Page 47 of Fall of the Ember Throne (Crown and Crest 3)

“She’s likely wanted you dead for a while,” I point out, trying to make the situation a little lighter. “Now you just happen to know it.”

“Exactly.”

We smile together, laughing because it’s our only option—laughing because we don’t know how much longer we’ll have the chance.

13

HENRIK

Camellia leans against the paddle ship railing, staring across the water. It’s a moonless night, dark and thick with cloud cover. There’s just a hint of rain in the air. In the dim lamplight, alone like this, Camellia doesn’t seem like a necromancer intent on taking over the kingdom.

She looks like a woman—like any other. And perhaps even a little lonely.

It’s a fleeting thought, and one that doesn’t last long. Any sympathy I had for Camellia is long dead. I was willing to overlook her flaws at one time, but that was before I realized they ran so deep.

I stay clear of her, finding my own spot to look over the dark water.

Like timid puppies starved for affection, Dalvin and Bendon remain nearby, not daring to get too close since Camellia has a history of snapping at them. But as usual, they’re happy to be at the princess’s beck and call—not that she ever makes use of them.

The hum of the Vallen propulsion apparatuses mingles with the sound of the water as the great paddle wheels cut through the sea. We’ll reach main Caldenbauer in just a few days, and Cabaranth only a day after that.

Home.

But I’m not sure what that word means anymore. After Mother’s death, our small house near the smithy lost its warmth. It was a place of necessity but not comfort, a place to dread. Once I could afford to send Brielle to Dulnmarin’s, I rarely spent time there, choosing to sleep in the soldiers’ barracks instead, seeing Father more than enough when I worked in the family forge.

With Father in Revalane, the smithy and house are now empty. But blacksmiths are easily replaced. I’m sure another has been found to fill the royal orders.

Was Algernon even notified when Father disappeared? They were friends once, before Father became injured and rank came between them.

As I stare into the dark night, I try to imagine Father the way the older soldiers claimed he was before the accident—noble, strong, generous.

Kind.

My eyes travel to my arm. Cursing under my breath, I yank my attention back to the ocean.

I smell the scent of Camellia’s floral perfume seconds before she steps up beside me, but I don’t look her way.

“You seem pensive this evening.” She sighs as she crosses her arms on the rail. “Does your arm ache with the storm?”

“No,” I lie.

“I have an injury that pains me when the weather is poor,” she says softly, likely hoping I’ll ask her about it.

I don’t.

“My mother died on a night like this,” she says anyway. “With clouds so thick it felt like breathing water. But it was summer then, hot.”

Her voice is softer than usual, less haughty and calloused.

“People say I was too young to remember, but I do,” she continues. “I remember the night, the taste of my tears. The raw feeling in the pit of my stomach after crying for hours.”

Unable to resist, I turn my head to look at her.

“The nursery maids took me to Father so he could soothe me.” She lets out a soft laugh as she pushes her long, blonde hair over her shoulder. “Do you know what he did?”

I shake my head.

“He sent me away.” She looks at me, her expression sour. “I was heartbroken—devastated—and he rejected me. It’s my first memory of him. I’ve never been able to forget.”

---