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Ayan, Pranmore, and I walk with Miguel to the council room. When we step inside, we find Lawrence, along with Denny, Xander, Alfred, and the five royal council members, including Clover’s father.

“He’s too young,” Lord Nevin says. “And he’s not ready.”

Lawrence lifts a hand in greeting as we enter. The young king sits at the head of the table with his elbows on the surface. He rests his chin on his clasped hands, listening to his advisors bicker.

“It’s his birthright,” Lord Cowell, Nevin’s nephew, argues.

Lawrence nods me over.

“What are they quarreling about?” I ask quietly, taking the empty seat beside him.

“Now that I’m king, I’m no longer able to stand in as the duke marshal for Bartholomew. In light of recent events, I’ve decided the position needs to be filled.”

“Bartholomew isn’t ready,” I say, aghast.

“That seems to be the general consensus.”

“Doyouwant to place him at the head of your entire army?” I demand

“Not particularly.” Lawrence frowns. “But as Lord Cowell says, it’s his birthright.”

“Name one of your knight commanders as a temporary duke marshal,” I suggest. “A stand-in until Bartholomew comes of age and is ready for the responsibility.”

Lawrence studies me. “That’s a dangerous suggestion. You expect me to hand over my army to a man who doesn’t share my blood? What will keep him from turning on me and stealing the throne?”

“Choose someone trustworthy, preferably a man who has a decent relationship with Bartholomew so he can teach him.”

Lawrence’s face scrunches with deep thought. “Out of morbid curiosity, who would you choose?”

“Gavriel is hot-tempered, but his family is unerringly loyal to the crown,” I answer. “Or, if you can bear to part with one of your sealed knights, Miguel would be excellent.”

“So let me get this straight,” Lawrence says. “I need someone whose loyalty is unquestionable—someone close to Bartholomew. A person who isn’t power hungry, who will step down when Bartholomew comes of age. A man with a solid understanding of military tactics, who will put the good of my people above his own quest for glory.”

I nod.

“Youare the only person I know who fits that description. Are you volunteering, Henrik?”

“What?” Shock racks my body like an earth tremor.

Lawrence lifts his brows, waiting for an answer.

“I’m not noble-born,” I hiss under my breath. “I’m not even a knight.”

“You act like I can’t fix that.”

“Lawrence!” I glance at the council, hoping no one has overheard. Thankfully, they’re too busy arguing to pay our whispered conversation any attention. At least until Lawrence stands. Slowly, the men turn toward their new king.

I extend my hand toward Lawrence and then clasp it into a fist, pressing my lips together, helpless to do anything but wait to see what he’ll say.

Once Lawrence has the room’s attention, he declares, “As Bartholomew’s mentor, Henrik will step in as duke marshal until Bartholomew comes of age.”

The room falls silent.

I shake my head, nervously glancing at our stunned onlookers. “Your Majesty, with all due respect, that’snotwhat I was suggesting—”

“We’ll do his knighting ceremony tonight, and then we’ll swear him into the position immediately after.”

“Sire,” Lord Nevin says, eyeing me nervously. “Henrik served under your sister until quite recently—”