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No. It’s impossible.

Are High Vales so inherently evil that you can summon them with only the mention of their name?

“Ayan?” Clover asks me, looking dumbfounded.

Holding in a groan, I follow the guard out of the stable. “Who else could it be?”

“I saw him earlier,” Bartholomew says, looking half-exasperated. “That’s why I brought it up.”

Clover hurries to my side, and the others follow. I glance at the lady-in-waiting, taking note of her bright eyes and quickened pace.

Surely she’s nothappyto see the scoundrel…is she?

I almost curse aloud when we step into the courtyard and find Ayan surrounded by several suspicious castle guards. He looks amused by the attention he’s drawn—completely unconcerned.

What is he doing here?

A crooked grin spreads across his face when he spots us, and it grows when he looks at Clover. He sweeps his eyes over her hunter-green riding gown and attempts to step forward, thwarted by the guards. “Would you look at you? You really are a lady.”

Clover matches his grin, setting her hands on her hips. “I really am.”

“Still the prettiest spaniel I’ve ever seen.”

Lawrence, Bartholomew, and I all pause, and the prince brings his hand to his sword.

Pranmore merely shakes his head as if he cannot believe his bad fortune.

“What are you doing here?” I demand, breaking up the reunion.

I hadn’t realized they were fond of each other. When did that happen?

Ayan answers, “You left Doria so quickly, I didn’t have a chance to say a proper goodbye.”

“Well.” I jerk my head toward the exit. “Now you have.”

The elf laughs, undaunted by my cold welcome.

“Why are you really here?” Clover asks.

The guards reluctantly part as Ayan ambles toward her, perhaps sensing he’s harmless.

He takes Clover’s hand, drawing it to his lips. “Why else, sweet maiden? I missed you.”

Maybe not completely harmless.

To Bartholomew, Lawrence growls low, “Will anyone really miss one less elf in the world?”

For once, the prince and I agree.

7

Clover

“Liar,”I say with a roll of my eyes, yanking my hand from the roguish elf’s grasp. “You want something.”

Ayan presses his hand to his chest, pretending my words have wounded him. He’s as handsome as ever, in a way that every girl instinctively knows she shouldn’t trust—but does anyway because a smile like that is hard to resist.

“Did you have a nice time in the mountains?” Ayan asks as he straightens, pushing his long, dark hair behind his shoulder. “Was it…enlightening?”