Page 65 of Knight from the Ashes (Crown and Crest 1)

It’s likely the latter, but I’m not accustomed to the attention, and it makes me feel like all my movements are stiff and awkward.

“Thank you for the tea,” Clover says to Simon, turning back to the table before we go. “It was a pleasure to meet you all.”

The soldiers offer her far warmer smiles than they flash in my direction, all of them oblivious that they might have enjoyed the company of their future queen.

Hot irritation courses through me at the thought of Lawrence, but I ignore it.

After she says her goodbyes, Clover turns to me and raises her eyebrows expectantly. Too late, I realize I still have her hand. I should have dropped it the moment she was on her feet, but here we are.

She doesn’t pull away, and I don’t release her.

We stand here, studying each other for mere seconds, but it’s seconds too long.

Clearing my throat, I pull my hand back and turn toward the long table at the head of the room, where the lords and a few of the knights have already taken their seats.

“Have you spent so much time on training you’ve neglected your manners?” Clover teases quietly as we walk.

I turn to her, startled.

With her eyes laughing at me, she whispers, “If you escort a lady through a room, you’re supposed to offer your arm.”

My mouth goes dry, and I pause, unsure of myself. Without a word, I extend my elbow.

Smiling, Clover slides her arm through mine, setting her hand gently on my bicep. “Was that so hard?”

“You should have joined your uncle,” I say instead of answering her, my voice stern even to my ears. “A lady should never dine with guards.”

“I wasn’t dining—I was taking tea.”

I glance at her, mildly irritated. “Have you made it your mission to shirk all the duties of a noblewoman?”

“Shirk my duties?” she says with a laugh. “I just find the customs fusty and outdated.”

“You must demand the respect you are due if you are to receive it.”

She gives me a strange look as we wind our way through the tables. It’s obvious neither of us is in any particular hurry. “You think very highly of the nobility, Henrik.”

“Of course I do. You have been born into a high position and carry great responsibility. You have a duty to the people, and you cannot properly care for them if they don’t believe you are slightly out of reach. You must always keep your distance.”

She pauses, and her eyes laugh at me as she tugs me to a stop. “I cannot care for the people if I’m approachable? If I am kind?”

“No, I…” She flusters me, and it’s frustrating. “You know what I’m saying.”

“I do,” she relents. “But I think you have a skewed view of the upper class. Most aren’t nearly as altruistic as you believe or would like.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just because they’re born with a noble title doesn’t mean they’renoble.”

I frown. “They should be.”

Slowly, she smiles. “If that were true, you shouldn’t have been born as the son of a blacksmith. You’re arguably the noblest man I’ve ever met.”

I want to believe her more than she could ever know. For years, I’ve fought my way up that ladder, wanting—needing—to be something more.

Too soon, we reach Lord Garamond.

“Lady Clover,” the man says warmly, standing as he welcomes her. “What a pleasant surprise to have you grace our table.”

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