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Survival instead of life.

And I don’t want that for the people of Caldenbauer—whether they be human, boermin, gnome, or elf.

11

HENRIK

A strange sense of foreboding has plagued me ever since I received Camellia’s summons this morning. She requested a gathering of all the noble families, calling it a celebration of sorts. I’m not sure how she convinced Augmirian to give her permission considering their arguments have been growing more frequent and far more chaotic.

Camellia smiles at me as I enter the room she’s designated for the occasion. Brielle stands in the corner just beyond the princess, looking nervous. My sister lifts her hand in greeting, but she doesn’t join me. My apprehension grows, but I give her a tight smile.

I study the space. It’s the same we met in when Camellia distributed the necklaces, but this time, several long tables have been set up, allowing people to sit. Refreshments wait for the guests—sweet biscuits and scones, tiny iced cakes and steaming pots of tea.

When I join Camellia, I say, “After yesterday’s argument, how did you convince Augmirian to allow this?”

“It’s my apology,” she says with a smile that sets me on edge.

She has something planned, but what?

Hellebore stands just behind the princess, silent as always.

Members of the High Vale nobility filter into the room, casting wary glances at their new human duchess.

Audra and her mother arrive with Lyredon. She catches my eye, silently asking me if I know what this is about.

I shake my head, wishing they hadn’t come. Not that they had any choice. If the duke’s own aunt and cousin were to refuse to attend Camellia’s event, it would look like a political statement—one the princess wouldn’t overlook.

Augmirian is the last to arrive, and he doesn’t look pleased to be here. The duke pauses as he enters the room, narrowing his eyes at Camellia. I almost think he’s going to turn on his heel and leave, but instead, he stalks to the head of the central table and sits.

His knights take their places at the side of the room, and I stand near Camellia and Hellebore.

The murmuring and quiet chattering falls away as Camellia steps to the front of the room and dons one of her brilliant smiles. “Welcome, friends. I’m so glad you could all come on such short notice.”

Someone mutters something scathing that’s not quite loud enough for me to hear, and Camellia’s eyes travel to the lord. Her smile sharpens, and the man clears his throat and raises his eyebrows as if to ask what the princess is going to do about his defiance.

Uneasy, I look at his wife. She sits next to her husband, uncomfortable with the attention they’re receiving. Camellia’s necklace rests at her throat, just as its sisters adorn every other High Vale woman in attendance. All except Audra.

Apart from Audra and her mother, I doubt the High Vales sense the cursed magic that’s been inlaid into the talvernum. They haven’t removed the necklaces thanks to a charm they are likely unaware of. Right now, they wear the piece of jewelry because they think it’s their choice.

After another moment, Camellia graciously dismisses the man with a tilt of her nose and turns to her audience once more.

“When Duke Augmirian and I celebrated our wedding, the gift I had intended to give him was not yet complete. Today, I wish to bestow that gift upon him in front of you all.”

Augmirian casts Camellia a suspicious look.

To her husband, she quietly says, “Consider it an apology. I know you’re disappointed in me, Your Grace. But I vow that Ferradelle will rise in power very soon.”

Our attention turns to the door, where Bendon and Dalvin wheel in a full suit of golden armor. It’s expertly crafted and detailed—without imperfection. It’s also short. So short, in fact, it looks like it was made for a tall child.

A chuckle burbles in my chest, but I hold my breath to keep it from escaping.

Intrigued, Augmirian stands to inspect the armor. It’s the perfect size for him, constructed by a master armorsmith—my father.

“Will you accept my gesture of goodwill, Your Grace?” Camellia looks at her husband as if there is nothing she would rather gaze upon.

Augmirian glances back at the snake he married, softening at the sweet tilt of her lips and eager-to-please eyes. With a grunt, he nods.

She beams and steps forward, gesturing for her knights to assist the duke. “Try it on.”