steady myself. My gaze zoomed over to my mother’s body. My heart squeezed tight, but I turned away from her crumpled form. I didn’t look at my mother again.

  I couldn’t.

  Instead, I surveyed the rest of the clearing. The horses were long gone, having fled as soon as the magier killed Ansel, but something metallic glimmered in the snow, close to his body, and I shuffled over to it.

  Ansel’s pocket watch.

  The sight filled me with disgust, since it was another reminder of all the horrors he had brought down upon my family. I started to leave the watch here, but for some reason, I crouched down and scooped it up. The fancy engraved M on the bronze cover gleamed at me like a sly, mocking eye, as if it were happy to be watching my suffering.