Protect the Prince (Crown of Shards #2)(107)

Throughout the gazebo, the other Mortans stood up tall, seemingly proud of that name and all the awful things that went along with it. Fools.

“Oh, yes,” Maeven said in a smug voice. “We have relatives in every kingdom on this continent and the ones beyond. But I’m particularly proud of this cousin. She’s done such a good job of keeping an eye on the Ripleys and feeding us intelligence over the years.”

So the traitor was someone close to the king, just like I’d feared. I opened my mouth to ask more questions when another scent drifted over to me—a strong, rosy perfume.

My heart clenched, and my stomach twisted. I’d smelled that perfume before, and I knew exactly who it belonged to. But the implications of sensing it here and now were downright sickening.

“You captured her without getting Lucas involved. Excellent.” A voice floated out of the darkness, confirming my terrible suspicions.

Footsteps sounded, and a woman stepped into the gazebo and walked up next to Maeven. Like the magier, this woman was also wearing a midnight-purple cloak, and she reached up and lowered the hood so I could see her face.

Part of me was still desperately hoping Helene was hiding under there, but of course it wasn’t her. It was so much worse than that.

It was Dahlia.





Chapter Twenty-Four


Even though I had suspected that she was here, shock still jolted through my body, burning through me even more intensely than a magier’s lightning.

“You’re the traitor?” I whispered. “You’re a Mortan? A member of the Bastard Brigade?”

A thin smile curved Dahlia’s lips. “One of the longest-serving members, as a matter of fact.”

With her black hair and green eyes, Dahlia didn’t look anything like Maeven or the other assassins, the majority of whom had blond hair and purple eyes. My gaze dropped to the gold locket around her neck, the heart embossed with a large, fancy cursive D. I cursed my own foolishness. Dahlia had been wearing a Mortan symbol this whole time. I had just been too blind and suspicious of Helene to see it.

I drew in a breath, and the overpowering scent of Dahlia’s rose perfume washed over me again. The aroma was another clue that I’d missed. No one wore that much perfume by accident. Sullivan must have mentioned my magic to her at some point, and Dahlia had deliberately doused herself with the cloying rose scent to keep me from smelling her emotions—and her evil intentions. Smart of her, and stupid of me not to realize it before now.

“I was sent to Glitnir as a child with instructions to climb as high as possible,” Dahlia continued. “And I’ve done quite well for myself, just like you said, Everleigh.”

“So all this time, all these years, you’ve been the king’s mistress because you were ordered to?” I asked. “So you could spy on him and report back to the Mortan king?”

“Something like that,” Dahlia said.

My mind whirled around, trying to make sense of the depths of Dahlia’s deception and everything she’d done, all the secrets she must have shared with Maeven and the Mortans that had led to us all ending up here.

“So you would have known the second Heinrich decided to marry Frederich to Vasilia. You would have known about the Andvarians’ trip to Seven Spire weeks, if not months, in advance. That’s how Maeven was able to assassinate Frederich, the rest of the Andvarians, and the Blairs at the luncheon.”

Another thin smile curved Dahlia’s lips. “Oh, yes. I was able to help with that and a great many other things.”

I stared at her, horror filling every single part of my body. But then another, even more terrible thought occurred to me.

“And Sully?” I whispered. “Does he know who you really are? What you really are? Is he . . . one of you?”

My heart squeezed tight. I thought that I’d been protecting Sullivan, but if he knew about his mother, if he was part of her deception, if he’d brought me out here, fucked me, and then left me for the Mortans . . .

I didn’t know how I would ever recover from that.

Dahlia let out an amused laugh. “Of course not. I’ve thought many times about telling him, but he’s far more like his father than I anticipated.” She frowned. “Lucas actually loves Andvari and wants to do what’s best for its people and creatures.”

Relief slammed into me, even as guilt knifed through my stomach. Of course Sullivan didn’t know who and what his mother really was. He was a good man, and I was ashamed of myself for doubting him, even for a second. But I shoved my guilt away, still trying to make sense of Dahlia’s schemes.

“So you’re the one who’s been poisoning Heinrich. How?”

Then I remembered that first dinner in the dining hall, when Dahlia had taken such great care in fixing the king a cup of tea.

“The sugar cube,” I said. “The one you dropped in Heinrich’s tea and so thoughtfully stirred around so that it would melt. That’s how you’ve been poisoning the king. One sugar cube at a time.”

“Well, aren’t you clever,” Dahlia said. “But yes. Heinrich is a creature of habit, and I’ve been poisoning his after-dinner tea for months, ever since Frederich died. I had to be careful not to give him too much at once, to make his decline seem like it was born of a broken heart, rather than my slowly killing him. I initially wanted to give Heinrich one large, fatal dose, but Maeven said that it would be so much more satisfying to watch him suffer. She was right.”