Page 8 of Rise of the Phoenix King (Crown and Crest 4)

I sway on my feet, nearly passing out. What is he doing?

Henrik sits as still as stone, but the archers at the room's perimeter are ready.

I cry out as Camellia lifts her hand, knowing someone is about to die, but unsure who.

“You forget the power I wield,” the princess warns.

“Use it,” Lawrence says flippantly. “I will not be manipulated by you any longer.”

Shaking with fury, she turns her eyes on Brielle. I cry out as Henrik places himself in front of his sister, but…

Nothing happens. My heart pounds, and my fingers dig into Lawrence’s skin.

Camellia stares at her hand as if it’s betrayed her. With a livid scream, she lifts it again.

Still, the necklace lays lifeless upon Brielle’s throat. The girl looks terrified, but she doesn’t cry out in pain or fall to her knees.

Lawrence crosses his arms as he watches his sister struggle. “Have you ever heard of a mind ward, Camellia? Of course you haven’t—you’re repulsed by the Woodmores and their magic, aren’t you? Well, let me explain how they work.”

A mind ward?That’s the affliction that plagues Ayan.

“It’s a magic shield placed inside you, cutting you off from your magic,” Lawrence goes on. “I’ve heard they’re excruciating for the recipient, but you would know better than I. Master Pranmore placed one in you only hours ago.”

Shock flashes across Henrik’s face, and he looks at the elf who sits a row back with Bartholomew. Pranmore remains silent, having no fondness for confrontation.

Camellia turns her eyes on her knight, genuinely stunned. “Henrik,” she breathes, a woman betrayed. She sounds vulnerable, gutted. “You deceived me.”

“I didn’t know,” the commander says dumbly, his eyes finding mine as if to ask if I was aware.

But I shake my head, as lost as he is.

“You didn’t know?” the princess demands harshly, anger washing away her anguish. Her voice raises to a grating screech. “You didn’t know?Your precious Clover was about to marry Lawrence, and you’re going to pretend you didn’t have a hand in this?”

Camellia whirls around to face the front of the hall. When her eyes land on me, her face contorts with anger.

“This is your fault!” she snarls. “It’salwaysyour fault!”

“I’d like to take credit for it.” I let out a dumbfounded laugh. “But this wasn’t my doing.”

“Henrik.” Camellia whips back to the commander, extending her hand. Her eyes beseech him, and she visibly trembles. “We’re going.”

Henrik looks at her hand for several seconds. And then, slowly, his gaze returns to her face. “No, Camellia. We’re not.”

She stares at him, huffing out several breaths, her chest heaving with her impending tantrum. And then she turns her head sharply, pinning me with her eyes once more. I blink at her, startled by the unbridled vehemence in her gaze.

She takes a slow step forward, and another. And then she runs toward me, screaming like a woman possessed as she produces a dagger from a pocket in her skirt. Unarmed, I stumble back, tripping over the ridiculous train of my gown.

A dozen men shout, and their warning cries are followed by several hysterical screams from the guests. Lawrence hollers something, stepping in front of me to block his sister’s attack. But before Camellia can reach either of us, a flurry of arrows flies through the great hall, hitting their target with terrifying accuracy.

The princess’s anguished cries echo throughout the room, and noblewomen wail in terror. Camellia’s dagger slips from her hand as she falls, clattering across the stone floor.

Lawrence grasps my arm when my legs give out, keeping me upright. I stare at Camellia’s lifeless form, not five feet from us, unable to process the sight even as black, diseased blood pools around her body. She doesn’t move; she doesn’t breathe. Though it feels impossible, there’s no denying the scene in front of me.

The princess is dead.

3

HENRIK

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