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“How, exactly, did you befriend aDornauth?” She laughs. “Such a handy little spy. I have a theory—would you like to hear it?”

Again, I refuse to answer.

“I think your little gnome overheard our conversation, and she’s the one who warned Clover.”

My muscles begin to quiver, and dark thoughts overtake me once again. I could kill the princess now—we’re alone. Half-mad, I lift my hand, brushing her hair over her shoulder.

A smile toys at Camellia’s full lips, but she doesn’t move.

Swallowing hard, I lift my other hand, setting them both on her cool skin like a man about to pull his lover in for a passionate kiss. I rub my thumb over her pulse point, feeling her blood thrum in her throat.

I could do it.

I squeeze just a little, testing myself.

Camellia laughs. “It would only take a second for me to kill your sister. You’re aware of that, aren’t you? You could certainly murder me, but I wouldn’t go alone.”

Trembling, I meet her eyes.

“But I’m not scared of death, Henrik,” she whispers. “Go ahead. Let’s see what happens.”

With a growl, I yank my hands away and turn my back on her.

“That’s twice you’ve almost murdered me and then had a change of heart. Your chivalry won’t go unrewarded. Though I am eager to dispose of Clover, I think I’ll give you a gift instead.” She loops her arms around my waist, pressing against my back. “I think I’m going to allow her to marry Lawrence—let them have their wedding night. I cannot promise much after that, but it feels like a generous offer nevertheless, don’t you think?”

I pull away from Camellia and leave the room, not trusting myself to stay a moment longer. After walking the castle halls with no particular destination in mind, I end up in the practice arena. Since it’s still raining, training has moved indoors. But the knights and soldiers who have gathered seem content to talk and loiter instead of spar.

Men watch me as I stride into the space, shooting nervous looks my way. I step up to the rack and choose a blunt sword, gripping the hilt in my hand. I no longer have a reason to hide my recovery.

Turning to my audience, I announce, “It’s been far too long since I’ve trained. Who will fight me?”

* * *

The afternoon turns into evening,and then to night. I sit on a bench, dripping sweat. I’m exhausted, and my anger is sated. I’m the only one left, and the arena is quiet now.

I have no idea what time it is.

With a heavy sigh, I pick up my discarded tunic and rise. When I turn, I come to an abrupt stop.

Clover sits on one of the raised benches, watching me. “I’ve never seen a man throw himself into practice like that.”

She wears a gown of deep purple, looking regal. But her smile…it’s still mischievous. It still guts me.

“How long have you been here?” I ask hesitantly.

How didn’t I notice her arrival?

“Most of the day,” she says. “My ladies were here for a while as well.”

I look around, a little uncomfortable. “You’re…alone?”

“I asked Barret to wait for me outside the doors.”

“And Lawrence—”

“He knows I’m here.” Clover descends the steps, coming to stand in front of me. Softly, she says, “There are no windows, and though I wouldn’t put it past her, I doubt Camellia has men hanging from the skylight. You can relax.”

“She knows everything,” I say quietly, taking her arm and leading her down a hall beyond the benches and into a small storage room, safe from anyone who might walk into the arena. “About Maisel’s existence and that Pranmore healed my arm. She even knows the Woodmore is trying to unravel the magic in Audra’s necklace.”