Page 102

He exhales deeply, and then his pack hits the floor with a heavy thump. Suddenly, I’m against him, wrapped gently in his arms. His embrace is meant to impart comfort, but it just reminds me of how ridiculous I’ve been.

“I swear I’m not a sorceress,” I say against his leather brigandine. “And I can’t even cook—I’d never be able to concoct a potion.”

A quiet laugh rumbles through his chest. “I know you’re not.”

I pull back to look up at him. “I’ve been such a nuisance, haven’t I?”

“I’ve enjoyed your company,” he says gruffly, and then his frown grows. “Are you very angry with me?”

“I’m not. I know you were following orders.” Then I add bitterly, “Camellia outranks both of us.”

“I tried to tell you—several times.”

“I know that too.”

He brushes a strand of hair out of my face, and my heart beats a little faster. Horrified with myself, I squelch the feeling immediately.

Looking at the floor as I pull away from him, I admit, “I thought that… Well, I misinterpreted the situation and assumed you had feelings for me. I’ve been a bit forward, and I’m sorry for any discomfort that’s caused you. Obviously, there can’t be anything between us, and I was foolish to think otherwise. I’m going to marry Lawrence—that’s what my future holds. And you’re…” I can’t bring myself to say he’s going to marryCamellia.“Meant for someone else.”

When Henrik doesn’t answer, I look up and find him studying me. His brows are drawn low, and he presses his mouth into a thin line. But I can’t tell what he’s thinking.

Instead of staying silent, waiting for him to put his thoughts in order, I fill the silence, unable to stop myself.

“If you truly want me to stay with you on your search, I swear I will keep an appropriate distance.” I force an uncomfortable smile. “I hope we can move past this and be friends. Real ones this time, instead of you having to pretend because Camellia forced me upon you—”

Oh, I’m going to be sick.

“Clover,” Henrik says, finally cutting me off. “Wait a moment. I—”

But before he can finish, the door opens once more. Bartholomew crouches down to enter the cottage. Oblivious to our tense conversation, he proudly proclaims, “I shot a deer!”

Startled, Henrik turns to his squire. “Does Pranmore know?”

Bartholomew’s eyes go wide, and his expression morphs from joyous to horrified in less than two seconds. “No…”

“Thank goodness,” I say with a heavy sigh. “Whatever you do, don’t tell him.”

“But he said…” Bartholomew struggles to find the right words. “He said himself he’s an elf and not a deer. Surely it won’t bother him that much…”

Grateful for the interruption, I give Henrik one more apologetic look, and then I slip out the door.

28

Henrik

I watch helplesslyas Clover goes, wanting to call her back. But she’s hurt, and understandably so, and I’m afraid if I push too quickly, it will end in disaster. Perhaps the best thing I can do right now is give her space.

But dread sits heavy in my gut, churning like a ball of lead. Why didn’t I burn the wretched letter? It would have been much better for Clover to hear the news from me than read the outlandish things Camellia wrote.

Bartholomew turns to me after Clover leaves, wringing his hands. “Will Pranmore be very upset?”

I give him a pointed look. “Not if you don’t tell him.”

Nodding, looking only mildly relieved, Bartholomew follows me out the cottage door.

When I rise on the other side of the entry, I find Pranmore standing near the gate, waiting.

And he doesn’t look pleased.