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10

Clover

“You can pretendyou don’t hear him if you like,” Trendleman says with a grin.

Ignoring the man, I turn toward the soldier on the shore. “What is it?”

“Come with us,” Henrik yells.

Startled, I blink at him. “On your supply run?”

He nods.

“Why?”

He rubs the back of his neck, looking as if asking me to stay is the last thing he wants to do. Still forced to holler, he says, “You’re a good archer. We could use you.”

I laugh, not sure I believe him. I mean, yes, I am a better archer than any of those fools. But for Henrik to admit it and ask me to stay? It’s odd.

“What’ll it be?” Trendleman asks. “Will you return to Riverwren or go back to the uptight captain?”

“He’s a commander,” I correct absently.

And whatwillit be? Will I go back to Camellia…or stay here with Henrik? I can practically hear Calla’s voice in my head, telling me I’d be a fool to return to Cabaranth with that offer.

But my parents and brothers will be angry if I stay. Camellia will be upset as well, but Lawrence will smooth things over with his father, so the princess is the least of my concerns.

Drawing my bottom lip between my teeth, I think back to Camellia’s wounded hand and the bloody rag Hellebore carried. It was probably just as Camellia said—she accidentally sliced her palm while cutting an apple. Hellebore likely used the cloth to stop the flow of blood.

Still…perhaps it would be best to stay away from the castle for a few weeks.

“Well?” Trendleman asks, growing impatient as he fights the lazy current. “Are you coming or staying?”

“I’m staying,” I decide impulsively.

With a shake of his head, he turns the boat around.

Henrik waits for me, and he offers his hand as soon as the boat skims upon the sandy bank. I pause before accepting it and study the soldier. “You’re sure you want me to stay?”

Giving me a tight smile, he nods.

My gaze shifts to his other hand, where Camellia’s letter is crushed in his palm.

That’s…bizarre.

Curiosity gets the best of me. What did Camellia have to tell him that was so important? I assumed it was a love letter…but what if it was something else? Something that had to do with the masculine voice I heard in the closet.

I don’t want any blacksmith—I want Henrik.

“Bad news?” I ask, jerking my head toward the letter.

Henrik studies me. His eyes are somewhere between gray and blue, and they’re a little disconcerting. The soldier simply stands there…looking all irritating and handsome, unknowingly reminding me there’s a reason all the girls swoon when he comes to court.

Suddenly, the memory of lying in his arms, with his hand protecting my head from the hard press of the dirt and his body blocking me from the vulture’s attack, leaps unbidden into my mind.

“It’s not good news,” he finally answers.

It takes me a moment to remember what I asked him. When I do, I smirk. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much. From what I saw, Camellia isveryfond of you.”