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“Thank you, Lord Garamond,” Clover says, slipping into her birth-given role as easily as she slips out of it. “I appreciate your hospitality.”

Lord Garamond motions to the empty chair next to him. “Please, join me.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

I pull out the seat for her, but before Clover sits, she asks me, “Will you take my cloak, Commander?”

She doesn’t call me “soldier” for once, instead using my actual title in front of these high ranking knights I admire.

As I contemplate that, she pulls her long, honey-brown hair over her shoulder. Facing away, she looks back at me, and her soft green eyes meet mine.

It’s like a dart to my chest.

I stare at her, fighting an unknown foe.

Without waiting for an answer, Clover loosens the ties at her throat. Moving of their own accord, my hands reach for the cloak. My fingers brush over her as I pull the garment away, and I cannot help but watch as the fabric falls from her bare shoulders.

I stand here like a fool, wanting to touch her—wondering if shewantsme to touch her. And worried I might not be able to resist if we were alone.

It takes but a moment, but it feels as if the world has slowed around us.

“Thank you,” Clover says when she turns back to me, her voice softer than usual. She extends her hands for her cloak.

Feeling like a fool, I hand it over.

When I find my seat next to her, I tug at the neckline of my shirt, feeling as if the familiar fabric is choking me.

“Will you return to Cabaranth tomorrow, Henrik?” Lord Garamond asks, thankfully oblivious to my wayward thoughts.

“No.” I clear my throat. “His Majesty is concerned about the unusual movement of the aynauths, and he’s asked me to look into it.”

Clover gives me a curious look, hearing the news for the first time, but I give Lord Garamond my attention.

“It is bizarre,” the man says. “We’ve seen half a dozen this season alone, and we usually only spot one every few years.”

“Do you have any idea what might have spurred the migration?” Clover asks.

Lord Garamond shakes his head. “The local Woodmores are predicting a harsh winter. Though it’s certainly not the first we’ve experienced in the mountains, I suppose that could have triggered it.”

“Are the deer moving to the lower elevations as well?” I ask, wondering if the aynauths’ food source has become scarce.

“No more than usual,” he answers. “They’ll always go lower for winter, but many remain in the area.”

“I’ll scout and see if I can find anything out of the ordinary. Where are the aynauths often spotted?”

“Up high, near the northwestern section of the province. But it’s a treacherous area.”

“There are no mines that far north?” Clover asks.

Lord Garamond shakes his head. “I’m sure there’s ore in the region, but with a lack of roads, it would be nearly impossible to cart out. I haven’t seen it myself, but the trappers who wander that way say the continent ends at sharp cliffs that fall to the ocean.”

Just like the cliffs of Furlaskin.

“Can’t you make roads?” Clover asks.

“We could, but it would require cutting into the mountain itself. It’s a large undertaking, and His Majesty has decided it’s not worth the cost.” Lord Garamond turns back to me. “If you must go into that territory, Henrik, I suggest you plan accordingly. Help yourself to supplies and whatever weapons you require.”

“You’ll need an archer,” Clover hints coyly as she dips a spoon into the soup that was just served, seemingly focused on her meal.