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“My lackey,” Lawrence answers before either Caldwell or I have the chance. “We call him Dunce. He’s not too bright, but he’s not bad with a sword. Passes reasonably well for a soldier, don’t you think? He has that uncultured, oafish look about him.”

The men laugh, obviously enjoying his assessment of soldiers, and some of the tension seems to dissipate.

I bite my tongue, resisting the impulse to push the prince into the bog.

“Not quite knight material, though,” Lawrence can’t help but add, shooting me a look that says he’s pleased with the direction of the conversation. “Pity.”

“Who’s the girl?” asks an elf with light brown hair and a smattering of freckles. He’s probably about the same age as Lawrence and Clover, and the ladies of the court would likely find him charming.

“My wife,” Lawrence says without hesitation, earning a sharp look from me. He glances my way, silently challenging me before he looks back at the elves. “She poses as one of Camellia’s ladies when I need a companion for my assignments.”

“What kind of assignments do you do?” the elf asks eagerly.

Lawrence brushes the question away. “Discretion is part of the job.”

The crowd looks suitably impressed, except for Harlon, who still appears suspicious.

“I suppose that ‘discretion’ will keep you from explaining what you’re doing in Ferradelle?” Harlon asks.

Lawrence barely spares him a glance. “Naturally.”

The man smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Any friend of Caldwell’s is welcome. Please, join us for a meal and get a good night’s sleep before traveling in the morning.”

“We will accept your gracious invitation.” To me, Lawrence says, “Fetch the others, won’t you, Dunce?”

“Sure thing, chief,” I deadpan.

Lawrence chokes back an unexpected laugh, and then he throws a friendly arm around Harlon’s shoulders as they walk toward the village. “Let me tell you about the time Dunce here fought a mighty jacquesalaupe…”

Looking heavenward, I take a deep breath before I head back to the ship.

“I think it went all right,” Caldwell says quietly before I leave, flashing me a smug grin. “Your captain’s got a few tricks up his sleeve.”

“Thank you, Caldwell.”

“They’d have identified him, you know.”

“I do not doubt it.”

I make my way to the ship, dreading the unavoidable conversation with Clover.

* * *

“Lawrence toldthem I’m hiswife?” Clover demands, setting her hands on her hips.

I nod, uncomfortable.

“If you were going to lie, why didn’t you say I was married toyou?”

“How would that serve our purpose as royal imposters? Does it make sense for a lady to be married to a soldier?”

The air goes still as Bartholomew, Pranmore, and Ayan quietly observe. Clover’s eyes flash with either anger or hurt, but either way, it doesn’t matter. As much as I hate it, Lawrence made the right decision for the ruse. Clover is safest posing as his wife.

I’m just a secondary character in this charade.

“Fine,” she says sharply. “It doesn’t matter. We’re only going to be here for a night anyway.”

“No, it’s not fine,” Bartholomew says suddenly. “You can’t share a room with Lawrence!”