Page 65 of Fall of the Ember Throne (Crown and Crest 3)

Iris steps forward, staring straight at me, looking terrified. “Your Highness, if I make you uncomfortable, I respectfully ask to be sent back to my family.”

Camellia turns to her, giving her a look of sheer death.

The pretty girl trembles as she ignores Camellia. “Please.”

It’s a cry for forgiveness and mercy, and I glance at Lawrence, wondering how he will respond.

The king nods, jerking his head toward a nearby guard. “Take a small band of men and return Lady Iris to her parents.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” the man says.

Iris scrambles to the guard’s side, still not daring to look at Camellia.

“Would anyone else care to leave?” Camellia asks the girls.

Rose looks like she’d like to bolt as well, but she’s not brave enough. Lily and Dahlia stare at the cobblestones, staying quiet.

“Very well.” Camellia turns back to Lawrence. “It’s been a long, trying day. I’m going to retire to my rooms. Have dinner brought to my chambers for my companions and me.”

Lawrence looks like he wants to either laugh or strangle her. “That’s not my job, but I’m certain a staff member would be happy to see to your needs.”

With a soft “hmph,” Camellia ascends the steps, dragging Henrik along like she’s worried if she lets him out of her taloned grip, he’ll escape.

I watch them go, silently seething.

The crowds begin to part now that Camellia’s gone, and I turn away from Lawrence.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“I’m going to find Pranmore.”

Looking genuinely baffled, Lawrence asks, “Why?”

“I’m not going to be able to hold my tongue for long. We need to find a way to remove those necklaces, and he’s the only one I trust to find a solution.”

16

HENRIK

I yank away from Camellia the moment we step into the privacy of her bedchamber. She flashes me a dark look but doesn’t mention it.

I’ve never been in her rooms here in Cabaranth, but I’m too disgusted with her to be uncomfortable. We passed a portrait of the princess in her sitting room, hanging right on the wall. How narcissistic can a woman be? And how did I ignore it for so long?

“I need to speak with Vignim,” Camellia says, “but I cannot go to him myself. I have no doubt Lawrence is watching my every move.”

“Who’s Vignim?” I ask.

“He’s an apothecary.” She looks back. “I need you to deliver a note to him.”

“Isn’t that the sort of task you usually assign your handmaid?”

A shadow of what looks like genuine concern softens the haughty anger in Camellia’s expression. Quietly, she says, “She hasn’t been well lately.”

“What’s wrong with her?” I ask, though I have my suspicions. Camellia didn’t have access to blood to feed her magic in Ferradelle, not without being caught by the High Vales. Has she been drawing it from Hellebore? Is that why the woman looks so close to death?

“She’s ill,” Camellia says, waving away the question, obviously not wanting to talk about it. “But that doesn’t matter. You are perfectly capable of delivering a message.” Her eyes rake over my face, and from the dissatisfied pout of her lips, it’s apparent she doesn’t like what she sees. “Go tonight. I’ll keep Brielle company in your absence.”

My muscles stiffen, and I give her a curt nod. “I’ll deliver it.”

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