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I follow, cringing as I pass the overgrown rat.

Only once we reach the shadows do we dare rise. Henrik offers me his hand, and I stare at it for several seconds, swooning a little when I finally take it.

The commander helps me to my feet and then keeps me close as he scans our surroundings. “I don’t see anyone.”

But my attention is no longer on the owner of the mysterious note. Instead, I focus on Henrik’s warm palm and the rough, slightly calloused skin he earned with years of manual labor and weapons training.

My hand feels dwarfed in his. And more, I feel whole.Right.

I slowly look up. Unlike this afternoon, Henrik looks back.

My breath stutters, and butterflies that have laid dormant for months stir in my stomach.

If we’re caught together, there will be chaos. As far as the rest of the kingdom knows, I belong to Lawrence. They won’t listen when I swear it wasn’t real, or that the king promised to call it off. I’ll be disgraced to the point of shunning. I can’t have these thoughts yet.

But they swirl in my mind nevertheless, urging me to grab Henrik by the ties of his brigandine and drag his mouth to mine.

Emotions that seem just as tumultuous as mine swirl in the commander’s eyes. His hand tightens, and his gaze drops to my mouth.

Just the look is like a bolt of lightning to my heart. My stomach clenches with anticipation, and I lean forward.

When I can take it no longer, I softly demand, “Are you going to kiss me or not? It’s been over four months, soldier. Surely I’ve waited long enough.”

Henrik closes his eyes as if he’s in pain. In a rough, strained voice, he says, “You’re engaged to Lawrence.”

I step close enough we touch, desperate to feel more of him. “It’s a farce, a trick to keep the people calm. I have no intention of marrying Lawrence, and he agreed to free me upon your return. He said if I still want you, then he’ll end the engagement.” I pause to put emphasis on my next words. “And, Henrik,I want you.”

The commander breathes out a groan, but this time, his hand ends up on the curve of my side. A shiver races down my spine, and Henrik’s fingers tighten over my dressing gown when he feels it.

We’ve entered dangerous territory.

But I’ve never wanted something so badly as I want Henrik to kiss me. To have physical reassurance he still needs me like I need him.

“And I want you,” he says gruffly. “But we can’t.” Slowly, he pulls his eyes from my lips. His hand falls from my waist, and he takes a purposeful step back. “I’ll escort you to the bathhouse.”

With a frustrated sigh, I follow him to the small building. I know he’s right, but I hate his self-control all the same.

“Do you need a boost?” Henrik asks as we stare at the small window.

I glance at him, looking unsure. It was easy enough to get out, but I didn’t think about how difficult it would be to climb back in.

But I imagine what a boost will require—Henrik’s hands on my waist as he lifts me, then on my thighs as he supports me so I can shimmy inside.

My face heats, but not with embarrassment. The trouble is the idea is a little too tempting.

“Clover?” Henrik asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Hmm?” I look over and find him kneeling at my side, offering his knee as a step. “Oh.”

He gives me a quizzical look and whispers, “Why do you look disappointed?”

“No reason.” I gingerly step on his leg and grasp hold of the window frame.

I manage to pull my front through, but just like before, I end up stuck halfway with nothing to clasp hold of or use to propel myself forward. And the trouble is, the stone bathhouse floor wouldn’t make a soft landing should I crash this time.

“A little help?” I whisper.

“Where…” Henrik sounds flustered. “Where should I hold?”