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Lawrence stands, smirking in a way that makes me nervous. The king waits until he has the hall’s attention, and then he says, “Months ago, I drafted a coat of arms for my dear friend Henrik. I’ve held onto it, waiting for just the right occasion to bestow it upon him.” He flashes me a rotten grin. “Today is that day.”

I force my mouth into a nervous smile, leaning close to Clover as I ask, “What did he do?”

“I have no idea,” she whispers back.

“As I was creating the design, I asked myself: what is the most valiant deed Henrik has performed? As I’m sure you can imagine, the task was daunting. Is there a man alive more heroic than our duke marshal?”

The crowd laughs eagerly, waiting for Lawrence to get to his point.

“But one triumphant moment keptboundingto the forefront of my brain. Ithoppedto the top, demanding recognition.”

Something niggles at my memory, along with a feeling of foreboding. But I can’t put my finger on what it is.

“Without further ado, I present to you the Solbane coat of arms and crest.” With a flourish, Lawrence gestures toward the hall’s entrance. The doors open, and a string of men enter, double file, each carrying flags in blue, green, and white. Upon them is the coat of arms Lawrence created.

“Henrik,” Clover says as if overcome, grasping my arm. “That’s ours—our family’s.”

I let out a sigh of relief when nothing is amiss. It’s a perfectly respectable coat of arms.

Then I lean forward, squinting at the crest. At first glance, it looks like a stag, but…

Laughter erupts in the hall as a stuffed rabbit is wheeled in behind the men. Mounted in a grand posture, it stands on its hind legs, with its head held high and its paws raised in the air like a horse rearing back. Its antlers are so large, they brush the velvet cushion it rests upon.

A jacquesalaupe. Specifically, the jacquesalaupe I slayed in Danmire.

I bark out a laugh, shaking my head as I sit back and cross my arms.

Lawrence turns to us and grins. “What do you think?”

I can’t say what I think in this crowd, so I merely raise my glass to our king.

“Is that a real jacquesalaupe?” Maisel calls across the hall, standing on her chair to get a better look at the animal. Her companions do the same, unconcerned with social faux pas.

“Yes…” Lawrence says, flashing me a bemused look.

“Henrik!” Gruebin exclaims. “You killed it?”

“Alone?” Maisel adds.

I nod cautiously. You never quite know what trouble the gnomes are about to cause, even though they’ve been pleasant since they came to an agreement with Lawrence about taxes—specifically, they must pay them, but in return, Lawrence gives them an allowance for “protecting Doria.”

Essentially, we ended up right where we started, but with politics involved.

“Did you really?” Audra asks from our table, the queen-to-be’s eyes wide.

“Yes…”

“Henrik killed a monstrous jacquesalaupe and lived to tell the tale!” Gruebin exclaims to his companions. “Raise your glasses, men!”

“And women,” Maisel grouses.

“What are they doing?” Clover whispers.

Audra looks surprised. “You don’t know? Jacquesalaupes are rare, shapeshifting creatures. Elven legend says only the bravest, most valiant knight will meet one and live to tell the tale.”

Lawrence scoffs out a laugh, shaking his head. Ayan merely chuckles, for once enjoying mischief he didn’t cause.

“To Henrik!” Gruebin yells.