Page 79 of Knight from the Ashes (Crown and Crest 1)

But now we have reached the point of no return, and I must decide if I’m going to be brave or run away.

“What must I prove, Clover?” Henrik asks again, and there’s a delicious catch in his voice this time.

Slowly, he runs his thumb over my knuckles. It’s the lightest touch, but it feels purposeful.

“Redeem your reputation,” I say, trying to keep my tone light but failing miserably. “Prove that your kissing prowess is on par with the skill in which you wield your sword.”

Henrik’s eyes brighten with eager satisfaction. “And how am I supposed to do that?”

That does it—I’ve been wrong this whole time. Henrik is secretly wicked, and he’s taking extreme delight in my discomfort. How many people have seen this side of the solemn soldier? A thrill runs through me when I wonder if it’s reserved for me alone.

I offer him a half-hearted shrug. “I suppose you’ll have to kiss me. I will be an impartial judge, withholding any prior misconceptions.”

Henrik goes still, and his half-narrowed eyes study me in the dark—perhaps waiting to see if I’ll back down from the challenge.

When I simply stare back at him, refusing to turn away with fluttering eyelashes and a giggle as most of my fellow ladies would, he releases his hand and unwinds himself from the chain.

It isn’t until he begins to stand that I realize I’ve pushed too far.

“Oh, stop,” I say, grabbing his hand. “Sit down. I was only teasing.”

Henrik, however, doesn’t walk away. When he pulls me to my feet, I realize his true purpose.

“If we’re going to do this, let’s do it right,” he says, and then he wraps his arm around the small of my back and abruptly tugs me against his iron frame.

I let out a peep of surprise as my hands land on his shoulders. I barely have a chance to get my wits about me before Henrik slides his hand into my hair and curls it around the back of my neck. He presses his fingers into my skin, tilting my head, gently forcing me to look up at him.

The chain has fallen on the ground, and the air is icy as it swirls around us, but I barely notice.

Henrik is going to kiss me—and I’m going to let him.

I close my eyes, preparing myself for unadulterated bliss. My skin tingles with anticipation, and my neck flushes with heat.

Closer, closer…

Henrik’s breath is hot against my skin, and I fear the man is playing with me, taking his dear sweet time to drive me mad.

Almost, almost…

No.

A loud, inhuman yawn fills the glade below, reaching my ears and making me want to ruthlessly shoot the wretched monster for interrupting.

The songbirds fall silent, and the sounds of the aynauth moving down below are impossible to ignore.

Henrik releases me as he reaches for his sword, drops into a crouch, and creeps to the ledge.

“Well?” I ask, joining him. The impending dawn has yet to lighten the glade, but I can see well enough to know the aynauth isn’t down there. “Where is it?”

Henrik straightens and sheathes his blade. “It left.”

That’s the best news I’ve heard in days—now we can return to more pressing matters.

But before I can reach for him, Henrik stands. His tone brusque, he says, “Pack your bedroll. I’ll wake the others.”

“We’re leavingnow?” I demand.

He looks at me as if he’s confused why I’m still standing here. “We must follow the aynauth’s tracks back to its lair while they’re still fresh.”

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