Page 18

I gesture to the dress as if she’s daft. “Minda sent your gown.”

Camellia’s eyes travel to the new garment, and her mouth pinches. She crosses her arms, preparing to scold me. “How long have you been here?”

“Only a few moments. Cortana said you had a headache.” Unable to pass up the opportunity to rib Camellia, I glance at the closet and raise my brows pointedly. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

As expected, Camellia bristles, obviously up to no good. Who does she have in there, and what were they doing?

I’m just about to ask her when she moves her hand to brush a strand of hair from her face, and she leaves a bloodstain upon her ivory sleeve.

“You’re bleeding.” Startled, I step forward, reaching for the princess’s hand. “What did you do?”

Before I can touch her, she jerks away. “It’s just a small cut. My knife slipped while I was slicing an apple.”

To prove her point, she nods her head toward the porcelain plate that sits atop the table by her bed. Sure enough, a browning core rests upon the dish, along with a knife.

“Take it with you when you leave,” she commands.

I almost ask her if I look like a kitchen maid, but I manage to hold my tongue. If she’s giving me an excuse to go, I’ll gladly take it.

“Oh, Clover,” she says as I’m leaving. “I don’t like the green. Tell Minda to make the gown again, but this time in amethyst.”

“Didn’t you pick out the fabric?”

“I liked it then,” she says impatiently, “but now that I see it, I don’t care for it at all. I’m sure it looked acceptable upon you, but my delicate complexion requires cooler tones.”

Barely resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I turn for the door. “Of course, Your Highness. I’ll speak to Minda.”

I’m just leaving, so close to freedom, when the closet door opens. Hellebore emerges, wiping her hands upon a cloth.

“Is that blood?” I ask, aghast.

Startled, perhaps thinking I’d already left, Hellebore jumps. Her eyes flash when they meet mine, and I take a step back, wary of the silent elven handmaid.

“Are you going to stand there all day?” Camellia snaps. “You have two perfectly good feet—use them.”

What exactly did I stumble on?

No—no.

Whatever the princess and Hellebore were doing in the closet, I want absolutely no part in it.

And with that thought, I hurry out the door without so much as a second glance behind me.

8

Clover

A sealed envelopefalls upon the table in front of me, right over the book I was reading. Henrik’s name is scrawled across the front.

I glance up at Camellia, wondering why she’s giving me the note.

“I want you to deliver this to Henrik,” she says, her tone snippier than usual.

“But he’s on the supply run.”

“I know where he is,” she answers tartly.

“Am I a courier now?” I demand, brushing the letter aside. “I already cleared the dishes from your room. Find someone else to deliver your love letter.”