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Father smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Discounting the loss of the king, I suppose you are right.”

I draw in a startled breath, not expecting my father to be the one to chastise the princess.

Camellia narrows her eyes at him, lifting her pert nose in the air. “Discounting that, of course. Forgive me, but the memory is too painful to address. I’m sure you understand.”

“I apologize for bringing up a tender subject,” Father says with a bow of his head.

Close to my ear, Lawrence mutters, “And I always assumed you got your sharp tongue from your mother.”

I press my lips together, trying not to snort out a highly inappropriate laugh.

Lawrence’s steward steps forward, bowing his head before the king and then turning to Camellia. "Your rooms have been prepared, Your Grace. If there is anything you require to make your stay more comfortable, please tell me. His Majesty has also assigned a small group of staff to serve you while you are here.”

Camellia turns to look at Lawrence. “It’s unlike you to think of such details.”

“I didn’t.” He grins. “I have people for that.”

What Camellia doesn’t know is that her new “staff” is comprised of disguised soldiers brought in from a fortress in north-eastern Ladora. She won’t recognize them, but they will certainly be keeping an eye on her.

“And as for my party?” she asks, sparing a glance at her elven companions.

“If it pleases you, your guards will be housed in the barracks, and your servants will be welcome in the staff quarters,” the steward says, casting the elves an uneasy glance. “Rooms have been prepared for the rest of your group.”

Suddenly, Camellia glances at me. A smile curves her rosy lips before she looks at Lawrence. “Henrik will stay with me in my quarters.”

“Several cots have been set up for your personal guards, Your Grace,” the steward assures her.

Camellia loops her arm in Henrik’s and presses herself close. “Henrik won’t need a cot.”

For the first time, the commander’s face betrays his anger. With a stony expression, he stares across the courtyard, looking like it’s a struggle not to shove the princess away.

“That is between you and Henrik,” Lawrence says mildly, shooting the soldier a concerned look. “We don’t need details.”

Camellia shrugs, looking far too smug for my liking.

I believe it’s a show, but what has she demanded of Henrik? What has he given her?

The thought makes me ill, but I mask my worry. I won’t show weakness in front of Camellia—I never have, and I am certainly not going to start now.

“Will the grand duchess’s ladies return to their rooms?” the steward asks Lawrence, just now remembering their existence.

The four girls stand next to the carriage they just exited, looking as if they’re hiding behind Camellia.

A quick glance at my own ladies confirms the three are staring daggers at the traitors.

“No,” Lawrence says coolly, unbothered by the fact that he’s had romantic encounters with most, if not all, of Camellia’s ladies-in-waiting. “They will stay with my sister or return to their families—it’s their choice.” He pauses, making sure they’re listening. “And it’s the only time I’ll offer it.”

My eyes travel to the girls’ necks, and I realize Camellia didn’t yolk them. She either believes they are loyal or thinks they’re too scared to abandon her even without a necklace.

Camellia’s eyes flash. “I believe that is my decision, not yours, brother.”

Lawrence smiles. “That was true when we were merely siblings, but now you are but a duchess, and I am your king. Things change.”

The princess’s lips twitch, and I can almost see her wanting to scream that his days are numbered. Wisely, she keeps her mouth shut.

“Of course,Your Majesty,” she says. “Strip me of my companions if you find their presence threatening. I imagine your intended has a personal issue with your past relationships, and that is the true problem.” She turns her witch eyes on me and presses closer to Henrik. “Some women are…insecure.”

I bite the inside of my cheek so hard, the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.