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“I’ll fetch them and be right back.”

I nod, holding a hand to my fluttering belly as I watch him go—and then I catch myself.

I jerk my hand away from my stomach and stare at it like it’s deceived me. Then I laugh. I’m not actually besotted with Henrik—certainly not. This is an effect of close proximity and Pranmore’s magic.

At worst, it’s just a fleeting attraction—like a passing illness. I have a plan for my life, and it in no way involves becoming doe-eyed over the soldier.

Keep your eyes on the goal, Clover.

Henrik returns several minutes later with the garment. Kneeling beside me, he sets it across the cloak in my lap.

“I’ll take Pranmore away and give you some privacy so you can dress.”

Clutching his cloak, I nod.

I think he’s going to leave, but before he rises, Henrik meets my eyes and drops his voice. “Just to be clear, when I said you needed a new outfit, I meant you should wear more clothing—notless.”

My lips part with surprise, and my stomach clenches. His expression is solemn, but his eyes sparkle with mischief.

Before I can respond, the knight stands, off to fetch the currently mourning elf.

17

Henrik

I believeI lost several years of my life when Clover fell from the tree. I was too far away to catch her, leaping from a dying aynauth—trying not to die myself.

My heart nearly stopped when she collided with the old cobblestones.

I tell myself it was only my extreme relief that made me wrap my arm around her—that same relief that had my eyes dropping to her lips when the belated shock of the incident overtook her, wondering what it would be like to kiss her tears away.

Yes, it was only relief… or possibly the memory of Clover’s finger trailing my lips. Pranmore said her strange mood was a side effect of his magic, nothing more, but I can’t get it out of my head.

“Do you feel well enough to ride?” I ask Clover when Bartholomew returns with the horses, half hoping she’s not and I’ll have an excuse to ride with her.

Which is madness. What is the matter with me?

My mind drifts to Camellia, and I frown. The princess and I aren’t together—I’ve explained that to Camellia more times than I can count. But the idea of eventually marrying the princess has been interwoven with my goals for so long, I can’t imagine a future without her.

I need to keep my focus. I can’t let Clover get into my head. After all, it’s not as if she wants to be there—she hasLawrence.

How does she stand that man?

“I’m fine,” Clover says, pulling me from my thoughts. “I think my head is finally clearing.”

Mildly disappointed—and then disappointed in myself forfeeling disappointed—I take my own horse from Bartholomew.

To the young man, I say, “If you’re determined to help next time, leave the crossbow with the horses.”

“But then I won’t have a weapon,” he points out.

“Don’t you have a sword?”

He shakes his head, looking chagrined. “Mother says they are dangerous.”

“Theyaredangerous.” Clover presses her foot into the stirrup and swings her leg over her horse. “That’s the point of them, isn’t it?”

“Your mother isn’t here,” I say to Bartholomew, shooting Clover a look. “You’re buying a sword when we return to Denmel. I can’t have a squire who doesn’t even carry a blade.”