Page 112 of Forged in Cursed Flames (Crown and Crest 2)

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Dinner passes with little fanfare,and I count down the minutes until I can meet Camellia and be done with this charade. I’d make a wretched shadow rogue, even for the sake of the crown. This deception gnaws at my stomach, giving me heartburn and making me wish I’d become a simple blacksmith instead.

Before I can escape to meet Camellia, she summons us to a large entertaining chamber that’s inside the royal quarters. The province’s highest-ranking nobles are in attendance as well, along with their wives and grown children.

Servingmen make their way through the room, passing out flutes of champagne. High Vales mill about, smiling and laughing as if they know it’s expected of them.

Lawrence accepts a glass from a man and then turns to me. Lowering his voice, he says, “What do you think this is about?”

“Perhaps a reception of some sort?” I ask.

Lawrence makes a noise of agreement as if that might be the case. “But receptions are usually held after a wedding, and no one but you seems to know the duke and my sister are already wed.”

I nod, scanning the room for guards lurking on the edges. A few of Augmirian’s soldiers are present, but as far as I can tell, this is nothing more than a friendly gathering.

“Don’t let down your guard,” Lawrence instructs.

Camellia and Augmirian appear at the front of the room, smiling for their guests.

Augmirian clears his throat, and the audience goes quiet. People turn toward him, waiting with anticipation.

The duke begins, “Since my soon-to-be brother-in-law arrived early, we decided to throw a small soiree to celebrate not only my upcoming union with my dear Camellia, but also to thank our family and friends for their support.”

He glances at the princess as he says it, looking subtly disgusted. Whatever transpired between them, it’s not love.

“Camellia came to me last night,” he continues, “telling me of a surprise she’s planned.”

“Surprise?” Bartholomew asks us. “What kind of surprise?”

“I think we’re going to find out,” Lawrence whispers before he hushes his cousin.

With a gracious smile, Camellia turns to the side of the room and beckons several men forward. They each hold a small, flat box. The wood gleams as if waxed, glinting in the bright light of the overhead chandelier.

Camellia turns back to her audience. “In Calendria, the land where my people originally came from, it is customary for a princess to give her attending ladies a gift on the eve of her wedding. It’s a token of love, to show gratitude for their years of support and care.”

I glance at Camellia’s ladies, wondering why she would do the display here—and noting there are too many boxes for the few girls.

“Since I arrived in Ferradelle, you have welcomed me with open arms,” Camellia continues, though from the glances being exchanged in the room, I’m not sure that’s entirely true. “Even though I cannot put into words what that has meant to me, I want to show my gratitude. These are tokens of my heart—to thank you for the years ahead. I’ve had one made for all the ladies in attendance. I hope when you wear them, you will think of me and the peace we’re choosing to make between our people.”

The men begin to distribute the boxes to the noblewomen in the room, and warnings prick my skin.

Next to me, Audra gingerly opens her box. The pendant is a rose gold disk, etched with a phoenix surrounded by the knot wreath the High Vales have long used in their coat of arms. A small diamond is set in the center, cut to catch the light. It sparkles like the crystals in the overhead chandelier.

It looks like a token of goodwill, but it fills me with dread. I look around, watching as ladies clasp the delicate chains around their necks, helpless to stop them. Some look eager, impressed with the bauble. But it’s apparent others are simply humoring the princess and intend to remove it later.

Camellia watches eagerly. With every woman who puts on the necklace, her pleasure grows.

“Wait,” I say to Audra sharply. “Don’t put it on.”

“Why?”

“What if it’s spelled?”

Audra frowns at the pendant. “It’s not talvernum.”

But something is wrong—I can tell from the look on Camellia’s face.

“Please,” I beseech her. “Don’t.”

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