Protect the Prince (Crown of Shards #2)(62)

He stared out into the gardens with a calm expression, but he couldn’t quite disguise the bitterness that tinged his voice.

“And what do you want, Dominic?”

“To apologize for my father,” he repeated. “And to explain. My father has not been . . . well. Frederich’s death, and then fearing that Gemma was dead as well—it’s all taken a great toll on him.”

I thought of Heinrich’s pale, strained face and weak, watery eyes. For the first time, I felt a bit of sympathy for the king. Losing his son had obviously broken his heart, and he was trying to deal with his grief and protect his people from the larger Mortan threat at the same time. No wonder he wasn’t well.

“Frederich was the youngest,” Dominic said. “He was always the lightest, the happiest one of us, always playing peacemaker between Sullivan and me, always laughing and joking. Frederich was my father’s favorite because of that. He was everyone’s favorite because of that, and we all miss him terribly. And then seeing exactly what happened with the memory stone, how Vasilia just . . . Well, I don’t think it helped my father. Not really. It certainly didn’t help me.”

His eyes dimmed, his face darkened, and his shoulders slumped. The scent of ashy grief gusted off him, along with a strong tang of garlic guilt. I frowned. What did he have to feel guilty about?

“But maybe the worst thing is that part of me is glad that Frederich was the one who died,” Dominic said in a low, rough voice. “Better him than Gemma. Better my brother than my daughter. When I thought that she was gone, when I thought that she was dead . . .”

His voice trailed off, and he couldn’t finish his awful thought. He scrubbed his hand over his face, but the motion didn’t hide the anguish in his features.

“My father lost his son, but I got to keep my daughter. And I’m happy about that—happier than you could possibly imagine.” He grimaced. “Does that make me a horrible person?”

“No,” I replied in a soft voice. “It just makes you human. I was happy that I survived the massacre, even though everyone else died. I’m still happy that I’m alive. And guilty. And confused. And wondering why I lived. Why me, instead of someone else?”

Dominic didn’t respond. Neither one of us had an answer for that.

“It wasn’t my intention to cause you, your father, or Rhea any more pain by showing you all the memory stone,” I said. “I’m sorry for everything that has happened to you and your family. Truly, truly sorry.”

On impulse, I reached out and laid my hand on his shoulder. Dominic seemed surprised by the gesture, and he turned toward me, his gaze locking with mine.

Dark brown hair. Blue eyes. Strong, handsome features. Once again, I was reminded how eerily similar he was to Sullivan, right down to the lightning magic that I sensed coursing through his body. In some ways, Dominic was even more handsome than his younger brother. His body was taller, his shoulders were broader, his nose was straighter.

But his nearness didn’t make my heart stutter, my breath catch in my throat, or my body hum with desire. And perhaps most important of all, he didn’t look at me with the same fierce intensity that Sullivan always did, like he wanted to hold me close and devour me at the same time.

“You have lovely eyes,” Dominic said in a low, husky voice, studying my face. “I’ve always heard about the Blair eyes, the tearstone eyes. They really are gray-blue, just like people say. Although yours look bluer right now, as dark as the tearstone shards in your crown.”

I grimaced at the reminder that I was still wearing the crown, although I supposed I should be grateful it hadn’t fallen off when I’d stormed out of the dining hall.

“Do you tell all the women you meet in libraries how pretty their eyes are?” Perhaps it was the warm, romantic glow from the fireplace, or the fact that my fingertips were still resting on his shoulder, or his resemblance to his brother, but my own voice came out a bit huskier than I expected.

A teasing grin curved his lips. “Just the ones who refuse to marry me.”

I barked out a laugh, and some of the tension between us eased. I dropped my hand from his shoulder, but Dominic kept staring at me, and I did the same thing to him. Emotional confessions aside, I was a queen, and he was a prince, and we were both trying to figure each other out—

More footsteps sounded, and I turned around, expecting to find Paloma with her mace in her hand. But once again, I was wrong. Paloma wasn’t here.

Sullivan was.

He was next to the fireplace. His mouth was open, as though he was going to call out to me, but his jaw clenched shut at the sight of me standing so close to Dominic in the dark, dreamy shadows. I knew what it looked like, what Sullivan thought it was. I could see the hurt shimmering in his eyes and smell his peppery anger all the way across the room.

“I came to find you, highness,” he growled. “To apologize for how my father treated you, but I see that Dominic has already beaten me to it. He looks like he’s doing an admirable job of consoling you. Then again, his nickname is Prince Charming.”

“Sully, wait . . .”

He whipped around and stormed out of the library. I sighed. I didn’t blame him for that, or for jumping to conclusions. But I got another sickening surprise as Sullivan marched into the hallway.

He hadn’t come here alone.

Helene was standing outside the library, along with Rhea. Judging from their expressions, the two women had seen and heard everything.