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“We will add extra security to Dulane,” I assure him before gently adding, “And she’s already attacked your territory once.”

The man’s eyes move to Pranmore, who sits by my side instead of with his people. “It was not a random attack. Because one of our own allied himself with you, the princess sent golems to his home village.”

Pranmore looks down at the table, brooding. It’s hard to argue when he’s right, even if his reasoning is flawed.

“I grew up in a Woodmore village,” Ayan says, joining the conversation. “A few of you know me.”

Several Woodmores acknowledge him. However, their pinched faces make me think that while they do, in fact, know him, they don’t necessarilylikehim. All except one. She’s older, with silver hair she wears in a bun at the nape of her neck. She watches Ayan with soft eyes.

He continues, “You are the most generous people—loving, kind, affectionate. But you’re as stubborn as muircorns, and you’re refusing to look at the bigger picture. We’ve been unified for over a hundred years, but we’re still acting as individual races, keeping to our own separate provinces, horrified at the thought of mingling. But we’re not just elves, humans, gnomes, and Boermin—we’re citizens of Caldenbauer. Your people have unique talents, ones the rest of us don’t possess. Just by agreeing to use them, you could potentially save countless lives. We don’t know what Camellia has planned, but I don’t believe she’ll leave you untouched simply because you refuse to stand up to her.”

It’s the longest stretch of solemn words I’ve ever heard Ayan utter.

The room is silent as we wait for the Woodmores’ response. After several heavy seconds, the man who has chosen himself as their spokesman says, “We will discuss it privately. Your Majesty, is there a room we may use?”

“Of course.” Lawrence motions to one of the attendants. “You may go to my council room. Please feel free to take as long as you need—I think we could all use a few hours of rest. Let’s meet back at two.”

As we leave our seats, Ayan rises. He crosses the space to meet the Woodmore woman with the soft eyes. They embrace, and she strokes the hair from his forehead, looking like she’s going to cry. He then takes her hand and leads her to Audra and Lady Ellaine.

Giving in to curiosity, I join them.

“Aunt Ellaine, Audra, this is my grandmother, Daphne,” Ayan says, making the first introduction. “She raised me.”

Lady Ellaine bows her head in respect. “I’m so glad to finally meet you. I cannot tell you how grateful I am…” Her voice becomes shaky, and she presses her lips together when she cannot finish.

“I’m overjoyed Ayan has been reunited with his family,” Daphne says. “I hope we’ll get a chance to talk more after the assembly is over.”

She lingers just a few seconds more, clinging to Ayan’s hand, obviously not wanting to leave him. When she has no choice, she hurries to join the other Woodmores as they follow the attendant out the doors.

“She seems lovely, Ayan,” Audra says. “I have no idea how she put up with you.”

Chuckling, I turn to look for Clover. She’s with her family, appearing exasperated. I should rescue her.

“There’s no reason you must be here,” I overhear Colter say as I make my way toward them. “You’re exhausted—go home. Get some sleep.”

“I’m fine,” Clover argues, smiling when she spots me. “And as Camellia so kindly reminded me last night, I am personally invested in all this.”

My hand clenches into a fist, and I pause mid-step, startled by the anger that flares like an inferno in my chest. My discipline, my self-restraint, isn’t infinite. And Camellia has found the end of it.

She’s left me no choice. Somehow—someway—I will see her destroyed.

* * *

Emotions run high after the break, with yet another altercation between the gnomes and Boermin making people uneasy. I didn’t bother to ask what it was about this time, but I have no doubt that if Maisel didn’t start it, she was certainly involved.

We find our seats again, everyone casting looks at the solemn Woodmores. Pranmore sits next to me, and I lean toward him and lower my voice as I watch the group for clues. “What did they decide?”

“They wouldn’t let me attend.”

I jerk my head toward him, startled. “What do you mean?”

“Because I’ve allied myself with you, they say I’m partial to your cause.”

“Pranmore…”

He looks at the table. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” I mutter, my eyes turning to his journal. He clutches it in his hands, never writing in it anymore. But he carries it like Brielle used to cling to a quilt our mother made before she passed away, for comfort and security.