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“We came to give our greetings to your sister,” Clover says as if she must explain. “And Pranmore wanted to inspect her necklace.”

Bartholomew shuts the door behind us, and the room falls silent.

“How’s your arm?” Lawrence finally asks, looking more uncomfortable than I’ve ever seen the cocky prince.

King, I correct myself, remembering he is a prince no longer, but the ruler of all Caldenbauer. While trapped at Camellia’s side, I missed King Algernon’s funeral and Lawrence’s coronation. Much has changed in my absence.

“I can’t wield a sword if that’s what you’re asking,” I say dismissively, not wanting to speak of it again. “But it’s healed.”

Pranmore moves forward. “If you’ll let me look at it—”

“Not yet.” I step back, away from the threat of his healing magic. “For now, it’s better this way. Camellia cannot use me in this state.”

Lawrence rolls his eyes. “Who says Camellia has to know? Let her think you’re still useless.”

I study him, wondering if I dare.

“Oh, get off your high horse,” Lawrence says impatiently. “Camellia has been hiding her sorcery from us, and yet you cannot keep a secret from her?”

“No, I can.” I nod toward Pranmore, concealing my nerves as I roll up my sleeve. “Go ahead and look at it.”

But Camellia isn’t the only reason I’m reluctant. I’m nervous that it’s too late and even Pranmore won’t be able to heal me. And if that’s the case, I’ll have to resign myself to the knowledge I’ll never be able to fight again.

Just like my father, my life’s goal will go up in flames. I’ll never be a true knight. I’ll never earn my seal.

I inhale deeply, looking away while Pranmore prods the scar, wincing when his magic nudges a little too deep.

He eventually looks up, nodding solemnly. “Lawrence sliced through a tendon. It will take less time if we reopen it so I can see what I’m doing.”

“You have to cut his arm again?” Brielle asks with a gasp.

“It would be easier,” Pranmore answers, “but I made a vow to never wield a weapon. Someone else will have to do it.”

“Some healer you are,” Lawrence mutters, but then he steps forward, looking a little too eager. “I’ll do it.”

“You’ve done enough damage,” I snap at him.

“I can’t,” Brielle says immediately, throwing up her hands.

Bartholomew steps forward. “I’ll try—”

“No,” I cut him off, shuddering at the idea.

“I’ll do it,” Clover says, and silence blankets the room.

I swallow as I turn to her. Her bright green eyes meet mine, and a look of determination graces her face.

She steps in front of me, so beautiful, and extends her hand. “Give me your dagger.”

Slowly, I pull it from its sheath and extend my arm.

“We should sit down.” She nods toward the nearby tea table. Once we’re seated, she says, “Rest your arm on the table to keep it steady. Pranmore, can you numb the pain?”

“I can.”

Her hand trembles as she grips the dagger.

“Can you do this?” I ask quietly.