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He laughs and looks down. “Are you older than Lawrence then? I can’t imagine he’d like that.”

“A few days younger. Camellia is my senior by one year, eight months, and seventeen days.”

“That’s very specific.”

“We must know our enemies if we are to battle them effectively.”

Looking curious, Henrik asks, “Do the other ladies feel the same as you?”

I sigh, nearly leaning back on my hands before I remember we’re linked by the chain. “Perhaps not to the same extent. Most want to please the princess to gain her favor. Camellia is generally nicer to those who kiss the ground she walks upon.”

“But a future queen never bows to others?” Henrik says with a knowing smile.

I lean forward. “You tease me, but you just watch. I’ll claim that crown, and then you’ll have to eat your words.”

His expression becomes solemn. “I do not doubt it.”

“You think I’ll make a poor queen?” I ask, studying him.

“Don’t presume to read my mind, Clover—you’re not as skilled at it as you think.”

“And you’re not as enigmatic as you think. You wear your emotions right next to that badge on your sleeve—but they’re all terribly stoic. I’m not sure you even rebel in your head.”

Henrik’s eyes narrow on mine. Dropping his voice even further, he says, “All right then. Prove that you’re as clever as you claim. What am I thinking now, Clover?”

He says my name like a caress, and my stomach suddenly clenches.

Feeling a little breathless, I say, “You’re either thinking I’m a nuisance or…”

I bite the inside of my cheek, unable to finish the sentence.

The handsome soldier leans forward slightly. “Orwhat?”

I’m not sure when I decide to move. I simply catch myself bending at the waist, entirely too focused on Henrik’s mouth.

It’s a nice mouth. His lips look as though they’d feel soft, yet they’re firm enough to be masculine. And his bottom lip is just a little fuller than the top.

I want to brush my mouth over his, explore the bow of his top lip and kiss each crease at the sides.

I want his hands on me, his fingers pressing into my back as he pulls me closer, and I want to taste my name on his lips.

This attraction is dangerous—it makes me lose my head and question whether I can commit to a loveless marriage.

I’ve never felt this pull before. Not ever, and certainly not with Lawrence. Perhaps I was even cocky enough to believe I was immune.

But now I wonder what I’ve been missing in my life. What would it be like to kiss a man I desire? Not a little peck from a casual, youthful fling, but a realkiss?

And, oh, what is wrong with me? How could I let myself become besotted with Henrik of all men? I’m no better than the rest of the ladies at court, all of them eager to fall all over the soldier just because he happened to glance their way.

But Henrik is more than glancing at me—he’slooking.

And unless I’m a far worse judge of him than I believe, I think it’s safe to assume this attraction is mutual. Surely these sparks aren’t one-sided. They can’t be.

Carefully, I say, “If we’re proving things, I think you should go first.”

Henrik’s eyebrows twitch, and his eyes momentarily dart to my lips. “What do I have to prove?”

We’re close, but not so close we couldn’t deny what’s truly on our minds. We could use so many excuses at this point—that we don’t want to wake the others so we’ve leaned close to keep our conversation quiet, or that we must stay close because of the charmed chain.