Page 13 of Fall of the Ember Throne (Crown and Crest 3)

Slowly, I stand. As I rise, my eyes fall on her dagger. The steel glints in the lamplight, taunting me. Begging me to take it.

To finish this madness.

Camellia’s eyes follow my gaze, and then she laughs. With a subtle, twisted smile, she pulls the dagger from its sheath and offers it to me. “What wicked thoughts are you having, Henrik?”

I look away, hating myself.

She takes my left hand and shoves the hilt of the dagger into it, wrapping my fingers tightly with her own. Then she steps forward, pressing the tip of the blade against her breast. “You want to kill me?”

I try to yank away, but she holds me tightly.

“Do it,” she purrs, jerking my hand forward.

“Camellia,stop.”

“Do it if you want to.” Her eyes are mad as they dance over my face. “You’re one breath away from freeing yourself, but can you kill an unarmed woman? Can you murder me, valiant soldier?”

And for one terrifying moment, I waver. My hand presses forward, and Camellia’s eyes widen.

“Do it,” she taunts again at a fevered whisper. “If that’s what you want, I’ll die for you. That’s how deep my devotion goes.”

Her slap still stings, as does the humiliating way she continually pets me like a dog and threatens my sister’s death. She is a wretched human being, a threat to all Caldenbauer.

“Kill me,” she whispers. “Murder is powerful, Henrik. See for yourself.”

With a growl, I yank the dagger from her hands and heave it across the room, stepping away and breathing hard.

Blood seeps into Camellia’s gown, oozing from a slice that didn’t go far enough to cause real damage. She looks down, pressing her finger against the small cut in her bodice, and then shelaughs. Her fingers are stained with her own blood, and she rubs them against her thumb, entranced.

My stomach heaves at the sight, and doubt makes me break into a cold sweat.

Did I miss my opportunity? Will I regret this moment?

“Now we know where we stand.” Camellia steps up so close, I can feel her breath on my skin. Running her stained fingers over my neck, she whispers, “You cannot kill me, and I won’t let you go. Do you know what that means?”

I gulp, trying to control the bile that rises in my throat.

She stands on her tiptoes, her lips far too close to my own. “You belong to me, Henrik. Chained, bound.Mine.”

5

CLOVER

I suppress a yawn, knowing full well I’m on display and must at least appear somewhat invested in the historical event taking place before me. And perhaps I was in the beginning.

But I didn’t realize that historical moments are quite this boring.

We’ve been in the throne room for almost two hours now, surrounded by most of the noblemen and women of the kingdom, along with all the high-ranking soldiers in the royal military.

A trio of honored scholars have taken turns blathering on about this and that—basically giving a history lesson even though we’re all well-aware of our heritage.

I glance at Lawrence, wondering how he’s faring upon his throne, but he stares at the present speaker, every muscle in his body tensed, his mind likely on his father’s newly buried body.

Algernon now rests in a new marble tomb in the royal crypt, along with his ancestors, including Telgin, the great Phoenix King who freed us from the High Vale’s tyranny.

I sit near Lawrence on the dais, surrounded by my poor ladies who have been forced to stand. If I’d known there wouldn’t be proper seating, I would have demanded extra chairs be placed before the ceremony.

Lavender shifts, obviously growing weary. She’s prone to dizzy spells when she doesn’t eat, and with all the excitement, I’m not sure she remembered to feed herself. I finally decide that propriety can be cursed—it’s better than the poor girl fainting dead away. People murmur as I stand, and the speaker turns, startled by the interruption. I press on Lavender’s shoulder, wordlessly telling her to take the seat, and then I motion for the man to continue his never-ending lecture.

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