Page 59 of Forged in Cursed Flames (Crown and Crest 2)

Before I leave, Clover catches my arm and leans in. “Be careful.”

Her bright green eyes meet mine briefly, and she gives me a worried smile.

I’m not concerned for myself. I’ve dealt with these types of criminals countless times while in His Majesty’s service—but I was never accompanied by a noblewoman, Algernon’s nephew, or the kingdom’s crown prince.

It’s imperative Caldwell’s associates don’t discover their identities.

Before I leave the ship, I find Lawrence. He’s standing near the helm, watching the gathering with a cautious expression that tells me he’s not a complete fool.

He glances at me as I meet him. “The way I see it, we have two options. First, we can say our farewells and hope they don’t follow us.”

“What’s the second?” I ask.

“We can pay them off.”

“Do you think it’s a good idea to throw money around in this crowd?”

The prince shrugs. “These men speak the language of gold.”

“But if you give them a little, they’ll want more.”

“It’s a risk,” he says, though he doesn’t look terribly concerned. “Why don’t we play it by ear?”

“Test the waters first?”

He nods. “Shall we?”

I study the prince for a moment, mildly disconcerted. As conversations go, this is about the friendliest we’ve ever had. “All right. Hopefully, they won’t recognize you.”

“Do you think Caldwell will double-cross us?”

“It’s more likely than not.”

Together, we walk down the gangplank. Caldwell is already with the group, exchanging hearty greetings. The conversations stop as we join them.

“You’ve brought humans to Ferradelle,” the blond elf says to Caldwell with a sneer, his eyes sweeping over us. He’s older than I am by at least ten years, and there’s a hard edge to his features.

The captain glances at Lawrence and me, uncomfortable. “I’ve never been picky about cargo. You know that, Harlon.”

Harlon snorts mirthlessly. From the way the elves treat him, he appears to be the leader of this fine community.

“Why don’t you introduce us to your passengers, Caldwell?” says the elf next to Harlon.

“Who cares about them? Why don’t you introduce us to the woman?” another jeers, earning smirks and exchanged glances from his peers.

Caldwell jerks his head at Lawrence. “This one is Kip. He’s the spitting image of the crown prince and has done work for the Shadow Crows.”

My eyebrows fly up at the hastily crafted lie, but I quickly wipe my expression clean.

The men make appreciative noises, and Lawrence smirks, apparently pleased with his new identity.

“You do look a lot like His Royal Weaselness,” the lone female elf in the group says suspiciously, stepping forward to study Lawrence.

“Hence how I make my money.” Lawrence’s hard tone dares the woman to question him again.

“Right…” she answers, drawing out the word, not convinced.

“And who are you?” Harlon asks me, his eyes straying to my sleeve where I usually wear my pennant and rank medallion. The cream fabric is slightly darker where the pennant usually lies, most often shielded from my hours in the sun. The color difference is subtle, but if you look closely, it’s visible.

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