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“Let’s hurry. Father and Mother should be there by now.”

“Mother is coming as well?” I ask, startled.

“Of course she’s going to support her future son-in-law.”

“Son-in-law?” I say lightly, but the words make me tingle.

“If that’s what you want. There’s no way Father will refuse a marriage alliance between you two. Not now.”

My stomach flutters, and I swallow back excited nerves. “You have to tell me what’s going on.”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

As I follow Colter through the halls, I try to puzzle out the surprise. But besides Lawrence making Henrik a sealed knight, I cannot think what it could be.

We enter the throne room and find a small crowd. The people in attendance are the closest to the crown—advisors and their wives, Lawrence’s blood relations, and a few families who were close to Algernon.

Brielle and her father are in attendance as well. Roark looks uncomfortable, but Henrik’s sister is pure sunshine. Bartholomew stands with them, keeping them company in the esteemed crowd. The young duke waves when he sees me, grinning.

I nod a greeting to Brielle, and then I whisper to Bartholomew, “What’s going on? Colter wouldn’t tell me.”

“Lawrence has decided to appoint Henrik as duke marshal,” he says.

I hear the words—I even understand their meaning. But I can’t process them.

“But…” I say dumbly. “But you’re…”

Bartholomew grins. “I will apprentice Henrik in the position, stepping in when I come of age. Isn’t it perfect, Clover? Can you imagine a man more suited to head up our great army?”

I blink at him, turning my eyes on Brielle. She merely shrugs, looking elated.

“Lady Clover,” Bartholomew suddenly says as if remembering his manners. “Have you been introduced to Master Roark?”

“I have not,” I say, turning to the man.

I’ve never seen the blacksmith so well-groomed. His long, graying hair has been carefully combed, and he wears it in a tail at the nape of his neck. There’s not a spot of soot on him, and he stands tall. He bows his head to me, looking like he feels out of place in this crowd. “It’s an honor, Lady Clover.”

I give him a demure nod, choosing not to respond.

I’ve never noticed it before, likely because I’ve never seen the man outside his smithy, but I can see the resemblance between him and Henrik now. But this man cannot hold a candle to his son, and not because Henrik is so handsome.

Roark has hurt Henrik repeatedly. He’s made him feel inadequate and small, and it would be difficult to like him even if he didn’t blindly follow Camellia to Ferradelle.

“You must be very proud of Henrik,” I say.

His expression sharpens. “That sounds like a command, Lady Clover.”

I shrug, searching the small crowd for my family. “It was.”

Brielle's eyes go wide, but she bites her bottom lip, looking like she’s trying not to laugh.

With an airy nod, I say, “If you’ll excuse me.”

Gavriel lifts his hand from the front row, gesturing to the empty seat beside him. When I take my spot, my eldest brother whispers, “Making friends?”

“Always.”

Gavriel laughs. “Tell me something.”