Page 72 of Fall of the Ember Throne (Crown and Crest 3)

Her eyes flick to Henrik, and she gives me a sad sort of smile. “I’d like that.”

As I leave, I glance back into the room, unable to help myself. Henrik looks up, his expression giving away nothing as he meets my eyes.

And yet, my stomach flutters, and I leave in far better spirits than when I arrived.

* * *

I knockon the swiveling wall panel that separates Lawrence’s bedchamber from mine. As I hoped, my request goes unanswered, which means Lawrence is either still with his council, or he’s already preparing for bed in the guest room and didn’t hear me knock.

Gingerly, I push through the panel, poking my head in the crack before I go any farther. A fire crackles in the screened hearth. Do the maids realize Lawrence sleeps in a different room?

“Lawrence?” I whisper quietly. “Are you in here?”

When there’s no answer, I fist my hand with triumph and tiptoe into the room, quietly closing the panel behind me. I then hurry to the door that leads to His Majesty’s balcony and slip into the cool spring night. I shiver under my heavy cloak, wondering when the evenings will be as pleasant as the days.

From the balcony, I climb a pillar that conveniently stands near a window in the study in the floor above—a window I made sure was unlocked earlier in the day. My own balcony has no handy architectural features to make use of.

I sneak through the dark room and into the hall, feeling very smug. Perhaps instead of a princess, I should be a shadow rogue. Laughing to myself, I reach for the daggers at my hip, letting their presence soothe a few nagging reservations.

But I know the castle well, and most people are asleep at this hour. The oil lamps burn low, offering just enough light to see by and casting dark shadows as I hurry through the halls and down several winding sets of stairs.

A few minutes later, I slip through a servants’ entrance and into the garden near the laundry quarters. Now that the weather is nice, the maids have been bringing the linens outside again. Forgotten bedsheets hang from the lines, fluttering in the gentle breeze like ghosts under the light of the sister moons.

I pause for just a moment to breathe in the blossoming snowstar bushes that grow nearby. The froths of white flowers herald in the season, blooming before the other bushes wake.

After I take a few seconds to get my bearings in the dark, I push forward, hastily making my way through the sleeping garden. This time of year, no one bothers to light the torches. In the summer, they burn down the pathways, welcoming people to stroll through the gardens even in the middle of the night.

I get turned around a few times, not accustomed to walking the paths without light, but eventually, I find the meeting place. The garden is overgrown here, the plants thick and left to their own devices. Evergreens grow tall and wide, creating shadows the moons’ light cannot penetrate.

The fountain is a sad sight, abandoned and alone—a High Vale relic no one has bothered to refurbish. The white, crumbling stones reflect an eerie glow in the night, and old leaves litter its basin. I run my hand along the rough, pitted edge of the empty pool, imagining it when it was new.

A rustle in the nearby bushes startles me, and I turn toward the shadows. My hand immediately strays to one of my daggers.

“Hen—” I begin to whisper, and then I stop myself when I realize it’s best not to say his name aloud.

Suddenly, a hand falls on my shoulder. I unsheathe my dagger and turn in one smooth movement.

My heart beats at a frantic pace, and I exhale sharply as I drop my weapon. Henrik wears a dark cloak, and his face is shadowed by the hood.

But I would know him anywhere.

“What are you doing?” I demand. “I could have killed you.”

He tips his head back as he chuckles. The moonlight shines on the commander’s face, betraying how amused he is by my jumpiness. Then he takes my hand, drawing us into the shadows. “I’d like to think I could protect myself against a lady-in-waiting.”

My pulse continues to race, but it’s no longer from the shock. Henrik doesn’t release my hand, and his body blocks me from the chill of the night. I want to wrap up in him and never let go.

I return my dagger to my hip and say scathingly, “I’m a princess now.”

“I’m aware.” He shifts in place as if he wants to move closer but doesn’t dare. “Though I don’t particularly like it.”

“I promised Lawrence I wouldn’t bring shame upon the crown,” I murmur as I set my fingertips against his chest, testing myself, testing Henrik.

His voice dark and rough, he says, “Then you shouldn’t touch me like that.”

I press my hand flat, spreading my fingers over his cloak. “You misunderstood. That doesn’t mean we must part—it means we must not getcaught.”

“Clover…”

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