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“We’re getting an early enough start, so we should be there by this evening.”

“I suppose you’re looking forward to returning to Cabaranth? You’re so close to earning your seal.”

I nod, though the mention of it leaves me frustrated.

“I’ll tell Lawrence about the aynauth,” she says, looking straight ahead. “It might help.”

“Lawrence would sooner cut off his own foot than help me.”

Clover gives me a curious look. “Why is that, exactly? The two of you don’t seem to get along.”

“His Highness is…” I shake my head.

“If you can’t say something nice, best say nothing at all?” she asks with a laugh.

“You’re not cursed with such manners, are you?”

“Certainly not.”

“You and Camellia don’t seem to get along any better than Lawrence and I.”

She wrinkles her nose. “That’s because Camellia is a poisonous, bejeweled cow of a girl who’s gotten everything she’s ever wanted and become horribly spoiled.” She pauses, glancing at me. “No offense.”

“Why would I take offense? I don’t believe you should speak so bluntly about your princess, but it in no way affects me.”

“But you two are…” She pauses as if uncomfortable. “Together.”

“We’re not,” I say too vehemently—as though some part of me desperately needs Clover to understand.

Clover stops in the street, setting her hands on her hips and looking if she’s about to call me on a lie. “I saw you.”

I press my lips together, studying her before I answer. “Though it is true Camellia is eager to begin a relationship, I am not worthy of her. Not yet.”

“Does she know this?”

“I have explained it…many times.”

“But you’re in love with her?”

I frown, not understanding Clover’s confusion—I just explained myself.

Again, I say, “I am not worthy.”

“But that has nothing to do with love. You can love someone even if you believe you are beneath them.”

I shake my head, baffled at the idea.

“Henrik!” Clover exclaims with a laugh. “Love is your heart’s response to finding a kindred spirit—it goes deeper than attraction, to a place of true connection and admiration. It doesn’t matter if you’re below that person, or she below you. It just happens.”

“Is that how you feel about Lawrence?” I ask, the conversation making me uneasy. “Like you’ve found a kindred spirit?”

“I don’t love Lawrence,” she answers, shooting me a strange look.

“Camellia claims you do.”

Clover rolls her eyes. “Don’t misunderstand—I intend to marry the scoundrel. But, no, I don’t love him.”

“Doesn’t that contradict everything you’ve just said?”