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We eventually find Lawrence sitting on a stool, regaling his new audience with a story. Elves sit around him, enthralled by the imposter prince.

“And that’s how we stole the queen’s crown out from under the royal scum’s nose,” he boasts, earning a round of excited hollers.

So much for discreet.

“Ah, there she is,” Lawrence says when he spots us, pointing at Clover as he takes a large swig of ale. “My lovely wife.”

Clover offers him a tight smile that silently declares she’s going to kill him later.

Leaving his stool, Lawrence ambles across the room, gives me a mischievous look, and loops an arm around Clover’s back.

And then hekissesher.

17

Clover

It takesme a moment to come to my senses. One minute, Lawrence’s eyes are laughing, and the next, his mouth is covering mine.

My first impulse is to knee him in the groin, but he breaks the kiss and nuzzles his lips against my ear. “Don’t blow our cover,wife.”

“You’re going to pay for this,” I whisper when he comes in for another kiss.

He chuckles. “Then I best enjoy it while I can.”

“If your tongue comes anywhere near my mouth, I will bite it off,” I hiss.

But Lawrence only presses a lingering peck to my lips, raising his brows as he backs away. He then slings his arm around my waist and tucks me into his side.

I pause just a moment, waiting for belated sparks…but there are none.

As kisses go, it was disappointing. The execution was fine, I suppose, but there’s nothing there.

I glance at Henrik, irritated with the situation. The soldier stares at Lawrence, looking as if he’d like to murder the prince.

That makes two of us.

Lawrence and I end up seated at a large round table in the middle of the room. Henrik stands behind us, one hand on the back of my chair.

Lawrence lies like a gambler, effortlessly spinning tales about our life in the notorious underground crime guild.

He and Henrik seem to know plenty to keep the ruse afloat.

“Sounds like you’re an influential member,” Harlon says, though it’s clear he’s not as impressed as his fellow thieves.

“We work independently,” Lawrence says. “But we’ve held hands with the Shadow Crows countless times in the past.”

“I suppose you know Darius?” Harlon asks, sounding like he’s testing them.

“We were with Darius when he was arrested last year in Ladora,” Henrik answers. “Barely made it out when the lodge was raided by a band of greens.”

I lean close to Bartholomew, who sits on my left. “Greens?”

“Soldiers,” Bartholomew says in a hushed tone. “Green pennant class.”

As I nod, my eyes stray to Ayan. The High Vale sits beside Bartholomew, still wearing his cloak. He must be miserable in this sticky heat. His hood hangs low, partially shielding his face, and he stares at the table.

He couldn’t look more like he’s hiding if he tried. At the moment, you can’t even tell if he’s an elf or a human.