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In contrast to the hot tea, the night seems even colder now. At least it is until the chill is blocked by fabric that’s suddenly draped over my bare shoulders.

“Warmer?” Henrik asks, coming around the log once more and sitting next to me.

I clutch his cloak, feeling awkward—and incredibly grateful he didn’t leave after all. “I don’t remember mentioning I was cold.”

The soldier looks over, and the firelight plays across his face as his eyes trail over me. He wears a skeptical look—one I might bestow on a child.

I suppose that’s how I’ve been acting, though Henrik is certainly not as innocent as he would like to pretend.

“Thank you,” I murmur, looking down at my tea. After a moment, I glance back at him. “Why were you really outside the tent? I doubt it was to protect me from mice.”

Henrik’s expression becomes pensive as he stares at the fire. “You’re the only woman on the supply run, and you’re Count Flauret’s daughter at that. I thought it was wise to…”

“Protect my virtue?” I say, enjoying the embarrassment that crosses his face more than I should.

“I have a responsibility to your family to keep you safe, and I don’t take such things lightly.”

“What are you going to do? Guard me every night? I knew you were a soldier among soldiers, but I didn’t know you are a man so great he doesn’t need sleep.”

“Simon is a good captain,” he says, ignoring my teasing. “I trust him to take your nightly guard. Bartholomew, too, would protect you at all costs—if he didn’t fall asleep.”

I smile. “It’s an awful lot of nuisance. Did you consider it when you asked me to join you?”

His expression hardens. “Yes.”

A strange response. I’m not quite sure what to make of this man.

He invited me to join the run, and he’s certainly determined to keep me safe, but at the same time, he’s so rigid. Maybe he’s just uncomfortable.

But why?

Is it because of what I saw between Camellia and him? Perhaps.

The memory isn’t a welcome one, not when I’m feeling rather cozy next to him by the fire.

“Thank you for the tea,” I say, rising when I’ve finished. “I think I can sleep now.”

I begin to untie his cloak, but he holds up a hand. “Keep it for the night. I don’t need it.”

I should give it back, but the air really is cold. If Henrik is foolish enough to offer it, that’s his problem.

“Very well.” I cross the camp and slip back into the tent.

I lay atop the bedroll, far warmer with Henrik’s cloak covering me like a blanket.

But as I hear shifting noises from the front of the tent, guilt riddles me.

Henrik is out there, in the frigid night—watching over me like a personal bodyguard.

With a sigh, I push myself up to my knees and stick my head out of the tent. “You’re sure you don’t need your cloak?”

“Go to sleep, Lady Clover,” Henrik answers, sounding as if he’s suppressing a smile.

“All right…”

I return to the bedroll and wrap up in his cloak, feeling the tug of sleep pull at my eyelids.

Henrik can’t say I didn’t try—if he freezes, it will be his own fault.