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The elf laughs as he matches my pace once more. “I could be useful, you know, seeing as how I know why the aynauths are on the move.”

I pause. “Sure you do.”

“Well, let’s just say I have a pretty good hunch.”

I cross my arms, pinning him with my eyes. “All right, elf, what do you know?”

With his arms clasped at his back once more, he leans forward. His dark eyes practically sparkle with delight. “It’s a secret, but I might be persuaded to share it with you.”

“You know, you wouldn’t be so desperate for female attention if you rejoined society.”

His grin grows. “I like you.”

“How about this—out of the kindness of your heart, tell me what you know.”

He clucks his tongue and shakes his head. “Won’t work. I don’t think High Vales have that spot in their hearts.”

“You really are an awful person,” I say, growing frustrated. “You know that?”

“So I’ve heard.” He laughs, and then he stands straight and crosses his arms as he studies me. “All right, I’ll throw you a bone—”

“I’m not a dog.”

“Cutest little spaniel I’ve ever seen.”

“I understand why the gnomes are eager to be rid of you.”

He grins, creating a dimple in his left cheek. “You know how there are rumors that the northwestern edge of the mainland is impossible to reach via ship because of the cliffs and formidable rocks?”

“Yes…”

“It’s true,” he says. “But that doesn’t mean the area is inaccessible.”

“What are you trying to tell me?”

“Continue scouting, but don’t continue north. Gowest.”

I think about it, trying to picture a map of the kingdom in my head. “You’re sure?”

“You could always take me as a guide…”

“I don’t make a habit of inviting rogues on adventures.”

“Shame. Imagine how much fun we could have.”

Spotting Pranmore up ahead on a bridge that crosses the stream, I shake my head. “Not happening, but thank you for the incredibly vague tip.”

“Happy to help.”

Pranmore’s smile becomes tight when he spots me walking with Ayan. “Good morning, Lady Clover.”

“Oh,LadyClover, is it?” Ayan says, raising his brows.

I shoot him a look.

Ayan turns to Pranmore and extends his hand. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced. I’m Ayanleon, illegitimate son of Augmirian Argald Woldervin III and future heir of the dukedom, should I ever convince Auggy to abdicate.”

Pranmore’s frown deepens, but he clasps Ayan’s hand briefly. “Pranmore Cyrus Erming, of the Dulane Ermings.”