Protect the Prince (Crown of Shards #2)(95)

Chapter Twenty-One


I never realized that being engaged could be so bloody exhausting.

The rest of the week passed by in a blur of breakfasts, luncheons, dinners, and more. Now that I was engaged to Dominic, every single noble at Glitnir wanted to offer their enthusiastic congratulations and slyly propose this deal or that deal over tea and kiwi cakes. The crown prince and I attended event after tedious event, and I smiled so long and hard that I was afraid my face would become permanently fixed in the fake expression.

The only good thing about our whirlwind schedule was that it kept Dominic close to me. I watched everyone he came into contact with, just in case Helene might be working with someone else, but no one tried to hurt Dominic.

Helene was at many of the events, but she never did or said anything suspicious. If I hadn’t found the poisonous cactus in her greenhouse, I never would have seriously suspected her of being the traitor.

I watched her closely, especially whenever she was near Heinrich, but she always seemed calm and cheerful, as though nothing was bothering her. I had no idea what she thought about his recovery. She had to have realized that the amethyst-eye poison was gone from his system, but Helene didn’t try to sicken the king again. It seemed as though she was biding her time, waiting for the right opportunity to strike, so I did the same. This was one long game that I was determined to win.

Still, the more days that passed, the more I started to wonder if I was wrong about Helene. Sure, she had the cactus, but anyone could have slipped into her workshop and snipped a flower or two to brew the poison. The cactus’s pot might look similar to ones that Maeven had, but in the end, it was just a pot. And lots of people had signet rings.

The items weren’t enough to either exonerate or convict the plant magier. But if Helene wasn’t the traitor, then who was? I didn’t have any other real suspects, which only added to my worry.

Sullivan also attended many of the events, since he too was part of the royal family, and I often caught him staring at me, sometimes with anger, sometimes with disgust, and sometimes with longing so intense it took my breath away. But he didn’t approach me, and I didn’t seek him out. I didn’t dare, for fear of spilling my guts about my whole convoluted plan.

But the days quickly ticked away, and all too soon it was the night of the royal ball.

I stood in front of a full-length mirror in my chambers, staring at my reflection. Calandre had crafted a simple but exquisite gown of midnight-blue velvet with a sweetheart neckline, three-quarter sleeves, and a full, floor-length skirt. Silver thread scrolled up the sleeves and down my neckline before spreading out into a large crown-of-shards crest on my chest. More silver thread scrolled down the skirt before lining the hem. My only jewelry was the two silver bracelets—gauntlets—that Alvis had made me. The midnight-blue tearstone shards in the bracelets’ crown crests matched the color of my gown.

Given that this was a royal ball, I had expected Calandre to insist on my wearing heels, but she had surprised me by giving me a pair of flat, blue velvet sandals with thick straps that wound up past my ankles. They reminded me of the sturdy sandals I had worn in the gladiator arena, although they too featured my crown-of-shards crest in silver thread on the closed toes.

Camille had taken extra care with my makeup, putting smoky shadow and silver liner on my eyes and staining my lips with berry balm. Cerana had curled my hair into loose waves, but I’d refused to wear my crown.

I expected Helene—or whoever the traitor really was—to orchestrate some sort of attack tonight, against either Dominic, Heinrich, or me, or perhaps all three of us. I wanted to be able to fight, if it came down to that, and not worry about losing my crown. Keeping my head attached to my body was much more important.

“Calandre, you and your sisters have truly outdone yourselves,” I murmured. “I’ve never looked better.”

She beamed at me, as did her sisters.

I patted the sides of the dress. “And I especially like the pockets.”

“I thought you might like to take your dagger to the ball, and I couldn’t let you wear it on that awful black leather belt. It would have completely ruined the look of the dress.” Calandre shuddered at the thought. “So pockets seemed like the perfect compromise and hiding place.”

She was absolutely right, and my tearstone dagger was snugly tucked away in my right pocket. I just wished the dress was large enough to hide my sword too.

I grinned. “You know me too well.”

Calandre grinned back at me.

A knock sounded, and Paloma stepped into the room. She wasn’t wearing a gown, but Calandre had still made her something special. Small ogre faces done in gold thread glinted on the sleeves of her dark green tunic, and more gold thread ran in jagged, teethlike lines down her black leggings.

Camille and Cerana had given Paloma dark, dramatic eyes and red lips and had sleeked her blond hair back into an elaborate, crownlike braid that arched across her head. The ogre on her neck had taken notice, and the blond hair that curled around the morph mark was now braided in the same pretty style.

Paloma had grumbled about having her hair and makeup done, but she had kept sneaking glances at herself in the mirror, and I thought that deep down she—and her inner ogre—secretly loved the attention.

Paloma studied me. “You look nice.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”