Page 48 of Fall of the Ember Throne (Crown and Crest 3)

“Can I ask you a question?”

She nods.

“How did Hellebore come to you?”

“Broken things have a way of clinging to each other in hopes of becoming whole. I lost my mother, and Hellebore lost her family. She’s the only person I trust without question.” She turns to me. “You’re broken, too. I’ve watched you—I know. I’ve seen the way my father treated your father, the way he treated you. You should have had your seal years ago, and yet you’re still a commander. Lawrence mocked your hard work, taunting you openly. Why do you wish to protect him?”

I look away. “Because it’s my duty.”

“What can I do to win you?” she asks quietly. “What can I give you or say?”

“Allegiance can’t be bought.” I glance back at her. “Neither can it be manipulated.”

The princess’s expression hardens, making her look less like a young woman and more like a jaded ruler. Casting her hand back toward the ship, she says, “It seems to work well enough, doesn’t it?”

“Those people don’t love you, Camellia—they’re scared. But a cornered dog will eventually fight. Don’t forget that.”

She begins to respond, but a shadow suddenly appears at the side of the rail, just behind Camellia, climbing from the sea itself.

Out of instinct, I shove her behind me and lunge for the figure, taking him onto the deck before he has a chance to react. But once he’s down, he lashes out with magic, pressing his hand to my shoulder and searing through my tabard.

I roar in shock, using the intense pain to fuel my fight and give me the upper hand. I elbow the elf in the face and then draw my dagger with my good hand.

The elf breathes hard, glaring at me as I hold the blade to his throat. “Whose side are you on?”

I rear back.

“I could have freed your sister,” he hisses.

Before I can reassess the situation, Dalvin and Bendon yank the man up by the arms.

“Use your magic, and you’re dead,” Bendon growls.

“I’m dead anyway,” the elf snarls back.

Breathing hard, I push myself to my feet and study him. Dressed all in black, with a bandana covering his long hair, he was on a mission. The lack of weaponry means nothing with an elf. He’s an assassin, and I came between him and his target.

I glance at Camellia, feeling sick. Others in our party gather around as the duchess steps in front of the elf.

“Who are you?” she demands.

“I am no one.”

“You’re right,” she says coolly. “But I don’t care about your identity. Instead, tell me who sent you.”

He glares at her, refusing to answer.

“Arisel!” a woman cries as she pushes through the crowd. She’s close to Audra’s mother's age, usually perfectly poised.

Horror crosses the shadow rogue’s face. He begins to shake his head, silently begging the woman to be silent.

She comes to an abrupt stop, her wild eyes going between the man and the wicked duchess.

“You know this young man?” Camellia asks.

“I’ve never seen her in my life,” the shadow rogue insists. “I acted on my own—this has nothing to do with her.”

He’s young, twenty at the most.

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