Page 92 of Rise of the Phoenix King (Crown and Crest 4)

“Peace is priceless,” I murmur.

Turning, Pranmore meets my eyes. His expression is now resolved. “Then it must be protected at all costs.”

“I’m thankful to have you by my side,” I tell him. “You’re a good friend.”

“As are you.”

We stand together until he’s summoned, his services needed for an injured horse. I watch as he walks away. Once again, I’m left alone.

Waiting.

“Your Grace?” Declan says, approaching me.

I turn toward my valet. “What is it?”

“Your father is here. He’s asking to see you.”

“My father?” I ask, stunned.

Declan nods, looking uncomfortable. “He’s waiting for you in your tent.”

I nod, dismissing him, and then walk back. What’s he doing here? The battlefield is no place for a man with limited mobility. What is he thinking?

I push through the tent flap, preparing myself for an argument as I enter the space.

My father stands with his back to me, staring at the finery. “I remember my last battle,” he says when he hears me enter. “It was a conflict between a viscount in Roswin and the crown. The duke marshal was there—Algernon’s brother, Corgin. I was a commander at the time, closing in on my seal. I wasn’t invited into his tent.”

Unsure how to answer, I wait for him to continue.

He turns around, shuffling on his wooden leg. “Never thought I’d see the day the tent belonged to you.”

“What are you doing here?”

He snorts, averting his gaze. “That your way of saying I’m not welcome?”

“I’m asking what you’re doing here.”

Father’s mouth moves as he runs his tongue along his front teeth, almost as if he doesn’t want to say what he came to say.

“Are you afraid I’m going to die?” I ask. “Have you come to make your peace?”

His cool eyes move back to my face. “Something like that.”

“Consider your task complete.”

I turn to leave, but Father stops me, calling out my name. I grit my teeth and close my eyes, deliberating for several long seconds before I turn back.

“I know you don’t need it anymore.” He jerks his hand toward me. “But I made you a set of armor.”

Breathing in through my nose, I study him. “Did it come from Camellia?”

“The money did,” he admits.

“Then I don’t want it.” I turn to leave again.

“Henrik,” he says harshly, his tone stopping me in my tracks. “You were right. I knew she was plotting something, and I didn’t care.”

“Why?” I turn back.

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