Protect the Prince (Crown of Shards #2)(87)

“And why would I be nauseous about marrying a prince?” I drawled, trying to hide my feelings. “Why, I thought that was every little girl’s dream.”

She snorted. “Because you know as well as I do how much this will wound Lucas. He’ll think that you’re casting him aside for his brother, his legitimate brother, just like everyone else has his entire life. And he’ll be even more wounded when he realizes that you didn’t tell him the truth. He might grow to hate you. At the very least, he’ll probably never trust you again.”

It made me sick—absolutely, positively sick—to think about the pain that my deception would cause Sullivan, but everyone seemed to know how I felt about him, and I had to assume that the traitor knew as well. So as much as it pained me, I had to let Sullivan believe the worst of me. Xenia was right—his hurt and anger would do more to sell my fake engagement than any flowery speeches I could make or any mooning I could do at Dominic.

Apparently, being a queen was about more than just lying—it also involved hurting the people you cared about. Sure, the pain I was about to cause was in service of a greater good, but that didn’t make doing it any easier. Then again, perhaps being a Winter queen wasn’t supposed to be easy.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” Xenia asked, her tone more sympathetic.

I sighed. “I’m sure. As much as I care about Sully, I am still the queen of Bellona, and I have to do what’s best for my kingdom. And for Andvari too, whether anyone realizes it or not. This traitor needs to be caught now, before they do any more damage. Otherwise, they’ll go right back to poisoning Heinrich and targeting Dominic the second I leave Glitnir. I can’t let Maeven slaughter another family like she did mine. I won’t let that happen, not even if I have to hurt Sully. I would rather have him hate me than Heinrich and Dominic be dead.”

“And what about the hurt to yourself?” Xenia asked.

“Heinrich told me that kings and queens do not have the luxury of grief.” I sighed again. “This is me, not having that luxury.”

She studied me for several long seconds. “Are you going to tell the others?”

“Yes. Paloma will realize that I’m lying. So will Serilda, with her magic. I have to tell them, and Cho too.”

“But not Lucas. You’re sure about that?”

“Yes. It has to be this way.” My mouth twisted. “I might not have the luxury of grief, but I do have the luxury of telling others what to do. Paloma, Serilda, and Cho will agree with me. They know what’s at stake, and they’ll keep quiet. I just have to hope that Sully doesn’t figure out what I’m really up to before we catch the traitor.”

Xenia nodded, then reached over, grabbed the crystal decanter, and poured us both a glass of brandy. “Lucas isn’t the only one who will be furious. So will Heinrich, when he realizes that you’ve lied to him.”

“Hopefully, he’ll be more grateful that he didn’t lose another son.”

She shrugged. “Perhaps. But grief and anger make people do all sorts of strange things, especially when it comes to their children.”

“I’m sure you can sympathize with Heinrich.” I paused. “Since you also lost a child.”

Xenia’s hand jerked, and brandy sloshed out of the decanter and splattered onto the table. She stared at the liquid, as if trying to gather her thoughts, then slowly set down the decanter. It took her a few more seconds to lift her gaze to mine.

“How did you know that?” she whispered.

“There was this tone in your voice yesterday in my chambers when we were talking about Heinrich grieving for his son.” I tapped my nose again, but there was no mockery in the gesture this time. “And I could smell your grief then, just like I can now.”

“Well, you and your damn nose are entirely too perceptive.”

Xenia glared at me, and I wondered if I’d made a mistake in trying to learn more about her. But her glare slowly melted away, and she sagged back in her chair, as though all the strength had suddenly left her body, much like Heinrich had done in the library earlier.

“Yes,” she finally said in a low, strained voice. “I did lose a child. Years ago. Not to assassins but to my own foolishness.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She shook her head, and the ogre face on her neck shut its eyes, although not before a couple of tears escaped from the corners of its eyes and slid down Xenia’s neck. “No.”

“If you ever do . . .”

She nodded. We sat there in silence for the better part of a minute before Xenia cleared her throat, reached out, and picked up the brandy glasses. Just like that, she morphed back into her usual cool, calm self. Perhaps spies didn’t have the luxury of grief either.

“Well, then,” she said, passing one of the drinks over to me. “Back to the business at hand. Let us toast to your engagement, Queen Everleigh.”

She held out her glass, and I reluctantly clinked mine against hers. Then I put the glass up to my lips and threw back the contents. The Ungerian apple brandy slid down my throat before pooling in my stomach, although the slow, sweet cinnamon burn wasn’t enough to drown out my growing dread and nausea.

Xenia took a sip of her own brandy, then settled back in her chair. “I’ll say this for you, Evie. So far, your reign has not been a boring one.”