Page 45 of Forged in Cursed Flames (Crown and Crest 2)

Honor, family, responsibility—those are the values Henrik holds close to his heart. He takes pride in his position, but he’s not prideful.

It’s painfully clear Camellia doesn’t deserve him. I’m not sure anyone does.

I’m silent for a few seconds, and then I nudge his shoulder.

He looks over, and I freeze mid-breath when I realize how close we are. The setting sun brings out the blue in his stormy eyes, making the usually muted hue more vibrant. Warm light highlights his tanned skin and the bow of his lips. It shines on his hair and his dark eyelashes, and it draws attention to just how handsome he truly is.

And as I catalog all this, Henrik gives me his undivided attention—content to sit quietly with me on this old crate as the sun slowly sinks toward the horizon.

After I compose myself, I ask quietly, “Have you ever told anyone your story?”

Henrik studies me, his dark eyebrows drawing together. “No,” he says carefully. “You’re my first…friend.”

It’s an arrow to the heart—a fatal wound.

Feeling oddly teary, I nod and look back at the water. Right now, Henrik is mine. I can feel it. But soon, he won’t be.

Perhaps it’s time to be bold. Whether I like it or not, Lawrence is right—every hesitation is another moment lost.

Would I rather live with regret or memories?

Before I lose my nerve, I say, “If I asked you to meet me below deck tonight…would you?”

“Tonight?” he asks, startled.

Tonight—while our companions are asleep and unaware. I think we both know what reason I might have to meet the commander under the cloak of darkness. I certainly don’t want to discuss mission strategy.

Steeling myself for his rejection, I turn back to look at him. “That’s right.”

He swallows, and my eyes follow the movement of his throat.

“All right,” he says, his voice darker than it was a moment ago. “Twelve?”

I nod, dumbly realizing he agreed. Before I can utter another word and make a fool of myself, I hop down from the crate.

As soon as I turn the corner and am safely out of view, I let my head fall back and stare at the painted sky, already regretting my impulsive behavior. I said my goodbyes in the mountains of Doria. That should have been the end of our budding relationship.

Why can’t I leave the man alone?

* * *

We’ve droppedanchor for the night, and the ship rocks gently in the water. Everyone has retired to their cabins, and the air is almost eerily silent as I creep along the deck. Hazy clouds blanket the sky like fleece stretched too thin, but the two moons’ light would be bright enough to illuminate the random junk littering my path even if I didn’t carry a lamp.

The door that leads to the belly of the ship creaks when I coax it open, and I grit my teeth at the loud noise. I wait a moment, worried someone will stir, but the only sound is the water slapping against the hull of the ship. Steeling myself for what I might find below deck, I grit my teeth and slip through the door.

The oil lamp casts shadows on the stairwell, making it look a little spooky. At the bottom, I reach a dead end. The hallway stretches to the left and right. I pause on the bottom step, wondering which way Henrik went.

If he’s down here at all. Maybe he changed his mind.

My hands begin to sweat as I turn to the left and walk the hall, peeking into dark room after dark room. They appear to be more cabins, though these might be more run-down than the ones above, if that’s possible.

Quietly, I close another door and continue forward, a little jumpy. It’s like a ghost ship down here, full of broken, unwanted cargo and memories from a time long past. I almost feel as if someone is watching me.

“Don’t be so fanciful,” I whisper to myself.

I’m just about to give up and go the other way when I spot a light shining from underneath a closed door at the end of the long hallway.

My pulse quickens, and I hurry to the room. I draw in a calming breath before I quietly knock on the door. Moments later, it swings open, causing me to take several steps back.

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