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I breathe out a quiet laugh and remove my hand. “You know where my heart lies.”

Lawrence opens his eyes partway, studying me with a hint of a smirk. “If I can’t have your heart, I could be placated with other parts of you, you know.”

I cock my head to the side. “Have you always been this horrid, or was it a learned trait?”

He laughs, genuinely amused. And then his expression becomes solemn. Dropping his voice, he says, “It’s not a crime for me to desire you, Clover. We are engaged.”

“On paper.”

He takes a step closer. “If Henrik returns, I will give you up—but only because it’s what you want. It has nothing to do with a lack of devotion on my part.”

I know what this is, even if Lawrence doesn’t. He’s terrified, and he’s always soothed his anxiety or boredom in the arms of a woman. Determined to be faithful, he’s resisted the urge to seek someone out, so now I am the only option.

Oddly, it reassures me our friendship is solid. Lawrence respects me enough to deprive himself, and I acknowledge the sacrifice, as ridiculous as it may seem.

I raise an eyebrow. “If your affection runs so deep, why didn’t you pledge your love sooner? Why waste your time chasing after so many other women?”

He grins. “Would you believe I was terrified by the depths of my emotions?”

“I wouldn’t.”

He laughs, looking away. “I wouldn’t either.” Then he becomes solemn. “Who would put a man like me on the throne?”

I take his shoulders, giving him a gentle shake. “You’re going to be a brilliant king, Lawrence. You’re feeling suffocated by your past, but as yourfriend, I know very well there’s more to you than meets the eye.” I tap the royal crest on his chest. “It’s time to rise above your reputation and become the man I know you can be. You’re a phoenix, Lawrence. And you’re going to make me proud.”

Slowly, he smiles. “Do you truly believe that, Clover?”

“I do.”

He offers his arm and huffs out a bolstering breath. “Then let’s go claim a kingdom.”

Nodding, I step up next to him.

We’re almost to the door when Lawrence pauses and turns to me, flashing me a lopsided grin. “What about a kiss for luck?”

“Do you want to accept your crown with a black eye?”

He chuckles as he continues for the door once more. “I’ll take that as a no.”

4

HENRIK

I’ve avoided the smithy, but my father’s presence is like a bur that keeps embedding itself deeper into my flesh the longer I ignore it.

There are other blacksmiths working today, but the elves make no attempt to stop me as I walk past them and turn down the stairs that lead to a private workroom. It’s sweltering in the heat of midday, and the high humidity makes it feel like I’m venturing into the depths of oblivion.

Water seeps through the walls, glistening on the rock and pooling on the floor in several low places. It seems it’s impossible to keep the swamp out completely—even the magic-wielding High Elves cannot accomplish it.

Either that or they care little for the comfort of their manual laborers.

The workroom is silent today, making me wonder if Father is out. I pause at the door, looking through the bars. The forge sleeps, and the room is dark.

Trying to decide if I care enough to wait, I loiter for a minute.

I hear the telltale sound of the resident smith descending the stairs long before he announces himself—theshuffle, thud, shuffle, thudof his wooden leg meeting the stone steps and echoing in the stairwell.

I cringe at the familiar sound, my hand balling into a fist, and I immediately wish I hadn’t come.