Protect the Prince (Crown of Shards #2)(43)

Before I could question them any more, Xenia started tap-tap-tapping her silver cane on the floor, as though she was using the motion to further jog her memory.

“Heinrich breaking off Frederich’s engagement to Helene caused quite the scandal,” Xenia said. “Her father, Marcus Blume, was absolutely furious, and he was pressuring Heinrich to marry Dominic to Helene to smooth things over. At least, until Marcus was killed in a riding accident several months ago. But rumor has it that Helene still might end up with Dominic. His wife died more than two years ago, and there’s been a lot of pressure from the nobles for him to pick a new wife, especially now that Frederich is dead.”

I glanced over at the crown prince, who was still talking to Rhea. With his dark brown hair, blue eyes, and tall, muscled figure, Dominic was quite handsome, and more than one noblewoman shot him an admiring glance, although he seemed oblivious to their looks. No doubt the women at court constantly vied for his attention. Sure, Gemma would one day be queen, but marrying the crown prince and being his official consort would be the next closest thing.

Dominic touched Rhea’s arm again, then strode back up onto the dais. She watched him go with a sad, longing expression. I wondered what she thought of the rumors that Dominic might marry Helene.

Rhea must have sensed my gaze because she turned in my direction. She realized that I had witnessed her yearning after Dominic, and her face hardened. She didn’t like anyone seeing her desire for him. Couldn’t blame her for that. Crown princes didn’t marry captains of the guard, no matter how skilled and pretty they were.

The captain marched over to the center of the black carpet, clearly wanting to get on with the business of killing me. Couldn’t blame her for that either.

Paloma opened her mouth, but I stabbed my finger at her.

“Do not ask me if I’m ready for this,” I muttered.

She grinned, as did the ogre on her neck. Apparently, they thought our little inside joke was hilarious.

I looked over at Sullivan. He was still standing next to Helene, although he was staring at me. He flashed me a brief, encouraging smile, but worry quickly filled his face. I wondered if it was for Rhea or for me. Or maybe it was for both of us. Either way, I forced myself to smile back at him, then walked over to the captain.

Rhea drew her sword from its scabbard and held it out by the blade, as per the Andvarian tradition of letting her enemy—me—see exactly what kind of weapons and magic they were up against.

Several pieces of jet were embedded in the silver hilt, along with three large, round rubies. Jet deflected magic, while rubies increased someone’s strength. I drew in a breath, tasting the air. Those rubies were filled to the brim with magic, which would make the captain much, much stronger than me. A sharp tang of magic also emanated off Rhea herself, indicating that she was most likely a mutt with enhanced strength.

Terrific. Just terrific. But all I could do now was see this through to the end—and hope that I didn’t die.

So I drew my own sword and held it out to her by the blade. Her topaz gaze locked onto the midnight-blue shards embedded in the hilt. “Those little pieces of tearstone might have let you outlast Vasilia and her lightning, but they won’t protect you from me.”

She grabbed her sword by the hilt and started twirling it around in her hand. I did the same with my own weapon, mirroring her move for move.

“If you know so much about how I killed Vasilia, then you should know that I don’t need protecting, especially not from you.”

“We’ll see about that,” Rhea hissed.

The nobles fell silent and tiptoed forward, forming a semicircle around us. Heinrich was still sitting on his throne, with Dominic standing to one side of him, and Dahlia to the other. Gemma remained on the edge of the dais, with Alvis standing at the bottom of the steps.

In many ways, this was just like the black-ring match I had fought at the Black Swan arena and my more recent bout with Libby at Seven Spire. I wondered if the nobles here would bet on the outcome like the people had in the arena. Probably not. They seemed much too stuffy for that. We Bellonans might be barbarians, but at least we were honest in our greed, avarice, and bloodlust. I much preferred that to the Andvarians with their scheming eyes, sly smiles, and silent judgments.

Rhea started circling me and swinging her sword. Not attacking me, not yet, but getting a feel for how I moved, reacted, and held my own sword. All the while, she studied me, likely debating the best and quickest way to kill me.

I did the same thing, drawing in breath after breath and tasting all the scents in the air. She was definitely a mutt with impressive strength, given the stench of magic that burned my nose. She didn’t need those pretty rubies in her sword to kill me. They were probably just for show and to keep people from realizing how truly powerful she was, which meant that she was smart as well as strong.

But perhaps the most curious thing was that Rhea’s scent didn’t contain the sour, sweaty eagerness and hot, jalape?o rage that I’d sensed earlier. She hated me, to be sure, but she wasn’t the one who so vehemently wanted me dead, which troubled me far more than if she had been screaming curses and vowing to kill me.

A secret enemy was always much more dangerous than one right in front of you.

Finally, Rhea grew tired of circling me. With a shout, she lifted her sword, lunged forward, and attacked.

The music and moves that Serilda had spent so much time drilling into me filled my mind, and I snapped my sword up. Our two weapons banged together, throwing off a few red-hot sparks that dropped to the black carpet and quickly winked out.