Protect the Prince (Crown of Shards #2)(14)

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.”