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“He can confirm it with you later,” I call back.

Surprisingly, Henrik lets me drag him until we’re deep in an abandoned portion of the grounds, near the second wall where an old High Vale fountain used to bubble. It hasn’t seen magic for centuries, and now its decorative stones crumble into the overgrown plants that have nearly overtaken it.

It was near here that I found Camellia and Henrik sharing what I thought was a romantic moment, but I don’t want to think about that now.

“This is far enough,” Henrik says, pulling me to a stop.

My heart races as I turn to face him, and then I look down at our hands. They’re still clasped. He doesn’t let go of me…and I don’t let go of him.

“I lied to the king,” he says in a quiet, agitated voice, not bothering with pleasantries.

My eyes fly up to his. “What?”

The commander pulls his hand free but takes a step closer, his eyes sparking with agitation. “When he asked if I had any idea who might have been involved in Camellia’s disappearance, I said I didn’t know—all the while, the princess’s letter burned a hole in the pocket of my cloak.”

“I didn’t do it,” I say, hating that I even have to. Henrik should know.

Howdarehe not know?

“Prove it to me, Clover. Make me believe you’re innocent.”

At an angry whisper, I say, “How about you prove that I am guilty?”

“I have a letter from the princess that says you’re guilty!” he answers hotly.

Thatwretchednote. I should have destroyed it when I had the chance.

“Have you even stopped to wonder if Camellia might have set me up? Isn’t the whole thing pointing to me a little too perfectly? How do we know she was kidnapped? Who’s to say she didn’t disappear onpurpose?”

Henrik stares at me, his mouth parting with skeptical disbelief. “Clover—”

“Don’t you ‘Clover’ me!” I press a finger against the ties of his leather brigandine. “Listen to what I have to say before you decide.”

He crosses his arms, silently nodding for me to continue. I tell him my story about finding Camellia in her closet, and he listens with an impossible-to-read expression.

Once I’m done, I step back, waiting for him to say something.

“One small problem with your theory,” he finally responds. “Camellia doesn’t look like a magic-user.”

“And Ido?” I demand.

A muscle twitches in his jaw, and he glances away. “I thought you might be using a tambrel stone.”

“A tambrel stone,” I deadpan.

He nods tightly, still avoiding my eyes. “Hidden somewhere…on you.”

I’ve heard of vain sorceresses siphoning the ill-effects of their magic into the stones, but they are unstable creations. The stone will lock the magic away, yes, but sometimes, theyexplode.

More than one necromancer has blown themselves up while trying to hide their magic.

“Where, Henrik? Where would I hide such a thing?”

“I don’t know.” He runs his eyes over me, and my stomach flutters with something inappropriate considering the subject of the conversation. “Somewhere.”

Growing angry—both with him and my reaction—I raise a brow. “Must I show you that I have nothing to hide?” I fight my cloak’s clasp. When it releases, I heave the garment to the ground. “Will this prove I am innocent?”

“Clover,” Henrik says, sounding exasperated. “What are you doing?”