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“Blast it all,” Lawrence slurs. “Where’s my sword?”

Audra turns to the prince. She watches him with disinterest as he pushes himself up, and I can’t say I blame her. Lawrence looks rough. A fair amount of his light copper hair escapes its knot, and the loose strands stand about his head, making him look as if he’s been zapped with a stray bolt of lightning.

But most concerning is his black eye and the dried blood that trails down the bridge of his nose from a wicked gash in his forehead. Whipping back to Lyredon, I demand, “What did you do to him? The dart wasn’t enough?”

The elf doesn’t seem terribly empathetic. “He hit his head on the propulsion apparatus when the toxin knocked him out. He’s fine. Have your Woodmore heal him.”

Squinting in the bright light, Lawrence turns to me, jerking his chin flirtatiously. “I’m still handsome, though, right?”

“Not really. But you’re still an idiot, so there’s that.”

The maimed prince grins, and then he winces as he brings a hand to the partially scabbed-over injury.

My eyes flash at the elves, and I set my hands on my hips. “You realize Lawrence is your future king, don’t you? Caldenbauer’s crown prince. You’re his subjects, whether you like it or not. He could have you hanged for this act of treason.”

“Whether we like it or not?” Audra says with a startled laugh.

Before I can reply, Lyredon raises a brow and drawls, “I thought he was an imposter doing work for the Shadow Crows.”

“If you’ve been following Ayan since he first fled Revalane, you know good and well who we all are, so don’t play coy with me.”

“I’ll play coy with you,” Ayan says with a groan, finally waking up. “I’ll play any game you like.”

Slowly, the man of the hour pushes himself up on his cot. His hair has fallen from its tie, and it hangs over his face in unruly waves. He stares at us through lidded eyes, and then he yawns. He couldn’t look less like a grand duke if he tried.

Suddenly, his focus sharpens on the elves, and he sobers immediately. He reaches for his dagger only to find his sheath empty.

“It’s all right,” Audra assures him. “We don’t plan to deliver you to Augmirian.”

“Then what do you want with me?” he asks groggily.

The elven woman smiles. “I’m going to make you a duke.”

“I don’t care what you do with him,” Henrik says. “But first, we must rescue Camellia—and it will be in your best interest not to stand in our way.”

Audra cocks her head to the side. “Rescue?”

“That’s usually what you do with someone who’s been kidnapped,” Lawrence says.

Audra’s forehead creases. “Kidnapped?”

Lawrence eyes her as if she’s being purposefully obtuse. “Yes…”

“Augmirian didn’t abduct your sister,” Lyredon says confidently.

Audra nods her agreement. “Camellia contacted Augmirian to request the union. She came willingly, though what she promised my cousin, I don’t know. He’s been tightlipped about the engagement.”

I catch Henrik’s eye, giving him a smug look that makes his befuddled expression deepen.

“You’re saying Camellia contacted Augmirian?” Lawrence says as if to clarify. “Herself?”

Audra frowns, looking just as confused as the rest of us. “You really didn’t know?”

Slowly, he shakes his head. “Camellia simply disappeared, and then Augmirian’s private guard showed up to invite Father and me to the wedding. We were led to believe she was being held against her will.”

“What could Camellia have promised Augmirian?” I muse. “What would tempt him to marry her?”

“Most have assumed Augmirian is leveraging for cheaper taxes on imports.” Audra wrinkles her pert nose as if she doesn’t believe it. “Though my cousin isn’t the sort to sacrifice himself for the greater good of the people.”