Crush the King (Crown of Shards #3)(41)
Maeven blinked, clearly surprised that I knew her son’s name, and her fingers twitched as though she wanted to grab his shoulder and shove the boy behind her to protect him from me.
“Why, I’m probably more familiar with the bastard Morricones than anyone else,” I continued in a light, pleasant voice. “After all, I’ve encountered so many of them over this past year.”
Everyone on the terrace tensed. Gossip spread faster than the clap at my court and all the others, and everyone realized that I was talking about how many members of the Bastard Brigade I had killed. I might not be able to wound the Mortans with my sword, but I could still cut them to pieces with my words. Or at least try to.
“Well, perhaps you’ll have the opportunity to meet even more of them.” Mercer sneered at me again. “Sooner than you think.”
The tension thickened, squeezing around the terrace like an invisible fist. The crown prince had just threatened my life. How sweet. Still, I took note of his words. He had just confirmed that the Bastard Brigade was lurking around somewhere, which meant that the Mortans were already plotting against me, just like I was them.
“I look forward to it. I’m sure I’ll have just as much fun with them as I have with all your other relatives so far.” I gave him a razor-thin smile. “Unless, of course, some legitimate Morricone wants to meet with me. Now, that would be a refreshing change.”
Several people gasped at my returning Mercer’s threat with one of my own, while others eased back, trying to get clear in case a fight actually did break out between me and the crown prince.
Anger stained Mercer’s cheeks a bright red, and his right hand curled into a fist. The stench of magic surged around him, as though he were an instant away from blasting me with his lightning. Mercer glanced over at his father, clearly asking for permission. Maximus gave him a cold, flat stare, and Mercer’s anger wilted like a flavored ice on a hot summer day, along with the scent of his magic.
Driscol cleared his throat and stepped forward, putting himself in the very dangerous space between me and the Mortan king. “Come. Sit. Eat. Relax. Let us enjoy the opening ceremonies. We’ve prepared a magnificent welcome spread . . .”
He kept chattering, trying to diffuse the situation. Maximus stared at me another moment, then followed the other man over to the buffet tables. Mercer smirked at me and headed after his father. Nox scuttled after them. The tension eased, and several servants and guards let out audible sighs of relief.
It seemed as though Maximus was going to completely ignore my attempt to kill him, and everyone was eager to follow his lead. By pretending nothing had happened, he was telling everyone how little he thought of the assassin’s arrow and whomever had arranged it—me. More anger sizzled in my chest. My plotting didn’t frighten him in the least.
Leonidas glanced at me, then at his mother. Maeven made a small shooing motion with her hand, and the boy hurried over to one of the buffet tables, although not the same one as Maximus, Mercer, and Nox.
Maeven started to join her son, but I moved forward and blocked her path.
“Hello, Maeven,” I purred. “I’m so glad you’re here. We haven’t chatted much recently.”
Her lips puckered, but she didn’t respond. Maeven stepped to the side, and I let her sweep past me and head over to Leonidas, who was piling pastries on a plate.
Everyone returned to their previous conversations, although they all kept shooting glances at me and the Mortans. I eyed the other royals. Heinrich and Dominic were both grinning, but Eon, Ruri, Cisco, and Zariza all wore far more reserved expressions. They were still waiting to see what might happen between Maximus and me.
I grabbed another kiwi mimosa from a passing servant and toasted the other royals. Only Heinrich and Dominic returned the gesture, but that didn’t surprise me. I tilted up the glass and took a long drink, but the sweet, fizzy liquid did little to drown the bitter taste of defeat in my mouth.
I glanced around the terrace. Cho was watching Maximus and Mercer, while Auster was glaring at Nox. Xenia had sidled up to Zariza and was murmuring in her cousin’s ear, while Sullivan and Paloma stepped forward and flanked me again.
“That actually went better than I expected,” Paloma said.
“How so?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Well, for one thing, the Mortans didn’t try to kill you. And we didn’t have to fight our way out of here.”
“True,” Sullivan agreed. “But even the Mortans wouldn’t be so bold as to try to assassinate another royal in plain view of the entire arena.”
He grimaced, as did Paloma. We all knew I had just tried to do that very thing and how easily Maximus had brushed it aside.
“Sorry, highness,” Sullivan murmured.
More bitterness surged through me, but I quashed the emotion. Now was not the time to dwell on my failure. Instead, I eyed Mercer, who was glaring at me while a servant poured him a glass of wine. Maximus was deep in conversation with Driscol, who kept glancing at me.
“They might not attempt to assassinate me here, but they’ll definitely try to kill me again the first chance they get,” I murmured, a dark and deadly promise creeping into my voice. “We might have lost this battle, but we still have a war to win.”
Chapter Ten
Driscol fluttered around, flapping his hands and announcing that it was time for the opening ceremonies. The kings and queens headed toward the round table in the center of the terrace, with everyone else sitting at smaller tables or standing along the back wall.