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“Enough!” Lawrence commands loudly, bringing the chatter to a close. “We’re doing this.”

“I’m not.” I back up the words with a shake of my head and then cross my arms for good measure. “No.”

“Are you defying a royal order?” Lawrence asks, and now—just there—I see the ornery amusement shining in his eyes. He’s enjoying this far too much.

“Give me a real order, and I’ll obey it. This is ludicrous.”

“You give a man a new title and a bright red pennant, and the power goes to his head,” Ayan whispers to Pranmore. “Remember when he was an obedient commander?”

“Humor me,” Lawrence says, ignoring the High Vale. “What harm is there in it?”

“What if it works?” Audra asks. “What are you hoping to learn?”

“Camellia won’t sit in the dark forever,” Lawrence says confidently. “She’ll want recognition for all she’s accomplished. Already, she’s leaving notes for Henrik so he’ll know how brilliant she is. We’ll just let her talk a bit and see what slips out.”

“Can she hurt him through Della?” Clover asks Pranmore. “She is a necromancer after all.”

“I’ll ward him,” Pranmore says. The Woodmore looks at me expectantly, as if he thinks Lawrence’s idea is sound.

“Fine,” I say with a heavy sigh, knowing they won’t stop until I give them what they want. “I’ll try it.”

“Excellent.” Lawrence waves me through the closed back door.

Pranmore comes as well, raising his ward as soon as we enter the room.

The girl is awake. Her eyes move to me as we enter, but there’s only mild recognition there—as if she’s seen me in passing a few times, not as if she stalked Clover and me around the castle. Her brown hair is down around her shoulders, and it looks like she’s just brushed it. She’s likely Clover’s age, but her petite size and delicate features make her look younger.

“Hello, Della,” Pranmore says in his soothing voice, the one he reserves for patients and dying Calendrian vultures. “This is Henrik. Do you recognize him?”

Her eyes move to my pennant and medallion, and she frowns. “He was a commander.”

“That’s right,” Pranmore says. “He’s been promoted to duke marshal. Did you know that?”

Uncomfortable, she moves her eyes from me to Lawrence. The king’s presence isn’t making her feel at ease. “No.”

“He and Lady Clover have seen you several times in the last week. Do you remember bumping into them?”

Confusion clouds her face. After several seconds, she shakes her head.

“Have you remembered anything since we last talked?” Pranmore gently prods.

“No.” Her eyes dart back to me, almost as if something about me is troubling her.

“We believe we know the reason for that.” Lawrence takes the chair that rests next to the head of the bed, spins it around on one of its legs, and then sits in it backward. He folds his arms over the backrest, a casual stance likely meant to put her at ease. “Did you have contact with my sister before she passed away?”

For the briefest moment, fear flashes in the girl’s eyes. She visibly gulps and then shakes her head. “I did not.”

Lawrence graces her with one of his draconian-like grins. “I don’t believe you, Della. You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

“Your Majesty, I—”

“Call me Lawrence,” he says easily.

She drops her eyes to the covers.

“Say it,” he coaxes. “Lawr-ence.”

“Lawrence,” she murmurs.