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Just how many of our knights and soldiers are loyal to Camellia? Do we have far fewer men than we realize? How many will side with Camellia if,when, she decides to attack?

And is that her true purpose for the visit—to recruit more out from under our noses? Distract us into watching our backs while we should be keeping an eye on the wolves preying on our soldiers?

I thank Lawrence as he pulls out my chair, keeping my eyes off Camellia and Henrik, hating to see her clinging to him. But I know she’s purposely trying to infuriate me, so I’ll ignore her childish games.

Breakfast is a tense affair, with stilted conversation.

The visiting High Vale nobles aren’t pleased to be here, and they refuse to be drawn into conversation. Camellia is content to silently revel in the discomfort she’s caused, and Lawrence is unusually quiet as well. That leaves the rest of the conversation to Bartholomew’s mother and whoever she chooses to address.

Duchess Alousia Gevaldry sits next to her son, two spots from me. She’s a pretty woman, with a familiar dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose and a quick smile. Her younger brother is in attendance today as well, and I can’t help but sneak peeks at the man. He looks exactly like an older version of Bartholomew…and he’s very handsome.

Blocking everything else out, I laugh to myself as I compare the young duke with his uncle.

“What are you smiling about?” Lawrence asks near my ear.

I lean close, keeping my voice low so I don’t embarrass Bartholomew. “After seeing his uncle, I’ve decided your cousin will be quite devastating when he grows into his frame.”

Lawrence angles his head to look at me, looking rather put out. “Now I must compete with Bartholomew as well as Henrik?”

I laugh again, shaking my head at the ridiculous notion. When I pull my eyes away from Lawrence, I find Camellia watching us, her eyes slightly narrowed.

Henrik drums his fingers on the table, studiously ignoring everyone and everything. Brielle casts a nervous look in his direction, but he doesn’t notice.

“I had a grand idea,” Duchess Alousia declares when the meal is almost over. “Since Camellia has returned in time for the wedding, she should throw a bridal tea for Clover.”

I nearly choke, and a painful hush falls over the room.

Bartholomew’s mother doesn’t seem to notice. “It’s a Calendrian tradition for the mother of the groom to celebrate her daughter-in-law with such a celebration. Because Cathriella is no longer with us, I think it would be lovely if Camellia were to take her place.”

Camellia dabs a folded napkin to her lips and clears her throat before she addresses the room. “I would be happy to celebrate dear Clover and Lawrence’s impending nuptials, but perhaps you, Your Grace, would be better suited to arrange such a gathering? Of course, I will assist you however I am able.”

Duchess Alousia says graciously, “I would be honored to host the event.”

“When is a bridal tea traditionally held?” Bartholomew asks his mother.

“A week before the wedding.”

That’s a little over two weeks away—plenty of time to figure out how to remove the necklaces and bring doom upon Camellia’s perfect head.

“A tea sounds lovely. Thank you, Your Grace,” I say to Bartholomew’s mother. I then boldly meet the princess’s piercing blue gaze. “And thank you, Camellia. It will be a rare treat to have you fuss over me for once.”

Lawrence smacks his knee into mine, but I ignore him, beaming innocently at his sister.

Camellia returns my smile, but her eyes are cold and calculating.

When we finally leave, Lawrence pulls me aside. “What did I tell you about taunting her?”

I roll my eyes. “We already know Camellia will kill me if she gets the chance. Does it really matter if I take a few stabs at her when the opportunity presents itself?”

“Clover,” he says heavily. “Please be careful.”

“Fine,” I relent. “I won’t do it again.”

“You promise?”

Resigned, I nod. But under my breath, I mumble, “Joy killer.”

Lawrence groans, draping his arm over my shoulders. “Better your joy than you.”