Page 86 of Fall of the Ember Throne (Crown and Crest 3)

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HENRIK

Pranmore sits at his desk, his forehead resting against the tips of his fingers and his eyes closed. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, and his usually tidy hair is pulled back in a ratty tail.

“I’ve tried everything I can think of,” he says. “Even inserting a ward into the thread of magic to break it. But it’s like trying to stop water—it simply flows around, completing the circuit.”

“Do the necklaces contain an energy crystal?” I ask. “Perhaps they will weaken with time?”

Vallen charms usually draw from the wearer to stay charged—if the wearer is elven. Brielle has no magic of her own, so it must be diminishing without a crystal to keep the charm active.

“It’s not powered by a crystal but blood. The center diamond fuels the enchantment, and it doesn’t show any sign of weakening. I’m afraid the magic Camellia harvests is far more potent than what we wield.”

“Keep working on it,” I beg him as I head for the door. “I can’t be gone long, or Camellia will come looking for me.”

“I’ll let you know if I discover something,” Pranmore says, already returning to his experiments.

I walk down the hall, keeping to myself. Very few people speak to me anyway. Even here, in the city I grew up and trained in, my allegiance is questioned.

When I return to Camellia’s chambers, I nearly run into Hellebore as she’s on her way out. “Excuse me. I didn’t…” The words die as I take a good look at her gaunt face and sunken eyes.

The elven woman casts a glance at me as she passes, saying nothing.

“Henrik,” Camellia calls from inside the room. “Where have you been?”

Dismissing my worry, I walk in. “I needed some fresh air.”

“There is a concerning rumor passing around the city.” She turns to her ladies sharply. “Leave us.”

The three women exchange nervous glances, and then they hurry out the door like a trio of spooked deer.

Once we’re alone, Camellia walks to me, her eyes sparking with anger. “Did you meet Clover when you delivered my note to the apothecary?”

I tense, uncertain how to answer.

“Your silence is all the response I require.” She turns toward the closed door of the adjoining sitting room. “Bring her in.”

I go cold as the door opens, and Dalvin drags Brielle into the room. My sister looks terrified, with her hair disheveled and her eyes too large.

Without thinking, I step forward and reach for my sword.

“Stop,” Camellia commands, raising her hand.

I freeze with my sword halfway out of its sheath, intensely aware of Camellia’s power.

The princess’s eyes travel to my arm. “It seems some of your strength has returned.”

Slowly, I slide the blade back in place. “What do you want?”

“Did you kiss her?” Camellia asks, stepping in front of me, blocking my view of Brielle.

“No.”

“Did she want you to?”

I hesitate again, swallowing even though my mouth has gone dry.

“She did,” Camellia coos. “How pathetic—and treacherous. Imagine how the people would react if they knew their future queen threw herself at my knight. Lawrence might have no choice but to send her to the gallows.”

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