Page 17

“Gavriel.” Father rubs his temples. “Enough.”

“He has a point, Rodger,” Lord Garamond says. “She’s not just your daughter—Clover is our future queen.”

Lawrence silently listens to the argument, his chin resting on his clasped hands.

“But we mustn’t forget that Camellia is married to Duke Augmirian,” Father adds. “A move against his duchess could be seen as an act of war. It could void the treaty.”

“Considering Camellia has yoked herself to the High Vales,” Gavriel argues, “what she did could be considered a breach of the treaty ontheirpart.”

“I still don’t understand.” Lord Winston shakes his head. “It seems as if the duke is using Camellia. Why do you all make it sound as if she’s the source of the trouble?”

“My sister is not innocent,” Lawrence finally says, drawing every eye in the room. “She was working with Augmirian, and she tried to deceive my father. She’s been using blood magic, she admitted to killing the man who was found in her closet, and she committed an act of treason against the crown. This discussion has nothing to do with her guilt—she is most certainly guilty. It’s whether or not we’re willing to drag the kingdom into war because of it.”

“I doubt she will give up, Your Majesty,” Miguel says, the voice of calm reason in the agitated crowd. The sealed knight shakes his head, looking genuinely pained. “Her plan was thwarted in the worst possible way, but if she’s gone to these lengths, she will regroup.”

Agreeing, Gavriel nods. “And she’s allied with the High Vales, so she has access to their resources.”

“Let’s not forget they’re making war golems,” I add hesitantly. “Even before Duke Augmirian agreed to Camellia’s marriage proposition, he began illegally mining talvernum in the Dorian Mountains. Henrik, Bartholomew, Pranmore, and I saw it ourselves.”

“It’s true,” Bartholomew says.

Pranmore stands near the wall, looking as if he’s unsure he belongs, but he nods as well.

“Where is Henrik?” Lord Garamond asks, and the room goes quiet. “The commander’s name repeatedly comes up, but no one has explained his absence.”

“He remained in Revalane to protect his sister,” Lawrence says. “Camellia has taken her hostage.”

“The princess has taken hostages?” Lord Winston exclaims. “Camellia has prisoners, and we’re not sending in men?”

“It’s complicated,” Lawrence answers, growing agitated. “Pranmore, explain.”

The Woodmore steps up to the table, looking uncomfortable. “The girl wears a talvernum necklace that’s been laced with Camellia’s blood magic. The princess gifted them to all the high-ranking noblewomen of the dukedom, and she can inflict pain or even death through them at will.”

I stare at the table as the men ask him questions, wishing I could run away.

“I heard it was Henrik who attacked Clover,” says Sir Patrick, the retired sealed knight drawing the discussion back to an unwelcome topic. “Is it possible he has defected to the princess?”

“Henrik has very specific orders,” Lawrence says. “He’s working for me.”

“And what orders are those, Sire?” Lord Winston asks.

“He’s placed himself by Camellia’s side, working as my shadow rogue.”

“Henrik?” Gavriel laughs. “A shadow rogue?”

My eldest brother is right—I might laugh myself if I didn’t feel like I was choking. Henrik wasn’t created for deception and spying. He’s too upstanding, too straight and true.

“We are dealing with the situation we were given,” Lawrence snaps, his tone startling more than just me. “And I’m not comfortable making any decisions until Henrik sends me information. My first act as king will not be to drag Caldenbauer back into war.”

“But if we act now—”

“We could kill every elven noblewoman in Revalane,” Lawrence snarls. “I will not put my people in danger until I have more information.”

“Your Majesty—”

“We’re finished.” Lawrence stands. “I want extra patrols along the coasts. Send word to the guard posts and coastal fortresses. If Camellia attacks, I doubt she will come through Heistone. I suspect she will march her soldiers through Doria. Thankfully, the mountains are impassible this time of year, so that might buy us some time.”

“There are no ports in Doria, Your Majesty,” Sir Patrick argues. “The cliffs—”