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Thankfully, no one seems to care about our shadowed companion—they’re too enamored with the imposter prince.

In fact, everything is going surprisingly well—which makes me uneasy. My senses tingle in warning, but I can’t put my finger on why.

Harlon rises from the table, mumbling that he’s going to fetch more ale.

“Where are you going?” Henrik asks me when I rise to follow him.

“I need to visit the lavatory,” I tell him, though I’m not sure the establishment is fitted with the Vallen comforts I’m accustomed to at home. In fact, I’m betting it isn’t.

“I’ll walk with you.”

“What about…Kip?” I motion toward Lawrence.

Henrik shoots the prince an unamused look. “He can hold his own for a few minutes.”

We skirt around the tables until we reach the bar. When I ask the barman where the facilities are, he directs me toward an outhouse around the back.

“Take the key,” he says before we leave.

“You lock your outhouse?” I ask warily.

He smirks as he tosses me the heavy iron keyring. “If we don’t, it never fails that some creature will open the door, and we end up with snakes in there.”

I stare at him for several seconds. “S…snakes? In theouthouse?”

“Don’t forget to lock it when you leave. Oh, and grab the lantern by the door so you don’t take a wrong turn and end up in the bog.”

Shivering at the thought, I start for the door. Henrik and I step into the humid night.

Half a dozen moths find our lantern in the blink of an eye, and they cast dancing shadows on the path.

“Careful,” Henrik warns, extending the lantern in front of us. Its light illuminates the planks and reflects off the inky water. “Watch your step—there’s a broken board ahead.”

Something scampers across the walkway in front of us, and then there’s a splash as it leaps into the water and swims away. Vines hang low beside the planked trail, making me think of snakes.

I grasp hold of the commander’s arm, and he laughs under his breath.

We reach the outhouse, and I prepare myself. I hesitate outside the door, and then I change my mind completely. Turning swiftly, I say, “I’m all right. I don’t need—”

“Clover.” An amused laugh rumbles from deep in Henrik’s chest. “You’ll rush into a dangerous situation, but you’re running away from an outhouse?”

I cross my arms, refusing to answer.

“Take the lantern—you’ll be fine.”

When I don’t immediately accept it, Henrik tugs my hand from my crossed arms and wraps my fingers around the handle.

“Pushy,” I mutter, but that only makes his smile grow.

Taking the key from me, Henrik unlocks the door and pulls it open. “Go on.”

I hold the lantern up and peer inside. A large, complex spiderweb stretches across the upper side wall. Its silken threads catch the lantern light, looking like they’re glowing. Movement catches my eye, and I look down.

A fat beetle scuttles past my skirt’s hem, so large it casts a shadow. I squeal as I rush back, trying to get away.

Henrik catches me by the shoulders, keeping me from falling into the water. He gives me a chastising look. “I assure you, whatever lives in the bog is worse than a few insects.”

“Are you sure? Even the beetle was trying to escape. Didn’t you see him running for his life?”