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“Yes, Your Grace.”

Brielle ends up in the dinghy with us, along with Lord Fenninglore and Camellia’s attending ladies. The four young women look pale, likely worrying they will face the consequences of their betrayal soon.

We’re halfway across when there is a commotion on the pier. Instead of giving Camellia their full attention, the guards focus on something behind them.

“What is it?” Camellia demands, preferring to be the center of attention.

One of the ship’s men stands for a better look. “I believe the king has arrived, Your Grace.”

“Lawrence is here?” she asks sharply.

“That’s the way it appears.”

The crowd parts, and it feels like a vice squeezes over my heart. Clover pushes her way to the edge of the pier, wearing a riding gown in ivory and copper. A circlet sits in her golden-brown hair, catching the sunlight.

Our eyes meet across the water, and her lips part. Her face conveys everything in a mere few seconds—that she missed me. That she still cares.

Suddenly, I can’t breathe. An ache builds in my chest, spreading throughout my body, making me feel like I’m drowning.

“Well, isn’t this uncomfortable?” Camellia says, growing irritated. “Do I have to remind you that Clover, though unworthy, is engaged to my brother?”

I pull my gaze from Clover, barely registering Camellia’s words.

Instead of finding a playful look upon the princess’s face, or one of casual taunting, Camellia is livid. Her eyes spark with unveiled jealousy, and her fingers dig into the side of the boat. “Do not look at her like that, Henrik, or I will become angry. You are mine, and she belongs to Lawrence. Do you understand?”

I swallow, realizing I’ve bared my neck to Camellia. Clover is as much my weakness as Brielle. “Look at whom, Your Grace?”

She scoffs, looking away. Beside her, Brielle and the princess’s ladies sit as if frozen, terrified of Camellia’s sudden temper.

“I believed I was taken with Clover,” I say carefully, “but the absence has changed my heart.”

The words aren’t a lie. With each month, I missed Clover more. I yearned for her smiles and her impulsive sunshine. Her heart. Her warmth. The way she made me feel valuable just as I was, without having to earn her approval.

Without needing a seal on my arm to prove my worth.

“Good,” Camellia says sharply, not buying it for a moment. “Then don’t look at her. Don’t give her even a grain of your attention.”

The men and Lord Fenninglore stare at the pier, too still, as uncomfortable as the women.

“Understood.”

“I mean it, Henrik.” Camellia looks back at me, and her voice becomes shrill. “I won’t stand for it.”

I bow my head, hiding my own anger. “Forgive me for upsetting you.”

“When we arrive on the pier, you will stay by my side. You aremyknight.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

She leans closer, hissing low. “If you humiliate me, I will kill Clover and your sister. Is that clear?”

I look up, meeting her eyes. Smiling, I move close like I intend to whisper an endearment in her ear. “Do not be rash, Camellia. I am by your side for their sakes alone. If you kill them, my only goal will be to destroy you. Do not make an enemy out of me—I promise you; you will regret it.”

She slowly pulls back. Her eye twitches, but she forces a smile for our audience. Laughing as if I said something flirtatious, she looks away. “Henrik.”

Taking my hand like we’ve just made up after our spat, she squeezes her nails into the palm of my hand.

But I don’t flinch, not even when she draws blood.