Page 50 of Fall of the Ember Throne (Crown and Crest 3)

Brielle lets me get away with the lie, changing the subject to the weather before she finally grows bored and wanders to her cabin.

I watch the coastline, dreading our arrival as much as I am looking forward to being back on the mainland. It’s cooler here than Revalane, but the air is warm, and the sea breeze is pleasant.

Under different circumstances, I would enjoy the detour—after all, people pay to take tours of the coast in passenger ships such as Caldwell’s.

Well, maybe not exactly like Caldwell’s. We’re lucky we made it to Ferradelle without his ship springing a leak.

Absently, I wonder what happened to the captain after we escaped the swamp port. He probably sold off the luggage we abandoned on his ship and is now sitting smug and happy somewhere in Ferradelle. Clover’s gowns alone would have been worth a fortune.

For just a minute, I let myself think about Clover. Knowing her as I do, I imagine she’s going stir-crazy in the castle. It was a life she thought she wanted, but being cooped up doesn’t suit her.

I cringe to myself as Camellia joins me, acknowledging I stood here alone for too long.

“It seems Lawrence has sent a welcoming committee,” the princess says as she studies the distant port, sounding amused.

She’s not wrong. Our ship has been spotted, and a band of the king’s men gathers on the pier, their red and gold tunics a crimson smudge against the sandy shore. As we sail closer, I begin to make out guards, recognizing stony faces.

Perhaps I was wrong—maybe Lawrence does intend to arrest Camellia here and now.

What will the princess do if she’s cornered? I certainly don’t doubt she’s capable of the worst. I think of Brielle, and I become edgy.

The paddle ship drops anchor in the bay's shallow water, and the ship’s men begin to prepare the dinghies so we may go ashore. Camellia watches with disinterest, seeming completely at ease with the men waiting for us on the pier.

“We are ready to take you across, Your Grace,” Lord Fenninglore says coolly, only as polite as necessary. He’s about my age, with a young wife who is currently expecting their first baby. She remained in Ferradelle, but that certainly doesn’t ensure her safety, and Lord Fenninglore knows that as well as I.

Camellia has chosen him to lead her retinue.

“I’ll wait for the second dinghy.” A smile toys at her crimson lips as she turns her attention to the waiting guards. “Let’s see what kind of greeting we receive before I go ashore.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Lord Fenninglore says. He gives me a tight nod before he leaves.

A strange thing has happened since the High Vales learned the necklaces’ true purpose. They’ve realized that I, too, am Camellia’s captive, and it has changed their attitude toward me. They are warmer now, realizing we have a common foe.

With an air of detached curiosity, Camellia watches the first dinghy cross with a small group of nobles and several of their Vallen guards.

A satisfied smile spreads over her face when they are greeted without issue. “It’s as I expected. Lawrence is too cowardly to confront me.”

“Or perhaps he doesn’t want to risk the lives of the innocent women you’ve cursed,” I point out.

Camellia turns to me, her smile becoming darker. “While I’m glad you feel comfortable enough to speak freely, I’m not entirely sure I like your tone.”

“Apologies, Your Highness.”

“Your Grace,” she corrects. “I am now the grand duchess of Ferradelle, no longer a helpless, powerless princess under my father and brother’s thumbs.”

I bow my head and correct, “Your Grace.”

“Your tone is positively venomous, Henrik.” She turns to me, her expression betraying her intrigue. “I like this side of you—this defiance. Was it always in you, lurking under your eager-to-please exterior?”

Her tone is flirtatious, bordering on seductive, but I have no desire to engage. I give her a mild look, staying silent.

Laughing, she shakes her head. “Sometimes you’re so dull. That’s all right; I’m patient. I will tame you one way or the other. Fight or roll over and expose your belly—the choice is yours. The first is more fun, but the second is certainly easier.”

I bite my tongue, knowing she’s purposely baiting me.

“Your Grace,” Lord Fenninglore interrupts. “Would you care to go ashore now?”

“I would, yes.” Camellia takes my arm. “You’ll escort me onto the boat, won’t you, Henrik?”

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