This is a work of fiction. All incidents and dialogue, and all characters with the exception of some well-known historical and public figures, are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Where real-life historical or public figures appear, the situations, incidents, and dialogues concerning those persons are fictional and are not intended to depict actual events or to change the fictional nature of the work. In all other respects, any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2018 by Aprilynne Pike
Cover art copyright © 2018 by Emi Haze
Interior powder art © by Shutterstock/artjazz
Map adapted from Jacques-François Blondel’s Architecture Françoise, vol. 4 (1756)
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Pike, Aprilynne, author.
Title: Shatter / Aprilynne Pike.
Description: First edition. | New York : Random House, [2018] | Series: [Glitter ; 2] | Summary: “After being forced to marry the evil King, Dani must use her power as Queen to stop selling Glitter for good and escape with Saber, the boy she loves”—Provided by publisher.
Identifiers: LCCN 2017006072 | ISBN 978-1-101-93374-9 (hardcover) | ISBN 978-1-101-93377-0 (ebook)
Subjects: | CYAC: Kings, queens, rulers, etc.—Fiction. | Courts and courtiers—Fiction. | Drug dealers—Fiction. | Adventure and adventurers—Fiction. | Versailles (France)—18th century—Fiction. | Science fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.P6257 Sh 2018 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
Ebook ISBN 9781101933770
Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.
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Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Map
Interlude
Part One: The Price of Loyalty
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Part Two: The Price of Love
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
FOR KENNY,
YOU KNOW WHY.
1. Hall of Mirrors
The Queen’s Apartments
2. Peace Drawing Room
3. Queen’s Bedchamber
4. Salon des Nobles
5. Antechamber of the Grand Couvert
6. Guard Room
7. Escalier de la Reine
8. Loggia
9. Salle du Sacre (Coronation Room)
The King’s Apartments
10. Guard Room
11. First Antechamber
12. Second Antechamber
13. King’s Public Bedchamber
14. Council Chamber
The King’s Private Apartments
15. King’s Private Bedchamber
16. Clock Room
17. Antichambre des Chiens
18. Dining Room
19. King’s Private Office
20. Arrière Cabinet
21. Cabinet de la Vaisselle d’Or
22. Bathchamber
23. Louis XVI’s Library
24. New Dining Room
25. Buffet Room
26. Louis XVI’s Games Room
The State Apartments
27. Drawing Room of Plenty
28. Salon de Vénus
29. Salon de Diane
30. Salon de Mars
31. Salon de Mercure
32. Salon d’Apollon
33. War Drawing Room
34. Hercules Drawing Room
The Queen’s Private Cabinets
a. The Duchesse de Bourgogne’s Cabinet
b. Cabinet de la Méridienne
c. Library
d. Bathchamber
e. Private Office
Madame de Maintenon’s Apartments
f. Second Antechamber
g. First Antechamber
h. Bedchamber
The King’s Private Cabinets
i. King’s Private Bath
j. Gilded Cabinet
The Courtyards
A. Queen’s Courtyard
B. Monseigneur’s Courtyard
C. Cour de Marbre (Marble Courtyard)
D. Cour Royale (Royal Courtyard)
E. Cour des Cerfs (Courtyard of the Stags)
F. The King’s Private Courtyard
G. Cour des Princes (Princes’ Courtyard)
H. Chapel Courtyard
I MARCH DOWN the aisle, my face shrouded beneath a veil of tulle, and if my eyes are empty or haunted, no one can possibly tell. I’m slow and ponderous in my lavish Baroque wedding gown but feel naked and vulnerable without Saber at my shoulder. Even the white corset reinforcing my posture seems insufficient to keep my innards in place; my heart is climbing my throat, and my stomach has become an aching pit.
I pause as the twinkling constellation of camera flashes momentarily blinds me. I shouldn’t be here. I blink against the purple afterimage, waking the Lens in my right eye; the calendar it superimposes on my slowly returning vision shows an urgent notification, set weeks ago by Angela Grayson. My mother’s digital ghost is reminding me not to miss my own wedding. A push from beyond the grave.
Just one more thing to do. I take three steps forward and hand off my bouquet to a waiting attendant. A last-minute substitution when the one I’d selected died.
H
is Majesty glances over his shoulder and looks almost surprised to see me. Perhaps he should; he’s given me ample reason to develop cold feet. Atop the murder that launched this sordid affair, he’s imprisoned the man I love, and holds my ailing father hostage. I’d have left them both behind had things gone according to plan. What choice did I have? I couldn’t marry the King.
I still can’t marry the King.
But Reginald betrayed me. Cheated me. Took my money and agreed to spirit me away—but only when he has no more use for me. The anger that manages to cut through my despair is short-lived, but it propels me another step toward the altar. Another step toward the throne.
There are other ways out, of course. There have always been other ways out. But I refuse to retreat to the impoverished fringes of civilization. I refuse to trade one kind of misery for another. And having come within a breath of losing him forever, I refuse to leave Saber behind.
I can only help him if I stay. I can only stay if I become Queen. And I only become Queen if I continue down this aisle.
I never wanted to be Queen. But I was too desperate. I chose badly, and Molli died for it. She can’t have died for nothing. This is my penance. This is the price I have to pay. I will sift through the shattered wreckage of my dreams in search of something sufficiently sharp to cut my way free. And this time, I will take Saber with me, though hell should bar the way.
“YOU SUMMONED ME, MY LORD?”
Summoned was the actual word used. Summoned to his private office. Hardly the typical language of newlyweds. My shiny-new husband waves a hand dismissively. “Yes, yes. The meeting will be called in ten minutes,” Justin Wyndham says, not looking at me. He’s shuffling papers, shoving some in folders and others in drawers.
The bastard is nervous; this is his twitch. I store that tidbit away reflexively.
“All nobles with any voting power whatsoever will be given one hour to find their way to the grand theater so no one can claim they were denied entry due to seating capacity.”
I stand silently.
The King notices nothing. “Your father is being cleaned and dressed at the clinic as we speak. You should head over; I imagine you’ll want some time to prepare him.”
“For what, Your Highness?” My voice is flat, but I can’t seem to manage anything else since my marriage.
His eyes sparkle with fury, and he lets a stack of paper fall to the desk with an audible smack. “For the vote, Danica. The godforsaken vote that saves us both.”
Oh yes. We’re on the cusp of the entire reason my mother was able to blackmail Justin into marrying me. Dead mother. Ironic, that. “Hmm,” I say softly, stepping up and running one finger lightly over a paperweight. “Odd. I don’t feel very saved.”
Justin’s fingers rise to crumple his cravat, and he barely catches himself in time to keep from ruining the fabric. His fingers flex, and a sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead. I’ve never seen him so disconcerted. Even that can’t evoke a spark of pleasure. “Don’t make me threaten you again, Danica. I’m so weary of it.”
“That makes two of us,” I say dryly. “I don’t need your threats—I want your promise instead.”
“What?” he growls between clenched teeth.
“Saber. I want him back.” Saying it shows him my weakness, but I don’t care. Not about the vote or these games or who’s more powerful. I just want Saber back.
Justin rolls his eyes and turns away, peering into the mirror behind his desk and adjusting a bit of hair. “No.”
“You’re not really in a position to bargain, my lord.” And although it’s true, I don’t feel any satisfaction in the words.
He spins and slams his hands down on his desk. “You will not traipse around with that commoner in front of the court. It’s sheer mockery.”
“It won’t matter if you’re not the King.”
The words are smoke in the air between us. His fingers tremble, but he doesn’t speak.
I shrug. I should be pressing my advantage, but I’m a breath away from utter surrender. “I’ve sold my soul—feel free to threaten my life, my body, I don’t care. I don’t even resent that you’ll win. You give me the one thing I want, and I’ll give you the one thing you want.”
He stares at me, his breath short, and I watch one bead of perspiration trail down the side of his face before he snorts in disgust and turns from me to dab it away with a handkerchief. He knows I’m different now. I’m broken. Utterly. I wonder if he thinks he did that.
“I have nothing left to lose,” I say, monotone. “Nothing in the world except for him. Not truly. Perhaps you think that makes me vulnerable. But in truth it makes me desperate and reckless. I’ll do whatever is necessary for Saber, and I won’t hesitate to hurt anyone who gets in my way.” I wave a hand languidly in the air. “You, the entire kingdom, I don’t care. Give him back to me, or this evening Sonoman-Versailles will crown a new King.”
He stares into my eyes—looking, perhaps, for the downside. But I’m not bargaining for good value anymore. I want Saber, and to hell with the rest. After a long moment, Justin nods. “The moment the votes are cast, I’ll authorize his release.”
“Charges dropped?” I have to pin this spouse of mine down on every detail. Every loophole.
“Consider them expunged.”
Even better. “I expect him to be waiting in my rooms.”
“Did you want a bow tied around his neck?”
“Don’t be disgusting; he’s not a thing,” I snap, a lightning bolt of anger searing through my emotional fog. Because to one man, that’s exactly what Saber is: a possession to be bought and sold. “I do think a visit to my father is in order,” I say, pulling a pair of gloves from my pannier pockets and wiggling my fingers into them. “Now that you and I have come to an agreement. Oh,” I add, turning to look at him over my shoulder, “you’ll want to release Lord Aaron from his rooms as well.”
“You think you can convince him to vote in my favor?” the King says with a sneer.
I laugh, a breathy, pathetic sound, even to my own ears. “Hardly. But consider this a favor from your new Queen—you won’t want anyone to suspect that you specifically prevented Lord Aaron from attending the vote.”
His Majesty regards me silently, brow furrowed.
“Trust me,” I say wryly. Then much more loudly, “Mateus! Open the damned door.”
I sweep out as soon as the gap is wide enough to accommodate my panniers, forcing the reedy man to stumble backward. With my chin high and my corset far too tight, I walk down the hallways without looking left or right, even as courtiers try to catch my attention. A red dot flashes in the corner of my eye as a verbal ripple travels through the crowd. I know what the message is without reading it.
The meeting announcement. The not-so-secret meeting at which the shareholders of Sonoma Inc. will elect—or, perhaps, reelect—a chief executive officer of the company and King of the pseudo-state of Sonoman-Versailles. A rebellion six months in the making to unseat the man I married two days ago. The very threat Justin married me to fend off, by activating voting shares assigned only to a sitting Queen.
Me.
It’s time. I feel ill.
The cries for my attention grow loud—building like rumbling thunder—but I ignore everyone, and none dare to bodily interfere. I am the Queen. By the time I reach the Orangerie, heading toward the medical center at the former Hameau, I’m half convinced I’m going to have to make use of the bushes to empty my stomach.
I never actually thought I’d be here. The great voting meeting, two days after I gained control of the Queen’s shares, which the King needs to stay in power. I’ve spoken to almost no one since Reginald brought me back to the palace. My father has been under medical supervision, Lord Aaron confined to quarters, Saber imprisoned, and my mother and Molli dead. I close my eyes as the eviscerating pain of that reminder rolls through me. I let it; I deserve it.
Reginald said he wouldn’t allow Saber to die in prison, but I’ve learned what Reginald’s word is worth. How long does Saber even have? I don’t know how he can tell when that awful chip in his head starts to count down.
Maybe he can’t. When I briefly saw him three days ago, it had seemed insensitive to inquire too closely about the details of his captivity. What I do know is that if Saber has overestimated Reginald’s power to set him free, and that countdown reaches zero, the hardware implanted in Saber’s head will destroy his brain.
Of course, keeping Saber alive is merely a temporary accomplishment as long as we’re both under the control of the egomaniac holding the reins. I pause at that thought. Which one do I mean? Who has more control over us: Justin or Reginald? It’s difficult to tell these days.
In spite of the deal I just struck with His Highness, tendrils of misgiving take root in my mind. Duke Tremain is confident he’s garnered enough votes to succeed in his plans to replace the King with his son-in-law, Sir Spencer. I know it’ll be close. If Sir Spencer became King, even as the duke’s puppet, he would be able to release Saber. Surely. He could even bill it as a consolation prize to the former Queen, thrown down after only two days. He’d be a better ally than Justin in every possible way.
Better for the kingdom? I don’t know. But as far as I’m concerned, the kingdom can burn.
For the first time since I was dumped on the steps of the palace on the morning of my wedding, my eyes burn with the threat of tears. I haven’t let myself cry—I’ve hardly let myself feel—for fear that I won’t be able to stop. As if on cue, a call flickers to life in the periphery of my Lens. I take it the moment I see who it’s from.