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Henrik looks up, and our gazes lock. “I don’t kiss like a fish.”

Completely taken by surprise, I bark out a laugh that’s far too loud. I slap a hand over my mouth, startled by my own reaction.

Henrik grins, looking down at our hands.

I wait for either the aynauth or the others in our party to stir, but all is silent. Quietly, I whisper, “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have said it. And…I didn’t mean it.”

Henrik’s face grows solemn. “There’s something else. It’s about Camellia—”

I clasp my hand over his mouth, mimicking the way I just covered mine. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” His lips move against the palm of my hand and send shivers down my arm. His usually clean-shaven face is shadowed with stubble, and it scrapes against the skin of my palm, making me wonder how it would feel against my cheeks.

“We’re already dealing with one monster right now,” I say flippantly. “Must we deal with her, too?”

Despite himself, the soldier smiles as he pulls my hand away. “Later then.”

I nod, and then suddenly, I don’t know what to talk about. We simply sit here, holding hands in the night, not quite able to meet each other’s eyes.

“You were right,” Henrik finally says.

I raise my brows, waiting for him to elaborate.

“Before this trip, I didn’t really know you.” He pauses. “I don’t really know anyone.”

All his life, Henrik has been so focused on becoming a knight, he’s never made any close friends.

It’s not really a surprise. I’ve never seen him socializing. He’s always training, off on some errand, or preparing for a mission.

“Let’s remedy that,” I say. “What do you want me to tell you?”

He briefly meets my eyes. “Something most people don’t know.”

I think about it for a minute, and then I say, “People believe my mother is the daughter of a minor lord, but in fact, she was born into a family of sheep farmers from Griffin.”

The last bit seems to pique his interest. “Your mother isn’t noble-born?”

“Oh dear,” I say lightly. “You think less of me now, don’t you?”

Henrik laughs under his breath and shakes his head. “Was it your mother who named you?”

“It was, but likely not for the reason you’re thinking.”

“Do you presume to know my inner thoughts now?” His hand tightens on mine, an absentminded move that could easily be mistaken for more.

“Oh, soldier, you’re not difficult to read. You’re thinking my mother named me after a weed because she is a commoner, but in fact, she was hoping to keep me out of Camellia’s entourage.”

Henrik’s eyebrows fly up. “And why would she do that? No matter how you dislike the princess, you’ve been given a position of extreme honor. Besides, you can’t be much younger than Camellia. If she was just a baby when you were born, how could your mother possibly know how trying she’d grow to be?”

I open my mouth with wicked glee, ready to hold him accountable for his words, but he cuts me off before I can speak.

“Not thatIbelieve she’s difficult.”

“Right…” I say, but I decide to let him off the hook. “Anyway, according to my mother, our late queen was just as awful as Camellia. Who decides all the noble girls around their daughter’s age should be named after flowers? Even for a queen, that’s terribly demanding. My mother knew if she’d named me Penelope or Lucinda, it would be seen as an outright snub—a statement she didn’t want her daughter even considered for one of Camellia’s companions.”

“So, she named you Clover instead.”

I nod. “Not that it worked, mind you.”