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I’ve heard a dozen different variations of this same argument in the last few weeks. Usually, Camellia can successfully distract Augmirian with a soft stroke or sweetly murmured words—she is beautiful, after all, and Augmirian’s convictions are weak at best. But this time, he pushes Camellia’s hand away, rising to escape her touch. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t order your death and be done with it?” he demands.

Camellia’s eyes flash with warning. “I would like to see you try.”

Augmirian’s attention moves to the not-so-subtle orb of sickly green magic in his wife’s palm, not as confident as he was a moment ago.

The duke is all too aware that he’s an empty shell of an elf, containing no magic in which to fight Camellia. Thanks to intel from his aunt, I know that as well, and I suspect Camellia is not unaware of the fact either.

“Stop fighting with me, Augmirian,” she purrs, extinguishing her flame. “Let me give you back the kingdom which is rightfully yours. My ancestor stole it from you. It’s only right I make up for my family’s wrongs.”

She goes to him, looping her arms around his neck—an easy task considering she’s so much taller than he. He gives in as always, groaning when Camellia runs her fingers through his curls.

“You may go now, Henrik,” the princess says, smiling for her husband.

Gladly, I stride from the room, already dreading her next summons.

Outside the door, two human knights stand guard with several of Augmirian’s men—Dalvin and Bendon, brothers from House Blancole. They traveled here with the king, but they didn’t return to Cabaranth with Lawrence. Instead, they remained in Revalane, pledging their allegiance to the princess.

The elves don’t trust them, and for obvious reasons, I don’t either.

They watch me go, never saying anything to me, but I can sense their resentment. They gave up everything for Camellia, betraying their new king, hoping their gamble would pay off when she won the throne. Yet the princess barely spares a glance for the pair, taking their loyalty for granted.

Lost in my thoughts, I don’t see the female elf until she stops right in front of me. Startled, I look up, pausing just before I run into her.

“Audra,” I say.

She gives me a halfhearted smile, but her eyes are filled with pity. Her gaze dips to the sling before she looks back up. “How’s your arm?”

“The same.”

Slowly, she nods. Her eyes dart down the hall—not as if she’s making sure we’re alone, but like she’s uncomfortable.

I decide this wasn’t an accidental meeting. “What is it?”

The pretty elf pushes her long brown hair behind her shoulder and finally meets my eyes. “Lawrence and Clover’s wedding date has been set.”

It feels like someone punched me in the gut. The air leaves my lungs in a loud exhale, and my stomach tightens.

“I just heard from Lyredon,” she adds, and her eyebrows draw low as I try to mask my reaction to the news.

“He’s returned then?” I ask.

She nods.

My fingers twitch, itching to find the comfort of a sword that I cannot wield. “They made it back to Cabaranth without incident?”

“Yes,” she says softly.

“And the…wedding?” I nearly choke on the word. “When is it?”

“The twenty-seventh of Palnim.”

A little over five months then, after the long, dark nights of winter have passed, the thaw has stolen the snow, and the first flush of wildflowers has bloomed in the hills.

“Thank you for informing me,” I say, preparing to pass her.

Before I can escape, Audra grasps my good arm, surprisingly strong for such a slender woman. “Are you all right?”

Pretending I don’t know why I wouldn’t be, I frown. “I’m fine.”