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She shoots him a disgusted look. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

“It’s all right,” Pranmore says. “They’re just words—I can write more.”

Audra falls silent, not saying anything else until Pranmore sits back to admire his work.

She grasps hold of Lawrence’s chin and yanks his head to the left and then the right. “The wound is gone!”

Lawrence widens his eyes, looking offended by the manhandling. “You realize who I am, don’t you?”

The two elves ignore the prince, and Pranmore says to Audra, “It’s not completely gone. See there, above his eyebrow? There’s a faint scar. I like to blend the skin tone so it looks natural. It’s not necessary, but I think it gives it a nicer finish.”

“That’s phenomenal,” Audra breathes. “You can do that?”

“You’ve never seen a Woodmore work?” Pranmore asks.

The pretty High Vale turns to him, smiling. “I’ve never even met a Woodmore.”

Slowly, her eyes stray to Pranmore’s antlers. Pranmore flushes deep red and quickly turns back to his patient.

“Pay attention to what you’re doing,” Lawrence commands, jerking his chin from Audra’s hand. “Don’t mess up just because you’re flustered.”

“I’m not flustered,” Pranmore insists, sounding…flustered.

I laugh as I turn away. “I’m going to find Bartholomew.”

Henrik joins me as I leave. “I’ll come with you.”

Audra waves us away, engrossed in Pranmore’s work. “Help yourself to anything in the galley if you’re hungry.”

Henrik and I leave the makeshift infirmary together, stepping onto the long deck that wraps around the central living area.

According to Audra, we’ll arrive in Revalane tomorrow afternoon. Henrik and I haven’t been alone since we met on Caldwell’s ship, and it feels strange walking next to him now. I swing my arms back and forth, trying to think of something to say. Henrik is silent as well, though that’s not unusual for him.

I steal a glance at the commander just as he looks at me, and then we quickly look away, far too awkward for how well we’ve come to know each other.

“Do you trust the elves?” I ask, finally thinking of a subject that needs to be discussed.

“I don’t tend to trust people who abduct me,” Henrik says wryly. “But for now, it might be best for them to believe we do. And so far, we’re heading in the right direction. Let them take us to Revalane—it’s certainly easier than trying to navigate our own way through the swamps.”

“Especially without our supplies.”

Everything we brought to Ferradelle was on Caldwell’s ship. The captain has likely sold it or is on his way to sell it. I’m thankful I was wearing the mercenary dress I purchased in Denmel while we made our hasty escape—my gowns can be replaced, but this outfit carries memories.

We find Bartholomew with Lyredon, but neither of them has realized we’re near.

“You need to find a girl your own age,” the elf tells the young man. He stands near the rail, next to Bartholomew, who sits on a bench. “Don’t make yourself sick over a woman who’s intended for your cousin.”

Bartholomew sighs. “But Clover is…”

“Special,” the man says. “They’re all special once you get to know them. There isn’t a woman alive who’s not lovely in her own way. You need to find one who suits you. You have time—you’re not even old enough to claim your military title yet.”

I grasp hold of Henrik’s arm. “Let’s not interrupt.”

Henrik nods, and we quietly slip away. I don’t want to go back to the dining area, and apparently, Henrik doesn’t either. We walk the deck until we come to the galley. I poke my head in to make sure it’s empty, and then I slip inside.

“Hungry?” I ask Henrik when I locate a loaf of dark bread in a wooden breadbox.

“I could eat.”