Page 9 of Forged in Cursed Flames (Crown and Crest 2)

I stand to the side of the yard as Pranmore walks to Henrik, noticing the way the elf garners curious looks from the soldiers. After all, it’s not every day you see a Woodmore in the practice yards, and Pranmore is hard to miss.

“Who isthat?” a woman says from my side, taking me by surprise.

I turn, startled to find Minda, the royal seamstress and Camellia’s personal dressmaker.

“Oh, hello, Minda,” I say, deciding that I am perhaps wrong—maybe Woodmores are more common than I realized. “What are you doing out here?”

The shy Woodmore elf is usually in her workroom or the tea garden, rarely venturing into the “rowdy” sections of the castle.

But here she is. Her eyes are on Pranmore, and she absently runs her hand down the side of her freckled jaw. She spares me a brief, guilty look before she says, “I saw you in the hall and followed you.”

“Why?” I ask, amused despite my frazzled nerves.

“Well…he’s rather handsome, isn’t he?” She laughs softly, a little embarrassed.

“Pranmore?” I exclaim.

I mean, yes, he is handsome. I just prefer my men with a little more meat on their bones. And maybe a little less antler to accidentally gouge me in my eye.

But to each their own.

“Pranmore? Is that his name?” she asks. “What’s he doing here?”

“He’s sworn himself to Henrik. The commander saved his life in the Furlaskin Ruins when he was attacked by an aynauth.”

Minda draws in a breath and presses a hand to her chest like a damsel in distress. “Did he truly? It’s such an old Woodmore tradition, many believe it to be archaic. He must be a valiant man.”

Suppressing a laugh, I ask, “Would you like me to introduce you?”

She turns to me abruptly, lips parted, looking like I slapped her. “No.”

“Are you sure?” I ask. “He’s got nice spots, and that looks like a mighty fine rack of antlers to me.”

“Clover!” She blushes deep red as she looks around to make sure no one overheard. “You shouldn’t say such things.”

I shrug, not thinking it was all that bad. Pranmoredoeshave nice spots, and compared to other Woodmore men I’ve seen, his antlers are impressive. What’s the problem?

“Oh, he and Henrik are coming this way,” Minda squeaks, sounding more like a mouse than a deer. “What should I do?”

When she tries to flee, I grasp hold of her arm. But Pranmore’s new admirer is the least of my concerns because the commander’s eyes are on mine, and every step he takes toward me makes it harder to breathe. I’m afraid I’ll pass out before he gets here.

But by some miracle, I’m still breathing when Henrik stops only a yard away, giving me his full attention for the first time in days.

“Pranmore,” I say breathlessly, my eyes still locked on Henrik’s. “This is Minda. She loves plants, like you. Why don’t you take a walk with her in the tea garden?”

“Clover!” Minda hisses under her breath.

I shove the poor girl toward Pranmore. “Go on—be hospitable.”

Minda flashes me a look that says I’m going to pay for this later, but I don’t care. Now that I have Henrik, I want him alone.

Right now.

Without giving myself time to think, I grab the soldier’s hand and tug him toward the back of the castle.

“But Clover…” Pranmore calls, sounding stupefied. “You said…”

Oh, right. I need him.

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