Protect the Prince (Crown of Shards #2)(54)

“But you shouldn’t worry about Helene,” Gemma added.

“Why not?” I muttered. “She seems smart and accomplished, not to mention wealthy and beautiful.”

More beautiful than any other woman at court, and far more beautiful than me.

All my Blair cousins had been lovely, with vast fortunes and highly skilled paint and thread masters to make the most of their natural good looks. And of course Vasilia and Madelena, the two princesses, had been quite stunning. But Helene Blume was in a league by herself, with the kind of epic, storied beauty that made everyone else seem dull in comparison, as though she were a sparkling, flawless diamond and the rest of us were misshapen lumps of coal clumped around her.

“Oh, Helene is definitely smart and clever and beautiful.”

“But?”

“But she broke his heart,” Gemma said in a wise, serious voice. “Uncle Lucas will never forgive her for choosing her family and her father’s money over him. Besides, I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

“And how is that?”

She shrugged again. “The way my father used to look at my mother, before she died. And the way he and Rhea look at each other now, when they think no one is watching.”

I wondered what would happen to Dominic and Rhea’s yearning for each other when he was forced to marry someone else.

“My father and Rhea really should know better.” Gemma shook her head. “Someone is always watching at court.”

“Does that bother you? Your father and Rhea?”

“Of course not. My mother is gone, but she would want my father to be happy.” Her nose scrunched up. “Well, as happy as anyone can be at court. But my father won’t get to be happy with Rhea. My grandfather wants him to marry someone else. I heard them arguing about it the other day.” She sighed. “It’s just more stupid protocol that will only end up breaking everyone’s hearts.”

Amusement filled me. “You’re awfully young to know so much about protocol and broken hearts.”

Instead of smiling at my teasing, Gemma turned her head so that she was staring east, and a distant, dreamy look filled her blue eyes. “I met a boy in the mountains when we were escaping from Bellona.”

“And what’s so bad about that?” I asked, still teasing her.

“A Mortan boy,” she whispered, as if she didn’t dare say the words too loudly. “He tried to kill me, and I tried to kill him.”

Oh. My mouth formed the word, but no sound escaped my lips.

“I still dream about him,” Gemma whispered in that same low, rapt voice. “Sometimes, I talk to him in my dreams, and he talks back to me.”

I didn’t know what to say to that either, but I didn’t want to pry, so I just sat there, offering her my silent support. I knew all about how dreams and memories could haunt you.

But the most curious thing was the magic that fluttered around Gemma, as light and fragile as a butterfly’s wing, as though she really was seeing that Mortan boy, wherever he was. The scent was both sharp and subtle at the same time, like the hardest stone mixed with the softest lilac. I’d never smelled magic like that before, but I had an idea of what it was—of what she was.

After a few more seconds of silent contemplation, the magic faded, and Gemma shook her head, as if forcibly banishing the boy from her thoughts.

“So tell me. Who else looks at each other the way that Dominic and Rhea do?” I asked in a light voice, trying to distract her.

She smiled, but her expression had a hard edge to it. “You want to know all the court gossip.”

Despite her seemingly happy demeanor, Gemma was still a royal, still the crown princess, which meant that she was always in the thick of court intrigue. No doubt the Glitnir nobles were just as conniving and cutthroat as the ones at Seven Spire.

I shrugged. “Gossip is information, and information is always useful, especially in my situation. In case you haven’t noticed, you and Grimley are the only people at Glitnir who like me.”

I didn’t mention the jalape?o rage I’d sensed in the throne room, or how I had suddenly, inexplicably tripped during my fight with Rhea, or my sneaking suspicion that someone here wanted me dead. Gemma had been at the Seven Spire massacre, so she knew the perils of being a royal, especially of being queen.

Someone always wanted to kill the queen.

Gemma nodded, then settled herself against Grimley’s side, like he was an oversize pillow. I didn’t see how that could possibly be comfortable, but it didn’t seem to bother her. She patted the spot beside her, and I too settled myself against the gargoyle’s side. It wasn’t as bad as I’d expected, although it still felt like I was leaning up against solid stone, albeit stone that just happened to be surprisingly warm and flexible.

“Now,” Gemma said, grinning. “Let me tell you about life in Glitnir.”

The crown princess was quite the fount of knowledge. She might only be thirteen, but her observations were sharp and insightful, and I learned more from her than I had from Serilda, Cho, and Xenia in all our weeks of preparation.

We spent the afternoon together, sitting on the balcony, sipping lemonade, and feeding Grimley grapes, crackers, and cheeses. He also gobbled down the last of the kiwi cakes.

“What about Dahlia?” I asked. “How does she fit in here? What’s her story?”