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My father gruntsin lieu of a greeting as I walk into his smithy after an absence of nearly a week, and then he commands, “Make eight horseshoes. After that, work on nails.”

Even with the windows thrown open, it’s sweltering in here.

Bracing myself for his agitation, I say, “I have an audience with the king soon.”

He sneers, as expected, but he doesn’t say anything—which is unexpected.

I watch him as he limps to the forge and pulls a stick of red-hot iron from the fire. He lies it across the anvil, but I produce a cream-colored piece of parchment before he can begin to shape it and say, “Brielle sent a letter.”

Father eyes it with the same distaste he’d show his daughter if she were here. “Put it on the table. I’ll look at it later.”

My sister sent a letter to me as well, but Father doesn’t need to read that one.

I’ve worked hard all these years for Brielle, both here in the smithy and for the king. A soldier’s salary isn’t enough to pay her school tuition alone, and she’s better off away at Dulnmarin’s than here with Father.

She’s the real reason I must obtain my seal. If I can earn my knighthood, I’ll be able to afford a respectable dowry for her and ensure she makes a good match with a kind man who will care for her. Heaven knows Father won’t see to her future.

And if I marry the princess, Brielle will be secured a position in the nobility for life.

“Did you kill the beast of Danmire?” Father asks between clanging smacks of his hammer.

“I did.”

He glances up to glare at me. “Earned your seal then?”

My spine stiffens. “Not yet.”

Father scoffs. “He’s not going to give it to you. Your aspirations are too big, boy. You could have been a regular knight ten times over, but no. You want the prestige of being one of the elite.”

“You were working your way to becoming a sealed knight,” I remind him.

He yanks aside his leather apron and stomps his wooden leg to the ground with a sneer. “And this is what I have to show for it. You want this, Henrik?”

“I can’t afford to become a regular knight,” I remind him, tired of the familiar argument.

Only those who earn their seal are granted land and gold. I’d never be able to afford my armor on a commander’s salary, especially when I send most of my earnings to Brielle’s school. You must be born into the nobility for that, like Clover’s brothers.

I frown when I think of the woman, fervently wishing she hadn’t drifted into my head. I’ve already seen her twice today—surely that’s punishment enough.

“Who needs knighthood anyway?” Father mutters, going back to his task. “Mercenaries make more money.”

“There’s no honor in selling your blade.”

“Honor.” Father shakes his head as if disgusted, and then he falls silent.

“I’ll work on the horseshoes tonight,” I promise before I leave. “And the nails, too, if I have time.”

Father doesn’t answer, and he certainly doesn’t say goodbye when I leave. No “Glad you’re back, son” or “I missed you while you were away.”

Not that I expected it. This is how it’s always been.

* * *

“Hello, Henrik,”Bartholomew says cordially, matching my steps as I walk down the hall. “Where are you off to at such a brisk pace?”

I barely spare the boy a glance. “I have a meeting with your uncle.”

“What a happy coincidence. I’m headed there as well.”