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CLOVER

I clench my hand in the neck of Lawrence’s doublet,thisclose to inflicting bodily harm upon the heir to the throne.

“I understand you’re angry,” he says calmly, “but do you think it’s a good idea to murder your intended?”

“You said you’d fix it!” I exclaim. “You said—” I release him with a feral growl, whirling away and shoving my hands into my hair.

Lawrence crosses his arms, watching me pace like a madwoman in his spacious study. There’s a hint of a smirk on his lips, but his eyes betray his distress.

The truth is, I’m not the only one who feels like desperation and anguish have become live, untamable beasts in the last few weeks.

A fortnight ago, I lost Henrik to Camellia, but that same night, Lawrence lost his father forever—and found out his sister is stark raving mad.

We suspected the latter, but having our suspicions confirmed was far less satisfying than I’d always imagined. In fact, it wasn’t satisfying at all.

It was tragic.

I choke back the lump in my throat, refusing to cry again. Every time I accidentally let down my guard, I think about Henrik.

Is he all right? Is he alive?

The commander and I had been acquaintances for the better part of our adult lives, but it wasn’t until recently that I stumbled in love with him.

It wasn’t my fault. How was I to know I have a weakness for uptight, often-impatient commanders?

If I had realized I was susceptible, I would have guarded my heart. I would have trampled that seed of interest when it tried to take root—I would have left Henrik in the mountains when he told me to go.

And all because this emotion I’m feeling now is too awful. It’s going to consume me like a plague, eventually steal my breath and leave me shattered, broken, and empty.

I want to forget. I want to be numb.

I’m also a liar because when Pranmore offered to lock the precious memories away for a bit, warning I might never be able to retrieve them again, I adamantly refused.

I don’t want to go back; I don’twantto forget.

I just want Henrik here.

But even if he does escape Camellia somehow, we can’t be together—because Lawrence won’t release me from this betrothal.

I growl again, feeling the anger expanding in my hollow chest.

“This isn’t the right time to break the engagement,” Lawrence says reasonably. “You know that as well as I do.”

Idoknow. The king just died, and the princess betrayed her entire family—the last thing the people need is a sign their prince isn’t stable enough to take the throne. They’re already worried as it is—Lawrence has a reputation.

Yes, Iunderstand.

But suddenly, we have a wedding date. Minda is begging to fit me for a gown, the royal pastry chef is cornering me to ask about wedding cakes, and the gamekeeper is diligently trying to persuade me that venison is preferable to beef for the wedding feast.

Amidst the onslaught of disaster, the people have latched onto our engagement and made it their beacon of light.

Because, oh joyous day, the rogue prince is finally ready to settle down. He’s taking his position seriously. Like the Phoenix King before him, he’s going to rise from the ashes of this turmoil and bring us into a stable era once more.

It’s a lot of pressure.

“Let’s speak to your father,” Lawrence finally says. “He was my father’s most trusted confidante—he’ll tell us how to navigate these difficult waters.”