Protect the Prince (Crown of Shards #2)(69)

The warm, cheery glow from the fire highlighted his dark hair and the stubble on his chin. His head was wedged into a corner of the chair, and soft snores rumbled out of his mouth. It touched me that he was guarding me, protecting me.

I glanced down. Someone had cleaned me up while I’d been unconscious, and I was now wearing blue silk pajamas. I gingerly touched my right arm, which was bandaged from the top of my shoulder all the way down to my fingertips. I moved my arm back and forth and flexed my fingers—everything worked the way it was supposed to. One of Heinrich’s bone masters must have healed me.

I drew in another breath, and a light scent filled my nose, like honey mixed with lemons. I could smell and feel some sort of cool salve underneath the bandages. Probably an ointment to help further heal my gruesome burns.

I glanced around the room again. Someone—Paloma, most likely—had propped up my tearstone sword, dagger, and shield in a chair beside the bed, while someone else—Calandre, most likely—had laid my crown on the vanity table, along with my bracelet.

Sullivan must have heard me stirring because he let out a sudden, short snore, as though he had just startled himself awake with his own loudness, then opened his eyes. He glanced at the doors, as if to make sure they were still closed, then looked over at the bed.

He blinked a few times, and then his eyes widened as he realized that I was awake. Sullivan set his sword aside, got up, and hurried over to the foot of the bed. Then he reached out and grabbed one of the gargoyle bedposts, as if he didn’t trust himself to come any closer to me.

“Highness! How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay. Just tired and sore.” I propped up some pillows behind my back. “What’s going on? Where is everyone?”

“Everyone’s fine,” Sullivan said, rushing to reassure me. “Serilda, Cho, Paloma, and the Bellonan guards are making sure that Calandre, her sisters, and the other servants are safe. Xenia is off doing whatever it is that she does.”

“And Dominic?” I asked.

“He’s fine too. He had a nasty cut on the back of his head from hitting that glass wall, but one of the bone masters healed his injuries. The last time I checked, Gemma and Rhea were still fussing over him.”

Some of the tension drained out of my body. “Good.”

The crown prince had survived, which was the most important thing right now, even more important than my own survival. Although I couldn’t help the guilt that flooded my chest. Maeven had been trying to kill me. Dominic had just been unfortunate enough to get in her way, and he had almost paid the ultimate price for her vendetta against me.

“And how is Heinrich handling things?” I asked.

Sullivan grimaced. “You mean the fact that another one of his sons was almost assassinated while you were in the immediate vicinity? Not well. He was going to throw you and the others out of Glitnir as soon as you woke up, but my mother pointed out that it wasn’t your fault the Mortans attacked. So he’s going to let you stay—for now.”

I was surprised I hadn’t woken up in the dungeon—or that I’d woken up at all. “Well, I suppose that’s better than Heinrich asking Rhea to bring him my head on a platter.”

Sullivan grimaced again. He didn’t appreciate my black humor. Not right now.

His hand tightened around the bedpost, and he shifted back and forth on his feet, as though he was suddenly uncomfortable. He let out a tense breath and lifted his gaze to mine.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “For how I acted before in the library. Maybe if I had stayed, none of this would have happened.”

“It’s not your fault. Maeven wants me dead, and she’ll do anything to make that happen, no matter who she has to work with or who she has to hurt.”

I hadn’t meant to, but I had just echoed what Felton had said about the Mortans. Maeven and her Bastard Brigade had already proven they could get to anyone at any time and anywhere, but I started to wonder exactly how so many of them had infiltrated Glitnir.

The obvious and most troubling answer was that they were working with someone inside the palace.

The more I turned over the idea in my mind, the more certain I became, especially given the hot, jalape?o rage that I’d sensed in the throne room earlier. Someone at Glitnir wanted me dead, and they were willing to align themselves with the Mortans to make it happen.

Why me, though? Sure, someone could want revenge for the Andvarians being slaughtered at Seven Spire, but Maeven’s involvement made me think this was about something much bigger than mere revenge. But how could my death possibly benefit one of the Andvarians?

“Well, I still feel guilty,” Sullivan said, interrupting my dark thoughts. “Seeing you in the library with Dominic, with the fire crackling and the moonlight streaming all over your face . . . It reminded me of . . . a similar situation.”

“With Helene?” I asked in a soft voice.

He jerked back as though I had slapped him. “What do you know about Helene?”

I gestured at the glass doors. “I was out on the balcony earlier. I heard the two of you talking down below in the gardens.” I paused, choosing my next words carefully. “You and Helene seem to have quite an interesting history.”

Sullivan barked out a bitter laugh. “That’s one way of putting it. But if you heard us talking, then you know that I was engaged to Helene.”