Page 22 of Fall of the Ember Throne (Crown and Crest 3)

She’ll die waiting.

Clover and Lawrence’s wedding is in only four months now, and word has reached us that the new king and his beautiful bride are knee-deep in preparations.

I’m no closer to escaping Revalane with Brielle than I was the day King Algernon died. Ever since our confrontation in my quarters, Camellia tells me nothing that I wouldn’t already hear around the castle.

Not that I’m terribly friendly with those in the palace. Augmirian’s men don’t trust me, Audra’s men question my loyalty to Lawrence, and Dalvin and Bendon resent my presence altogether. The brothers likely believe me unworthy of Camellia’s attention, being the lowly son of a mere blacksmith while they are noble sons of a lord. I would gladly let them take my place if I were able.

Despite the tension in the ranks, it’s elven custom for the duke and duchess’s elite knights to dine together after the duke has retired, and I’ve fallen into the same routine. I’m addressed rarely, but I listen.

And even though I join them in the evenings, I don’t consider myself a knight, no matter what Camellia calls me. She has no authority to elevate my position. Until I wear my seal, I remain a commander.

If I wear my seal.

Now that the king is dead, and I am tethered to the sorceress princess, it seems the chances have become very slim. My entire life’s work…

But no. That, too, is something I won’t dwell upon.

I stab the potato on my plate, yet again wondering how things have become so bleak—and so quickly at that.

My elven companions look toward the dining hall entrance as Brielle walks inside. They might not trust the princess or me, but no one can hate Brielle. They smile when they see her and then turn back to their meals.

My sister grins as soon as she spots me, hurrying a little faster than is socially acceptable. The cursed necklace is ever-present at her throat, and I lose my appetite at the mere sight of it.

Pushing my meal aside, I stand. “What are you doing here?”

“Did you know Father is in Revalane?” she asks, too innocent to know she should detest the cold man.

My smile freezes, and I glance at the men. They watch, likely because there’s nothing better to keep their attention.

“I did,” I say gently, unsure how to navigate this.

Brielle’s eyes flicker with hurt that she’s not quite able to hide—I’m not even sure she tries. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“He’s working for Princess Camellia,” I say carefully. “She’s kept him busy.”

Immediately, Brielle’s face goes slack, and she glances at our audience as her hand strays to the pendant at her throat. “He’s working for Princess Camellia…like you’re working for her?”

She has no love for the princess, nor is she delusional enough to think almost dying in the meeting room was an accident.

“Something like that, yes.”

Believing Father is a prisoner in the same way we are, her eyes become glossy. “Am I allowed to see him?”

I want to keep her as far from him as possible. Even I haven’t seen the man since the solitary time we talked in the lower level of the duke’s smithy.

But he’s still our father—and he should see what he’s done. He needs to be held accountable for his actions.

Just as I have.

Reluctantly, I relent. “I’ll take you to him now, but try not to be disappointed if he’s not available for a visit.”

Brielle nods, too eager.

We leave the dining hall, not speaking again until we’re alone.

“Are you all right?” She’s not quite able to look at my face as she asks. “Is your arm…?”

“It’s healed, and I am fine.”

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