Page 125 of Forged in Cursed Flames (Crown and Crest 2)

“I’ll take care of it,”Lawrence insists when I drag him to a quiet corner of the hall. “I swear.”

“You could have told me!”

“I…tried.”

“Youtried?” I exclaim in a heated whisper. “‘By the way, Clover, we’re engaged.’It’s not that hard!”

The elves around us cast curious looks our way, likely wondering what we’re whispering about so urgently. I force a smile for them, pretending I’m not a human in a rage.

“This is a minor issue,” Lawrence insists. “First, we need to find out what Camellia is plotting.”

“I have to talk to Henrik,” I say, nearly grasping my hair and ruining the updo Audra’s maids worked so hard to pull together. “I have to…”

What am I going to say? What am I going to do?

“Where is Henrik?” I ask suddenly, realizing I don’t see him anywhere in the hall.

Lawrence sighs, looking around the room. Suddenly, concern overtakes his expression. “I don’t see Camellia either.”

“Where has she taken him?” I demand, though the prince doesn’t know any more than I do.

We hurry through the hall, trying to find someone who knows where they went to.

“Have you asked Pranmore?” Audra asks. “He might have seen them leave.”

Thankfully, the elf isn’t difficult to locate. He’s the only one in attendance with antlers.

“He and the princess left a while ago,” Pranmore answers. “He told me to keep an eye on you.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” I exclaim.

His forehead knits. “I thought the plan was for Henrik to get the princess alone so he could learn the rest of her plan.”

“It was—”

“Itis,” Lawrence interrupts. “Preferably before she can put it into action.”

“But what if…” Overwhelmed, I clench and release my hands.

Lawrence takes me by the shoulders rather roughly and turns me to face him. “Get a hold of yourself. I tell you, Camellia isn’t going to hurt him.”

“Until she finds out he’s not going to help her.”

“They’re back,” Audra says, nodding toward the side entrance. “But who’s that with them?”

We all turn, studying the girl who walks in at Camellia’s side. She appears to be just a little younger than Bartholomew, with ash-brown hair, fair skin, and a radiant smile. Though she looks vaguely familiar, for the life of me, I cannot place her.

“She’s pretty,” Bartholomew says.

And then it hits me, and I grasp hold of Lawrence’s arm to keep my balance.

“What has she done?” I gasp.

“What has who done?” Lawrence demands.

“Camellia,” I whisper. “That’s Brielle—Henrik’s little sister.”

“Are you certain?” Lawrence asks skeptically. “I’ve never seen her before.”

---