Page 45 of Knight from the Ashes (Crown and Crest 1)

It’s not a fancy establishment, but the stone floors appear to have been recently cleaned, and it smells fresh, like lavender and rosemary. Heavy, dark beams lend a cozy, quaint feel to the space, and the steam that rises from the heated pool in the adjoining room wafts through the area like a hot cloud.

After spending the last several days on the road, I can’t imagine a more welcome sight.

Before I bathe, I attempt to wash the dust, horsehair, and trail grime from my gown. Once satisfied the garment is as clean as it can be without proper laundering, I luxuriate in the warm water for ages and then finally make my way to my room.

After preparing for bed, I blow out the candle by the side of the bed and snuggle into the covers. The room is warm and comfortable, and I smile to myself as I decide I made the right choice leaving the group for the night. I doubt Henrik is this comfortable in the barracks.

Feeling slightly wicked, I indulge in a laugh. Then, as minds are prone to do when you’re drowsing, I replay the day’s events in my head.

Henrik putting the smarmy guard in his place.

Henrik scowling at me, his blue eyes making my stomach flutter.

Henrik tossing me his cloak, still warm from the heat of his body.

My eyes fly open.Whatam I doing?

I blame Calla. After all, she put these thoughts into my head. My mind would never have wandered on its own.

All right, I admit, I find Henrik attractive, but the fact is he’s enamored with the snake princess—which means he has the sense of a flockchick.

And with that thought, I punch the pillow to fluff it, roll onto my other side, and tightly close my eyes, refusing to think about the irritating soldier again.

* * *

The bellabove the nearby church sounds at twelve in the morning—and then again at one, two, and three. Its dull, metallic clamor fills the streets every hour upon the hour—and I’ve heard them all.

I lie awake, eyes accustomed to the dark, staring at a chair in the corner of the room. Sometime in the long night, it began to resemble a troll.

But a chair troll is preferable to the alternative. Every time I close my eyes, I see a pair of storm-blue eyes and a displeased frown.

I blame it on ingestion—the soup didn’t settle well, and my stomach growls with agitation and hunger pangs.

“I don’t need sleep,” I say aloud to my chair troll friend as if I must convince him. “I’ll just stay awake all night.”

* * *

“Henrik,”I murmur, in a daze.

The soldier has just rescued me from a tower, and we’ve fallen to the ground near a fishpond. Now we’re surrounded by circling vultures. The birds crow that it’s time to leave, but I need just a few minutes more. The soldier’s lips hover inches from mine, growing closer…closer…

He murmurs my name, and I lean up to meet him, breathless with desire.

“Clover,” Henrik says again, but this time, his tone is sharp. “Why are you still in bed?”

His words startle me, and I look around, confused. What is he going on about? We’re in a field of soft wildflowers, near a ruin where trees tower over crumbling stone walls.

“Stop talking,” I mumble, grasping the back of his neck. “You’re ruining it.”

“Clover.”

Suddenly, my eyes fly open. My cheek is pressed against a pillow, and my legs are tangled in the covers. I grasp a bunched-up blanket in my hands, yanking it close in a rather amorous fashion.

There are no vultures. No ruins, no meadow, no fishpond.

“Wake up.”

But there is Henrik.

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