Page 7

Sensing the match is finally over, our audience filters away. Miguel excuses himself, and Lawrence nods absently as the knight leaves. The prince, however, remains nearby as if waiting for the crowd to clear.

Quietly, Denny says to me, “I know you’re friends, but be cautious of him, Clover,”

“Go away,” I hiss.

It’s not the first time one of my brothers has voiced the warning, and I’m certain it won’t be the last. But I’m not a fool—I know what kind of philanderer Lawrence is. If I walk into his trap, it will be with my eyes wide open.

Once Denny is gone, Lawrence ambles toward me. The man is wickedly handsome, with thick, light reddish-brown hair that falls past his shoulders and warm honey-brown eyes. Every time I look at him, my heart gives an extra thump—not necessarily because I’m besotted, but because he holds the thing I want most in life.

A crown.

And while some might think it’s the prestigious position itself that I covet, they would be wrong. My ambitions are rooted in one small hope—once I make myself queen, I will finally outrank Camellia.

It’s a petty thing, perhaps. But I yearn for it all the same.

All my life, I’ve answered to the horrid princess. When we were children, I was forced to play dolls with her and the other unlucky girls, and she would lord over us like a wicked empress. If we didn’t like her game, she would throw tea on our dresses and cry until someone removed us from her sight.

She’s not any better now, though her tantrums are a bit subtler.

It was a dark day when I turned fourteen and was officially chosen as one of her ladies. After all these years, it’s timeIhold a little power overher. And if Lawrence is the key to making my dream a reality, then I’m going to snare myself a prince.

“That was a fine show,” Lawrence says, following me as I walk to the target to retrieve my arrow.

The day is warm, and the sun shines down on the courtyard, heating the stones and making it feel like mid-summer. But the smell of autumn is in the air, with the scent of meat curing in the castle smokehouses, and the breeze is cool. Our pleasant days are numbered.

Soon, I’ll be trapped in the castle with Camellia for the long, dreaded winter.

“Sadly, you missed most of it,” I say.

“I was watching from the wall.” Lawrence offers me a knowing smile. “You didn’t miss until I joined you. Do I make you nervous, Clover?”

I smile prettily and look away as if embarrassed, pretending the question is rhetorical.

But as I feign Besotted Girl, I notice Henrik from the corner of my eye. The soldier is rarely in this section of the bailey, as he prefers blades to bows. He pauses, his attention momentarily captured by Lawrence and me. Then, with an enigmatic expression I cannot read, he continues to the gatehouse.

Lawrence follows my gaze and groans. “Don’t tell me you’re taken with him, too?”

“Taken with whom?” I ask, turning my attention back to him.

“Henrik the Stoic, the Mannered, the Valiant. The Dull as Dirt. Choose any title you like.”

I laugh and pull the arrow from the target. “I only have eyes for one man, and he’s not Henrik.”

“You know I’m good at keeping secrets.” Lawrence edges closer. “Tell me who it is.”

Turning my gaze on him, I play coy. “If I were to tell you, it would be a secret from him no longer.”

With his eyes locked on mine, Lawrence presses a hand over his heart. “You must not say things like that, Lady Clover, for I will jump to conclusions and be heartbroken if I learn it isn’t so.”

And though I’m trying to play the part of a doe-eyed girl, I can’t help but snort. He’s too much sometimes.

“Ah, there’s the Clover I know and adore,” Lawrence says, abundantly amused. He leans against the wall, crossing his arms. “Make my day; tell me you love me.”

“Why?” With the arrow in my hand, I press my palms to my hips. “Do you secretly pine for me, Lawrence? Have you been waiting to confess all this time, but fear of rejection has held you back?”

“Just admit it—three little words. Say you love me.”

“What’s not to love?”