Page 113 of Fall of the Ember Throne (Crown and Crest 3)

“Calla,” Barret protests.

She takes his arm, shaking her head. They share a silent conversation, and when Barret relents, I know Calla has won.

“Go right to your room, all right?” Calla commands. “I mean it—don’t try to find Henrik.”

With a heavy sigh, I nod and keep walking.

But I pause in the hall once I’m alone, feeling like the heaviness in my heart has traveled into my limbs and stomach. Camellia doesn’t deserve a pardon—not that she’ll agree to it anyway.

And she certainly won’t remove the necklaces, not when they’re her only protection. But if we can’t remove them, Henrik will be chained to her forever.

Or he’ll sacrifice himself to free his sister.

I draw in a shuddering breath, realizing I’ve felt this hopelessness for so long, it’s become a familiar companion. Though the raw ache is sometimes more prominent than others, it’s always in the back of my mind.

“Your Highness,” Palmer says when I reach my door, the guard standing in his usual post. “Where are your ladies? And your knight?”

“I sent them away.”

“But His Majesty said you weren’t supposed to—”

I offer him a weak smile. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

With a displeased sigh, Palmer opens the door. “If you need anything, please tell me. I’m here for the night watch.”

“Thank you, Palmer.”

He closes the door behind me, leaving me alone. Lamps burn in the entertaining area, and a low fire crackles in the hearth to ward off the chill of the spring evening. I pass it without pausing, stepping out of my silken court slippers as I walk, not bothering to pick them up.

As soon as I reach my bedchamber, I fall onto the bed, stomach first, letting the coverlet press into my face and breathing in the familiar fragrance of the castle’s laundry soap. It smells faintly of lavender and violets, fresh and pleasant. But even its cheerful scent is no match for my sullen mood.

“Henrik,” I moan softly, the commander’s name muffled by the fabric.

The bed shifts as someone sits next to me, and I let out a startled scream as I turn toward the intruder. I clutch a hand over my frantically beating heart, letting out a great huff when it’s Henrik’s eyes I meet. Leaning forward, I swat his arm. “You scared me half to death.”

The commander holds a finger to his lips and whispers, “You’re too loud. Your guard will come to check on you if you don’t keep your voice down.”

“What are you doing here?”

Henrik sits on the edge of the bed, studying me with a sorrowful sort of smile that makes me nervous. I push myself up, crossing my legs and yanking at my gown’s skirts when they catch underneath me. “Howare you here?”

Before Henrik can answer, there’s an urgent knock at my inner bedchamber door. “Princess!”

“I’m fine,” I call to Palmer, my voice strained. “I…”

I flash Henrik a helpless look.

“You tripped,” he suggests at a bare whisper.

“He’ll never believe that!” I hiss.

The commander widens his eyes, wordlessly telling me if I can come up with something better, I best do it quickly.

Cringing, I reluctantly say, “I…tripped.”

I shift myself in front of Henrik, standing on my knees, prepared to use my body to hide him if needed. Granted, it’s not the best plan, but it’s the only one I have.

“Youtripped, Your Highness?” Palmer asks.

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