Protect the Prince (Crown of Shards #2)(57)



“Perhaps this will answer some of your questions.” I reached into my pants pocket and pulled out an opal that was roughly the size of my palm.

“A memory stone?” Heinrich asked.

“Yes. Queen Cordelia wanted to record the luncheon before . . . everything happened.”

I leaned forward and laid the memory stone on the table where everyone could see it. Then I drew in a breath and tapped on the stone three times to activate its magic.

The opal started glowing with a pure white light, and the flecks of blue, red, green, and purple in the surface rose up, sparkling like stars suspended in midair before zooming over and attaching themselves to an open space on one of the walls. The flecks of color grew larger, brighter, and sharper before finally coalescing into a single, clear image—my face.

From there, the royal massacre played out as it had that day on the Seven Spire lawn, and everyone in the dining hall saw Vasilia stab Prince Frederich and then fry Lord Hans to a crisp with her lightning. Screams, shouts, blood, death. The memory stone showed every horrible, brutal, grisly detail of the massacre right up until my hand closed over the opal, shutting off its magic.

Once the stone had finished playing, I tapped on it three more times to preserve the memories inside for future viewings. Then I slumped back in my chair, suddenly exhausted and sick to my stomach, as if the massacre had just happened instead of nine months ago. I felt this way every time I watched the images. No doubt the refreshed memories in my own mind would stalk me in my sleep tonight and make me wake up screaming as they had so many times before.

Dominic, Gemma, Helene, Dahlia. They all had similarly horrified expressions, while the twin scents of Heinrich’s ashy heartbreak for his slain son and Rhea’s salty grief for her murdered father stabbed me in the gut.

Dahlia gave the king a sympathetic look, reached over, and squeezed his hand. A brief, grateful smile flickered across Heinrich’s face, although it quickly vanished, swallowed up by his grief.

Dahlia gestured at a servant holding a tray that featured a silver tea set. The servant placed the tray on the table and stepped back. Dahlia poured some hot, steaming tea into a cup, dropped a single sugar cube into it, and stirred the brew. Her motions were smooth, graceful, and unhurried, as though she had performed this ritual hundreds of times, and I got the sense she did this for the king every night at dinner. Once the sugar had dissolved, she handed the cup to Heinrich, who nodded his thanks and started sipping the tea.

I studied the older woman. She really did seem to love him. Amazing. Especially since he had married someone else. True, it had been Heinrich’s duty as king, but it still must have hurt Dahlia terribly.

I didn’t know that I could have watched while the man I loved wed another woman, much less had children with her—legitimate children with all the wealth, power, and privileges of the Ripley royal name and heritage. But it seemed as though Dahlia’s love for Heinrich, and his for her, truly was stronger than the duties and obstacles that had strived to keep them apart. Good for them.

My gaze flicked to Sullivan. Even though he had seen the images of the massacre before, he was still as upset as Heinrich, Dominic, and Gemma about Frederich’s murder. I hoped that he would look at me, so I could smile or nod or give him some other small sign telling him that I understood his pain.

But he didn’t—he didn’t so much as glance in my direction.

Helene leaned closer to Sullivan, then threaded her fingers through his, trying to comfort him the same way that Dahlia had Heinrich. Now was definitely not the time for jealousy, not with the screams of the dead still echoing in my ears, but I couldn’t help but wish that I was the one holding his hand.

“Thank you for showing me that,” Heinrich said, breaking the tense, heavy silence. “Seeing what happened to Frederich, Hans, and the others makes my decisions about a great many things much clearer and easier.”

I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t, so I spoke up. “As you can see, Cordelia had absolutely nothing to do with the massacre. Neither did I. It was entirely the work of Vasilia, along with Maeven and Nox, the two Mortans.”

Heinrich nodded, agreeing with me, as did everyone else at the table. Even Rhea gave me a small, reluctant nod, and she seemed far less hostile.

A bit of confidence filled me. So far, this was going as well as I could have hoped. Perhaps I wasn’t as bad at being queen as I thought.

“Bellona and Andvari need to align with each other, and with Unger too,” I continued, trying to close the deal I’d come here to make. “Our three kingdoms need to stand united, or the Mortan king will invade our lands, slaughter our people, and conquer us all one by one.”

Heinrich nodded again. “I’ve been thinking about such an alliance ever since I learned the truth about Frederich’s death. Your coming here and showing me what happened to my son has only made me more certain about the course of action we should take next.”

“And what action would that be?”

The king stared at me, his blue eyes as cold and hard as chips of ice. I had seen that same expression on Sullivan’s face more than once, especially when he was going to be particularly difficult or stubborn about something. Whatever he wanted from me, Heinrich had already made up his mind that he was going to get it—no matter what.

My confidence vanished, replaced by a growing sense of dread, and I was once again reminded that I had been queen for only a few months, while Heinrich had been ruling for decades.

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