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The commander hangs back, wearing that look he gets when he believes the world is out of his control and all he wants is a little order.

I subtly step in front of Ayan, smiling at Maisel’s companion. “We haven’t met. I’m Clover.”

The male gnome wears his riotous brown hair in a knot at the back of his head, and his beard is short. He’s tall for his kind, and I have a good idea who he might be from the way Maisel casts him lovesick glances.

“And you are?” I press.

“Devlin,” he says gruffly.

“Ah,Devlin.” I flash Maisel a knowing look. This is the gnome man she’s sweet on.

Maisel scowls at me from behind Devlin and grasps hold of her braid, miming cutting it—warning me what she’ll do to my hair if I embarrass her.

“Where’s Ulfric?” I ask, hastily changing the subject, shoving my hair behind my shoulder as if I can protect it. “Did he come with you?”

“Who’s Ulfric?” Lawrence asks.

“He’s here.” Maisel turns toward the trees and clucks her tongue several times.

Bartholomew lets out a startled yelp when the large rock leopard pushes his way through the brush. The cat eyes him curiously, but he stays by Maisel’s side until he spots me.

Then, with a happy yowl, he saunters forward, nearly knocking me over when he presses the top of his head to my abdomen in a feline greeting.

“Hello, Ulfric…” I cautiously stroke the soft fur between his massive ears.

“Are you staying for dinner?” Maisel asks, finally resigned to our presence.

Lawrence frowns at the leopard. “That depends. Are we on the menu?”

Maisel laughs like he said something that was actually funny. “Of course not. I won’t even feed you squirrel.”

I follow her to their camp. “I see how it is—you give the prince something edible.”

“You’re not royal,” Maisel answers.

“Not yet anyway,” Lawrence says nonchalantly, following the gnome and leaving Bartholomew to tend to the horses.

Unable to resist, I sneak a peek at Henrik to see how he’ll respond to that. But he’s quietly speaking with Pranmore, oblivious.

Irritated, I decide to ignore him. It’s not like either of us has a say in the matter now anyway.

Henrik’s going to marry Camellia, and if I can pull it off, I will marry Lawrence. The commander and I will befamily. By marriage. Forever stuck together but always apart.

The thought makes me a little lightheaded—our future looks uncomfortable indeed.

UnlessI can prove Camellia is evil. If she’s a necromancer, everything will be all right. After all, a princess isn’t above the law. The king wouldn’t make virtuous Henrik marry his villainous daughter, would he?

I’m going to prove Camellia had a hand in this treachery, and then all will be set straight.

But first, we must track her down.

8

Henrik

I waketo the daylight sounds of our forested camp, warm in my bedroll but keenly aware of the cold morning air beyond. Reluctant to rise just yet, I think of the travel ahead of us. Even with Pranmore slowing us down, we should be able to make it to the port city of Heistone by the end of the day.

From there, it’s only a few days across the Ryddle Sea to reach Ferradelle, though it won’t be easy to find someone to take us across unless Lawrence is keen to reveal his identity. The idiot prince should know better, but that doesn’t mean he’ll keep his mouth shut.