Page 35 of Forged in Cursed Flames (Crown and Crest 2)

“Let’s go inside and see what we can do for your face until Pranmore can patch you up,” Henrik says, pulling his eyes from mine as he turns forward and coaxes his horse into the courtyard.

“At this rate, I’m going to start growing antlers,” I complain as I gingerly lower myself to the ground, stepping out of the way so Henrik can dismount as well.

“I don’t think Woodmore magic works like that.” Henrik smiles as he takes me by the shoulders, studying me in the dim light. “Though antlers would suit you—maybe even spots.”

“You shouldn’t say such tawdry things.” I swat his arm. “How scandalous.”

As he laughs, a groom hurries from the nearby stable, interrupting our conversation. Henrik allows him to take his horse, and then he nods for me to head into the manor.

I’m just reaching for the door when the commander suddenly catches my arm and gently turns me around.

“What is it…” I begin, but my words fade into the night as the look on Henrik’s face steals my breath.

He studies me intently. “You won’t remember any of this in the morning, right? That’s what you said?”

“Remember what?”

“We won’t talk about it or even allude to it?”

My mouth goes dry, and I find myself dumbly shaking my head. “I’m barely coherent now.”

“Good.”

Henrik steps in, wrapping one hand around my back and the other at my waist, pulling me into an unexpected embrace. He holds me tightly—like no man has ever dared before, curling himself around me as if he’s afraid we’re going to be ripped apart at any moment.

I close my eyes, memorizing what it feels like to be held by him, and my heart stutters. This isn’t a friendly hug—it’s full of purpose and meaning.

Slowly, I raise my hands. First, I just set them on his back, and then I press my palms into him to tug him even closer. Savoring the moment, I examine it in my head—looking at it from all angles.

The truth is, we’re more than friends…but less thanmore. We’re caught in between, hesitating at a strange crossroads. We were never meant to collide, but now that we have, I don’t know how to return to my original course.

I open my eyes when Henrik draws back, my emotions churning. Carefully, Henrik brushes the hair from my face, frowning at my swelling temple. “Let’s go inside.”

Trying to tug him back, I say, “I don’t want to.”

He chuckles, stroking my cheek.

With a sigh, I lean into his touch and then wince. “Ow.”

Taking my hand, he says, “Come on.”

I let him lead me, feeling like the air is squeezed from my lungs when we step over the threshold and into the bright light of the lamplit foyer. Our moment is over.

Henrik turns to me, still holding my hand. He looks down, studying our clasped palms, and then he nods to himself as if resigned.

Briefly meeting my eyes…he lets go.

Hours later, healed by Pranmore’s Woodmore magic, I lie awake in a soft bed Lawrence’s maids prepared for me, refusing to fall asleep—knowing that when I do, I’ll wake up and have to pretend tonight never happened.

* * *

“Why won’t you kiss me?”I ask Henrik, craning my neck to look back at him as he pushes me on a swing hanging from a massive cottontuft tree in the middle of a wildflower-filled meadow.

Ulfric is here as well, napping in the shade. He stretches his massive paws as he yawns, looking perfectly content.

A stranded ship sits atop a nearby hill, tipped onto its side as if shipwrecked in the middle of the land. I pause to look at it for a second, finding it very odd. How did it get out here?

“Because you are a witch,” Henrik says, drawing my attention back to our conversation. “And I must marry Camellia.”

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