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I look away, staring at the tree as I process the afternoon’s events.

“He’s a gifted healer,” Clover points out. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to keep him around? We might need him again.”

“We will discuss it when we reach Denmel. For now, we should leave. There may be more aynauths in the woods, and we don’t want to meet one after dark.”

Clover dismounts and hands her horse to Pranmore.

“How do I…” His face goes white as he looks at the mare. He then drops his voice to a whisper. “How do Iget up?”

Clover explains the basics, and Bartholomew goes to assist. With the young duke’s help, and a ridiculous amount of flailing, the elf makes it atop the horse.

“I beg your pardon,” he murmurs to the patient animal. “Truly, I am so grateful for your service.”

The mare flicks her ears, bored. If she’s thinking anything, which I doubt, it’s that Pranmore is an idiot.

And then I forget all about the elf because Clover is walking my way, still grinning at the ridiculous situation. My chest tightens uncomfortably, making me realize this might have been a grand mistake.

Once we’re atop my horse, Clover shifts to get comfortable.

“What are you doing?” I ask gruffly.

“Getting seated,” she responds from behind me, sounding as if she’s laughing at my tone.

Once she’s finally still, I say, “You should probably hold on.”

More obedient than she’s ever been, Clover immediately sets her hands on my sides. “How’s this?”

I swallow hard. “Fine.”

“Is it very uncomfortable?” she asks. “You seem rigid.”

Discomfort is not the problem.

“Bartholomew, you lead,” I say instead of answering her. “Pranmore, follow him. We’ll be right behind you.”

Thankfully, Pranmore’s horse trails after Bartholomew’s on instinct because the elf has no idea what he’s doing. At least he’s not yanking at her reins.

Unlike when she was riding with Simon, Clover isn’t particularly chatty. She stays quiet behind me, constantly reminding me of her presence with each tiny shift or sigh.

Because I’m not skilled at starting conversations, I let the silence wrap around us. By the time we make it to Denmel, all my nerves are on high alert.

Once we’ve both dismounted, I turn to Clover, feeling acutely uncomfortable. “Will you stay in the inn again tonight?”

“Yes.” She offers me a knowing smile. “But I won’t sleep in tomorrow.”

And for some reason, I find myself saying, “I can come to get you in the morning if you’d like.”

“That would be fine.”

I turn to Bartholomew. “Walk Lady Clover to the inn and see that she’s settled, all right?”

The young man smiles brightly. “It would be my pleasure.”

“Have a good night,” I say to her, telling myself I must establish a professional distance for both our sakes.

“You as well.” Clover’s eyes remain on mine for several seconds, and then she smiles as she turns away.

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