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She shakes her head, giving me a secret smile. “I don’t need something so rudimentary.”

“Why?”

And why didn’t Pranmore sense anything on her? What has she figured out that no sorceress before her has managed? And a more sobering thought—exactly how skilled a necromancer is she?

“It’s a trivial issue,” she says. “Certainly nothing to dwell upon.”

“Why do you need to speak with the king?”

“So many questions, Henrik,” Camellia admonishes with a pout. “You’re going to have to trust me.”

“Are you planning an ambush when they arrive?” I press, trying to gather as much information as possible before Camellia realizes what I’m doing.

Right now, she’s feeling smug and untouchable. She’s being careless about the information she’s sharing, but my time is limited.

“Honestly,” she says with an offended huff. “Would I kill my own father?”

Would she?

When I don’t answer, Camellia shakes her head as if disappointed in me. “I don’t intend to hurt anyone.” She pauses to laugh to herself. “Well, anyone except Clover—but believe me, she’s brought it upon herself. While I know I can trust you, she would happily stab a knife in my back at the first opportunity. Perhaps if she hadn’t caught me in the closet that day, I might be able to overlook her horrid temperament…but she did. Now she must go.”

I stare at her, feeling as if my world has come to a grinding halt. Everything I’ve ever valued—the inherent honor of nobility, taking pride in my duty to those above my station, my responsibility to the crown—has been destroyed by one wretched princess.

Clover was right—Camellia never deserved to be placed upon a pedestal. Though she is noble-born, there is nothing honorable about her.

“You’ll help me, Henrik, won’t you?” Camellia presses. “I want Clover gone before my father arrives.”

If I decline now, she’ll retaliate immediately, and she didn’t even try to hide the fact that she’s using blood magic. For a brief time, the people I care about will be safer if Camellia believes I’m working for her.

Unable to utter so much as a word lest I give myself away, I give her a tight bow.

“For now, you are dismissed.” She runs her hand up my arm in a suggestive manner. “As soon as you prove your loyalty, we can speak of things that are far morepleasant. Do hurry.”

I give her a curt nod, clenching my fist at my back.

“Oh, and Henrik?” Camellia calls as I leave. “Best make it look like an accident, just to be safe. Do not disappoint me.”

* * *

My body isnumb as I walk through the water gardens.

Camellia assumed I’d fall in line—that all she had to do was give me orders and I’d follow them like a puppet. Is that what I am to people? Manipulatable? A blade who will mindlessly do as I’m told as long as the orders come from a royal?

Someone so determined to reach his goal, he’d do anything to make it happen?

It’s as if Camellia has taken my life’s work and all my ideals and tarnished them—and she did it in the span of a short conversation.

I’m lost in thought until a sudden noise makes me whirl around. I draw my sword and block a flying axe only inches from my head. The collision travels through the blade, jarring me, but the handheld weapon falls harmlessly to the ground.

I barely have time to get my wits about me before a gnomish warrior screeches like an angry cat and throws herself at me.

“How dare you!” Maisel snarls, grabbing a fistful of my hair and then drawing her knife.

I grip her arm and yank her away before she can slit my throat. As it is, her weapon came too close. The sting from the sharpened blade burns in the humid night air, but I don’t have a chance to examine the wound to see how deep it is.

“How dare Iwhat?” I demand as Maisel tries to squirm away, nudging her fallen dagger out of reach. She kicks, flails, and screams in my arms even as I set her on the ground and hold her shoulders to keep her back.

“You betrayed Clover!” she howls, so angry she’s shaking. “You betrayed themall.”