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My frown lessens when I spot Minda making her way toward us. The pretty Woodmore enters the hall looking as though she’s not sure she should be here, carrying a steaming cup atop a saucer. She walks carefully, worried about spilling its liquid contents.

Her eyes flicker to the elven delegates, and then she returns her attention to Pranmore.

I nod my head toward the royal seamstress. “You have a visitor.”

Pranmore turns, his expression brightening for only a second before it falls again. “Hello, Minda.”

“I’ve brought you the river thistle tea that you like. I heard the morning’s session was trying.”

“That’s very kind of you,” he says to the besotted young woman. “I appreciate it.”

Her smile flickers between encouraged and unsure, and then she dips her head to me. “Hello, Henrik.”

“Hello, Minda.”

Her eyes suddenly go wide. “I mean,Your Grace. Forgive me.”

“Henrik is fine,” I assure her. “In fact, I prefer it.”

She smiles, and then she gives Pranmore one last longing look. “I should go…”

He nods. “We’ll begin soon.”

With a curtsy, she hurries from the great hall.

“Minda’s pretty, isn’t she?” I say, wondering if the comfort of a female companion would ease some of Pranmore’s worries. At least he wouldn’t have to face them alone.

He nods, taking a sip of the tea.

“She likes you.”

“I know.” He sets the cup down, staring into the faintly purple liquid.

“You have no shortage of interested women, Pranmore. Surely one of them has caught your eye? This path is lonely when you travel it by yourself.”

He looks over at me, his expression making him seem far older than his years. “I’m glad you found Clover, Henrik. But I’m not in the position to begin a relationship.”

“Because of the life debt?” I ask. “We’ve already talked about that. You owe me nothing. I like to think you remain by my side because we’re friends.”

A sad smile flickers across his face. “It’s not because of the life debt, and wearefriends.”

Count Flauret stands, drawing the room's attention and ending our conversation. “Please find your seats. We will continue the discussion.”

After everyone is settled, Lawrence turns toward the Woodmores. “What have you decided?”

They look between themselves, uncomfortable with the conflict they know they’re going to cause.

My spirits sink.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” their ambassador says. “We aren’t soldiers in your army, nor do we wish to be. We cannot offer assistance. It’s too dangerous, and it’s not our battle.”

Lawrence closes his eyes, sitting back in his seat as disappointment racks him. After several seconds, he opens his eyes, his face hardening. “I could command you to cooperate.”

“You could,” the man says. “But that’s no different than enslaving us, Your Majesty, and we believe you are above such acts.”

The king stares at the elf. “Am I?”

The hall goes still as people hold their breaths, waiting.