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“Set your pride aside, Henrik. As absurd as it is—and believe me, I acknowledge it—you’re the only person I trust. I need you to step up and do this for me. Not as a commander taking orders from his king.” He averts his eyes, looking like he has indigestion. “As a friend.”

I cringe. “Are we friends now, Lawrence?”

“I’m afraid so.” He sighs as if disgusted. “I’m just as horrified as you.”

Suddenly, I laugh, running my hand through my hair. “Fine—but only until Bartholomew comes of age.”

“Train him well, Henrik.”

“I will.”

He nods slowly. “I know you will.”

Sensing we need to end this conversation before it suffocates us, I say, “I’m going to find Clover.”

“She’s sleeping.” He grins. “Poor thing was tired, so I tucked her in for a nap.”

I walk to the door. “I don’t care if you’re my king—you’re still a boarker.”

Lawrence laughs as I leave, and I shake my head. His joking doesn’t rankle me as it would have at one time. I know Clover too well to doubt her steadfastness. If she wanted Lawrence, she had plenty of opportunities to choose him.

I nod to Lawrence’s guard as I pass them, wondering how much of the conversation they were able to hear through the door.

“Duke marshal,” I murmur to myself when I’m alone. Suddenly, I chuckle, rubbing my neck as I contemplate it.

It’s ridiculous, but still…

Duke marshal.

11

CLOVER

As expected,Calla is inconsolable. Lavender, Hyacinth, and I take turns keeping her company throughout the afternoon, none of us eager to leave her alone now that the news of Barret’s death has spread throughout the castle.

My heart aches for my friend, but it’s more than that—I’m angry. Angry that Barret used her and angry that Camellia is still causing so much pain.

“I just don’t understand how he could do such a thing,” Calla says, her eyes red and her cheeks pale.

“I know,” I whisper, handing her a new handkerchief.

Lavender sits beside Calla. Gently, she says, “It hurts now, but it will get better with time.”

“I want to believe you.” Calla turns to her, devastated. “But you’ve never lost anyone.”

Lavender wraps her into a hug. “I know I haven’t, but I did lose Lord Kevington—”

“Lavender!” I hiss, widening my eyes and telling her to cease that sentence immediately.

But it’s too late. Calla pulls back, incredulous. “Yourcat?”

“Ilovedhim,” Lavender exclaims as if we aren’t very aware of that fact, her eyes growing misty. “And why are you angry with me? I’m just trying to comfort you.”

I rub my hands over my face, groaning quietly. It happened years ago, when we’d just become Camellia’s ladies. We heard about that cat’s death for two solid weeks.

“Henrik has returned,” Hyacinth says from the doorway. “You go, Clover. I’ll stay.”

“Lavender brought up her cat,” I warn in a whisper as I pass her. “Again.”