Page 99 of Fall of the Ember Throne (Crown and Crest 3)

“I don’t have to.” She shrugs as she pulls various herbs and unmentionables from the satchel and spreads them on the table. “But it’s happened.”

“The man in your closet.”

“He almost ruined an entire batch.” She scowls, but she laughs when she meets my eyes. “You should see your expression, Henrik. It’s positively horrified.”

I stay silent, but my hand clenches into a fist.

“Will you offer your blood then? To save an innocent life?” She steps up to me and brushes her hand against my thigh. “I could make it enjoyable.”

Revulsion makes me step back.

Annoyed by my rejection, Camellia returns to her task. “At least think about it. If you refuse, maybe I’ll ask your sister for assistance. But Brielle is such a tiny thing. How much blood do you think I could drain from her before she collapsed?”

I begin to step forward, but Camellia raises her hand.

“Or I could kill her now.” She watches her green magic as it swirls in her palm. “Your choice.”

I don’t move forward, but my hand strays to my dagger. She glances at me, unimpressed. “Oh, stop being so dramatic—I didn’t say you have to decide right now.”

“I’ve been denying it, wondering if the thought makes me as wicked as you, but I think it’s inevitable,” I say heavily. “I’m going to have to kill you one of these days.”

Camellia looks over, giving me another smile. “I’m counting on it.”

Again, Maisel’s warning circles in my brain. The princess is too eager for death.

But why?

Or is this just another one of Camellia’s head games intended to make me question myself?

* * *

I waketo a knock at Camellia’s inner bedchamber door. Still mostly asleep, I roll over on the rug and look at the window. It’s dark.

“What is it, Henrik?” Camellia asks groggily from her bed.

“I don’t know.” Clearing my throat and blinking the haze from my eyes, I answer the door.

“A message has come for Camellia,” Rose says meekly. “The courier said it was urgent.”

Nodding, I take the sealed letter from the lady-in-waiting and deliver it to the princess. She sits up, yawning as she pushes her disheveled hair from her face. “Turn up the lamp.”

I do as she asks, wincing as the bright light floods the room.

Irritated at being roused at this hour of the night, Camellia opens the letter and scans the contents. Her face goes pale, and she rips back the covers, throwing her legs over the side of the bed.

“Hurry,” she commands. “Get dressed.”

It’s not a difficult task since I’ve taken to sleeping in trousers and a tunic since we returned to Cabaranth. Not five minutes later, I’m following Camellia out the door.

“Where are the Woodmore’s quarters?” she demands.

“Woodmore?”

“Your elf friend,” she says sharply, more flustered than I’ve ever seen her.

“Why do you want to see Pranmore?” I ask warily.

“Guard!” she screeches, ignoring me. “Where are the Woodmore healer’s quarters?”

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