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“What do you mean?” I ask, my words thick and awkward.

“My mother always told me love is your heart’s response to finding someone you admire, someone who makes you want to be a better person—someone you like better than anyone else in the world.” She pauses, sounding oddly pensive. “And, for whatever reason, I feel all those things about you. So maybe…maybe love feels a little bit like friendship.”

I stare blankly ahead, now certain Clover can feel my quickened breath with the way she’s pressed into me.

“We’ve become friends, haven’t we, Henrik?” she asks quietly, destroying all my defenses when she uses my name. “So that’s probably why I feel this way about you?”

“Clover…” My hand drops to her clasped ones, and I hold onto her, needing to tell her things I can’t say with words.

“Will you do me a favor?” she says quietly.

I nod, fearing I’d give her just about anything if it was in my power.

“Tomorrow, I’m going to pretend I don’t remember this conversation. I’m going to say I was befuddled from the blow, and I must have blacked out on the ride back. You’ll let me do that, won’t you?”

We’ve arrived at the Gevaldry estate, but before we ride through the grand courtyard entry, I draw my horse to a stop and turn in the saddle to meet her eyes in the flickering lamplight. “Is that what you want?”

Clover nods, shielding the wounded side of her face with her hair as if she’s embarrassed by it.

“Very well. But if that is the case, I have some things to say as well.”

Clover’s mouth softens with surprise, and her eyes glisten with something that tugs at my chest without mercy.

“I admire your tenacity,” I say carefully. “You make me want to be a better person, if only so I can keep you out of trouble. And…”

“And?” she asks, breathless.

“Even though I shouldn’t…I like you.”

The admission sits between us, new enough it’s uncomfortable but honest enough, I can’t bring myself to regret it.

Several moments pass before Clover says, “You shouldn’t…because you think I’m a sorceress?”

I give her a pointed look. “If you don’t want me to believe you’re out for blood, don’t pull a knife on unarmed men in a tavern.”

“It’s just alittleknife—not nearly big enough to kill a man.”

“I see you’ve put a fair amount of thought into this.”

Clover smiles, and then she winces. After she recovers, her eyes move up to mine and hold. “So, just to clarify, what you’re saying is we’re…friends?”

The word hangs between us, as weak as watered-down tea.

I nod slowly, my eyes intent on hers. “Friends.”

11

Clover

Friends my foot.

If the side of my face wasn’t swelled up like I had a hideous reaction to a bee sting, I’d kiss Henrik without a second thought. And he’d kiss me back; I have no doubt.

But my faceisswelled up, and…we can’t. Not because of Camellia—I couldn’t care less about the royal harpy. But for Henrik’s sake.

He’d feelguilt—guilt toward me, guilt toward the princess, and guilt toward the king.

And that’s why I care for him, as inconvenient as it might be.