Page 26 of Forged in Cursed Flames (Crown and Crest 2)

Everything is tidy here; everything is in its place. There are no sprawling late-season vegetable plots to be seen, nor winter squash patches, messy chickens, or goats gathered in pens.

No dirty forges, littered with grinding wheels, anvils, and ash. No filthy blacksmith, angry at the world and keen to take it out on his children.

For a moment, I let myself imagine my younger sister in one of these luxurious estates, married and content, tending her flowers and riding when it pleases her. Everything I’ve done has been for Brielle, and the king is offering me the chance to give her this and more. A dowry and a fine marriage—a family name she can take pride in.

All I have to do is bring Camellia home, and our lives will be set. I’ll have my seal, my new title, gold…and the princess.

They’re locked together now—each belongs with the other. To refuse Camellia’s hand is to refuse my seal and everything that comes with it. I know Algernon believes he was blessing me with something infinitely precious. He has no idea that I feel as if he secured a chain around my neck.

We arrive at the Gevaldry estate after the sun has fully set and the first of the evening’s stars dot the darkening sky. Recognizing the prince, grooms hurry to meet us, and a man runs inside to fetch the estate’s steward.

“Your Highness!” the man exclaims as he jogs down the steps to greet Lawrence, looking harried. “My apologies—we were not expecting a visit.”

Lawrence hands his horse to a groom before he turns to the man. “It was an unplanned trip, urgent in nature.”

The man’s face softens, and he hangs his head. “I heard about your sister. I am deeply sorry.”

“We’re going to get her back,” Lawrence says with a dismissive wave of his hand, sounding as if he doesn’t care much either way. “The elves have taken her to Ferradelle, so we must find a ship in the morning that will take us across the sea. We’ll only be here a night.”

The steward nods. “Of course. I will have the maids begin preparing rooms immediately.” His eyes slide to the rest of us, pausing on Ayan in question.

Our High Vale companion gives him a wave, unconcerned by the man’s surprise.

After a brief moment, the steward turns back to Lawrence. “How many are traveling in your party?”

“Henrik and his man can sleep in the guards’ hall, so four rooms.” Lawrence flashes Clover a wicked grin. “Unless you’re nervous about sleeping alone tonight, and then you can stay with me.”

“Not on your life.” Clover gives him a sharp look, but then she suddenly smiles as if very familiar with the game.

A game I don’t care for.

“Surely you can spare rooms for Henrik and Pranmore as well?” Bartholomew argues with his cousin.

“The guards’ hall is fine,” I assure my squire curtly, hoping to remind him that while he is noble, I am not. Not yet.

Though why Ayan gets a room, I don’t know.

Lawrence rolls his eyes. “Fine, give the commander and his elf rooms as well.” Lawrence looks at me from the corner of his eye, smirking. “Small ones.”

“It will be done.”

“I don’t suppose the kitchen is fully staffed at the moment?” Lawrence asks.

The man shakes his head ruefully. “It is not, though I am sure the maids can come up with something—”

“No reason to trouble yourselves. There are plenty of taverns in the city.” Lawrence motions for his groom to return his horse. They’ve already efficiently removed the saddlebags on not only the prince’s stallion, but our animals as well. “We’ll be back.”

“Do you plan to wear your cloak the entire time we’re in the tavern?” I ask Lawrence.

“No.” He turns to me, looking baffled. “Why?”

Clover nods toward his circlet, which is visible now that he’s lowered his hood. “You can’t go around wearing that. We’ll be mobbed.”

Lawrence touches the narrow gold band and gives us a wry look. “You don’t expect me to parade as a commoner, do you?”

Without his circlet, with no military badge to proclaim his position, Lawrence could very well be mistaken for a lesser noble, or even a merchant—a great blow to the ego if you’re used to throwing your title around.

How will he possibly survive?

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