Page 68

“Bartholomew will accompany me.”

I prepare myself for his refusal. “I would like to go as well.”

As if it’s not a horrible idea, Henrik stares at me for several seconds before he reluctantly shakes his head. “You cannot accompany me on this mission. The travel will likely be strenuous, and you’re not conditioned for such a journey.”

“But Bartholomew is?” I laugh.

“He’s my squire.”

Smirking, I press my hands to my chest as if helpless. “Oh, but whatever shall I do? If you and Bartholomew go traipsing into the woods without me, I will be forced to travel with the common folk, and you just reminded me this evening that such behavior is unacceptable.”

My comment is swiftly met with mild irritation. “You heard Lord Garamond—the territory is dangerous.”

“Have I not proven I am competent with my bow?”

“Why do you want to come?” Henrik asks, growing frustrated. “There are no inns in the mountains—no properly brewed tea. You would be far more comfortable returning to the castle.”

“Where I belong?”

“Clover…” he bites out, shoving a hand through his hair.

“For once, I am free of the castle and Camellia. Please, don’t send me back—not yet.”

“This is not a mission for a noblewoman. How will I protect you out there? I understand you are eager for a holiday, but—”

“Is there something else you want to say?” I ask, cutting him off. “Or did you drag me into the frigid night for this lovely conversation?”

Henrik’s expression becomes far too solemn.

“Yes, there is something else I want to discuss with you.” He looks over my shoulder, arranging his thoughts once more. “And we couldn’t discuss it around others.”

“Well?” I ask, my tone far too eager.

The soldier draws in a slow breath and then reluctantly meets my eyes. I can practically feel his indecision.

Honestly, this man.

“You think too much.” I step close enough he blocks the chill of the wind with his body and place my hands on either side of his trim waist. “Has anyone told you that?”

Henrik goes stone still, staring down at me with an enigmatic expression. He tenses as I slide my fingers down his side, but he doesn’t move.

“Lady Clover…” he says gruffly. “What are you—”

“Don’t talk,” I command at a whisper.

I then snatch his dagger from the sheath at his waist, step to the side, and throw the blade at the monauth that wings its way toward Henrik’s head in the dark.

Henrik whirls around, reaching for his sword even though I’ve already dealt with the threat.

The small, furred monster squeals like a tiny demon. It falls only a few feet away from the soldier, twitching its rodent-like arms and the winged membranes between them before it goes still.

Pleased with my shot, I yank the blade from the carcass and then wipe it clean on the dry grass. Casually, I say, “To think, if I weren’t here, that thing would be latched onto your neck right now.”

I step close to Henrik and slowly slide the dagger back into its sheath. Smiling, I meet his eyes in the moonlight. “It seems you’ll need someone to protect you while you’re in the mountains; therefore, I will come with you. No need to thank me.”

Before he can answer, I turn on my heel and make my way back to the guard post, satisfied. Once Henrik gets his wits about him, he tries to call me back, but I ignore him.

Henrik asked me to stay, and now he’s stuck with me whether he likes it or not—at least for a little bit longer.