Protect the Prince (Crown of Shards #2)(26)

I supposed that today’s assassination attempt had sent my mind spinning back to the night my parents had died. Sadly, watching my father choke to death on his own blood and the Mortans storm into the dining hall hadn’t been the worst things that had happened at Winterwind.

Not even close.

I scrubbed my hands over my face again, wishing I could shove the awful memories out of my mind. I felt like I couldn’t get a single moment of bloody peace anymore, not even in sleep.

I lay in bed until my breathing was even again, my heart had quit racing, and the sweat had cooled on my body. All the while, I stared up at the ceiling over the queen’s bed, my bed now, although it was several minutes before I actually focused on it, instead of my horrible memories.

Unlike the throne room with its metal and jeweled accents, this ceiling was plain, with only a single symbol carved into the stone—a woman’s hand wielding a sword.

I grimaced. The symbol was yet another reminder of all the queens who had come before me, all of whom seemed to be stronger, smarter, and more powerful than I could ever dream of being, especially considering the fact that I’d almost been murdered in my own throne room today.

Still, the symbol also reminded me of my duty. For better or worse, I was the queen of Bellona until I either died of old age or someone murdered me. Right now, I was betting on the second option, but that didn’t mean I had to make it easy for my would-be killers.

If I couldn’t sleep, I might as well get up and fight.

I sighed and then threw back the covers and got out of bed.





Chapter Seven


I put on black leggings and boots, along with a plain blue tunic, one without any of Calandre’s silver-thread embroidery. I also waded into the pile of clothes in the closest corner, fished out a midnight-blue cloak, and slipped into it as well, making sure to pull up the hood over my head to cover my hair and shadow my face. Then I grabbed my sword and my dagger from underneath my pillows and strapped them to my belt.

By this point, it was almost midnight, which meant that everyone in the palace should be asleep, except for the guards. No one should knock on my doors until morning, much less enter my chambers, but I still shoved my pillows underneath the covers to make it look as though I was sleeping, just in case Paloma, Serilda, or someone else checked on me. I also left the fluorestone lamps on their current dim settings to further sell the illusion.

Oh, I doubted the old pillow trick would fool anyone for more than a few seconds, but I didn’t want someone to stick their head into my room and panic when they didn’t see me.

And I especially didn’t want anyone to know that I could leave my chambers without going past the guards outside.

I pulled the covers a little higher on my pillows, then crept over and put my ear close to the doors, listening. Every few seconds, a faint creak of leather would sound, along with the soft scuff-scuff of boots on the flagstones, indicating that the guards were still awake. Good. They would hopefully keep anyone from entering before I returned.

Once I was sure that the guards hadn’t heard me moving around, I went over to the ebony bookcase that took up most of one wall. Given my hectic schedule, I hadn’t had time yet to clear all of Vasilia’s things out of my chambers, and painted portraits of my cousin still lined the shelves. Of course the servants had offered to remove the items, but I’d decided to do it myself, just in case Vasilia had left behind any notes or other sensitive information.

I picked up a gold frame and stared at Vasilia’s blond hair, beautiful features, and gray-blue eyes. Blair eyes, just like mine. Tearstone eyes, some people called them, because of all the tearstone my ancestors had dug out of Seven Spire and the surrounding mountains.

In the portrait, Vasilia was wearing a gold crown studded with pink diamonds shaped like laurel flowers. I traced my fingers over the crown, then down her face. Vasilia was smiling, and satisfaction filled her eyes, but the longer I studied her image, the more it seemed as though her lips twisted into a sneer and her eyes narrowed, as though she were mocking me about what a terrible queen I was—and just how short-lived my reign would be.

She was probably right about that.

I sighed and set the photo back on the shelf. Despite my hatred of her, I had to admit that Vasilia would have been a much better queen than me, especially when it came to palace politics. She would have masterfully played the nobles against one another during the court session until she had gotten exactly what she wanted from them, instead of floundering around and losing her temper like I had.

I sighed again, but there was still work to be done, so I grabbed hold of a midnight-blue book with a silver-foil title running down its spine—A History of Bellona and Her Gladiator Queens. I tilted the top of the book back, then let go and watched it snap forward. A faint click sounded, and the bookcase swung back from the wall, revealing a secret passageway.

Many of the old mining tunnels still remained in the palace. This one had been walled off to create a way for the queen to secretly escape from her chambers, should the need ever arise. I’d learned about the tunnels years ago, during one of my history classes. The royal tutor had given me, Vasilia, and our Blair cousins a map of the palace and had challenged us to find as many of the secret passageways as possible. I’d spent days exploring every nook and cranny, and I’d eventually stumbled upon this passageway, although no one else had.

When I was younger and Vasilia and the other children were being particularly cruel, I would often hide in some of the lesser-known passageways until my tears had dried, my hurt and embarrassment had faded, and I felt strong enough to creep back out and face them again. Sometimes, Isobel would coax me out of the dark corridors around the kitchen with mugs of hot chocolate and plates of cherry-almond cookies.