Page 29

“What did I do to deserve that?” I mutter under my breath, making sure it’s just loud enough Henrik will hear.

He turns his stern gaze on me, unimpressed. But he’s just in a foul mood because he ended up stuck driving the cheese cart.

“Lady Clover,” Bartholomew says, gallantly stepping to the front of the group. “Please, take my Vidnar. The horse is as gentle as a lamb and will take excellent care of you. I will gladly accept your place beside Henrik.”

“Bartholomew,” Henrik begins. “Though that is—”

“I accept your kind offer,” I say to the young duke, interrupting Henrik. “Thank you.”

“Clover will ride with me,” Henrik says again, and this time his voice is rigid with authority. “We have things to discuss.”

We do?

Though I don’t particularly care to have a conversation with Henrik, my curiosity gets the best of me—as it so often does.

“Fine,” I say heavily, making it clear I’m not riding with him because I want to.

Henrik offers his hand to help me into the wagon, and I take it to humor him. I wrinkle my nose as I adjust my burdensome riding gown and its umpteen layers of skirts, deciding the stench was the reason Gertferd left—not the vultures. And yet, there’s something familiar about it.

Odd.

“I’ve sent a message to King Algernon back with the captain of the barge,” Henrik says once he takes the seat next to me.

“All right…?”

He glances at me, looking a little impatient. “I let him know you’ve decided to accompany us. I’m sure he’ll share the news with your parents. I felt it was too forward for me to send something to them myself since we have not been personally introduced.”

With a cluck of his tongue and the gentle shake of the reins, the wagon lurches forward, following the others in front of us. We’re in the back, likely because no one wants to travel behind us.

Henrik falls quiet, and I wait for him to continue. When he doesn’t, I turn my eyes on him. “Is that all? You realize that took all of five seconds and you could have easily told me before we left.”

He glances at me from the corner of his eye, looking silently pleased.

Apparently, he decided that if he was going to be subjected to the wagon, I might as well join him. Misery loves company, after all, and he and I haven’t exactly gotten off on the right foot.

But it’s awkward riding with Henrik. All I can think about when I look at him is finding him with Camellia in the garden.

I shudder at the thought. What the man sees in her, I have no idea.

“Are you cold?” Henrik asks, looking straight ahead.

“What?”

The early autumn sunshine beats down on us, hot and balmy.

He glances at me. “You shivered. There are blankets in the back if you need one.”

I’m tempted to tell himwhyI shivered, but I hold my tongue.

“I’m fine,” I answer primly, clasping my hands on my lap.

We travel in silence for a long while before he clears his throat, looking as if he wants to say something. I’m just about to tell him to spit it out when he finally gets on with it. “I don’t think we’ve ever been properly introduced.”

I shake my head at his formal tone. Can any man truly be thisuptight?

“I’m Henrik,” he continues. “My father—”

“Is the royal blacksmith. Your sister, Brielle, attends Dulnmarin’s. You’ve been working toward your seal since you were a tiny tot, and you probably could best most of the king’s men with a sword by the time you were Bartholomew’s age.”