Page 89 of Rise of the Phoenix King (Crown and Crest 4)

“High Vale rings,” she says quietly, her eyes glossy with emotion. “Connected with magic. A blessing of my people and my gift to you.”

“Thank you, Audra,” Clover murmurs.

She nods, stepping back.

“Henrik, you may kiss your bride,” the bishop says once the ceremony is complete.

I step forward, taking Clover’s chin gently in my hand. Before I can kiss her, she stands on her toes, pressing her mouth to mine, smiling against my lips at my surprise.

“You’re finally mine,” she whispers when we part.

“I’ve been yours since you showed up on my supply run,” I tell her quietly. “Only now, it’s official.”

21

CLOVER

I shouldn’t be nervous.My heart shouldn’t stutter as Henrik unlocks the doors to our new suite of rooms.

Lawrence said it was about time Henrik started acting like a duke, and he wouldn’t hear of us spending our first night in the barracks. We’re in the royal wing, in our own hall.

Lamps burn on the entry tables, welcoming us inside. I scan the space, taking it in: plush, cream-colored upholstery, dark wooden floors instead of stone, heavy furniture with ornate details.

I draw a calming breath, pressing my hand to my stomach to coax the butterflies to be still.

It doesn’t work.

Henrik comes up behind me, setting his hands on my arms. Quietly, he says, “This has all been very sudden. Please don’t feel like we have to—”

“If you finish that sentence, I cannot be held accountable for how badly I maim you.”

He lets out a startled laugh. My breath catches as he runs his finger down my arm, my heart beating faster as he toys with the decorative stitching on my sleeve.

I was married in the court dress I was in when Henrik came to see me earlier. It’s lovely enough, but not as nice as the one I wore the first time we almost married—and certainly not as ornate as the gown I wore when I was expected to marry Lawrence.

Henrik traces the embroidered vines back up, pausing when he reaches the dropped neckline that leaves my shoulders bare.

I shiver when his finger trails from the sleeve to my skin. His touch is warm and so featherlight, it gives me goosebumps. He pauses when he reaches my neck and then pushes my hair aside. His lips replace his finger, kissing their way up my shoulder, following the neckline around my back.

Each soft kiss tugs at my heart. Heat kindles in my chest and spreads, warming my stomach and limbs. My mouth goes dry as he presses his lips between my shoulder blades, just above the fabric’s edge. I swallow, trying to control my breathing.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs.

I shiver, knowing he can tell how he’s affecting me.

Setting his hands on my waist, he turns me slowly. Our eyes meet and hold, and my heart races.

Henrik drops his hand to the curve of my hip. I lift my face as he steps in. We come together, our lips teasing, each kiss feather-soft and building with sweet anticipation.

I let my hands rove up his trim abdomen, over the chiseled muscles of his chest and shoulders, and then I run my finger over the top button of his doublet.

Henrik breaks the kiss, looking down. I unbutton it, and then I move to the second. He swallows, his throat moving with the movement as I continue down.

Once I’ve finished, he pulls the garment free, tossing it onto a nearby chair. The doublet is followed by his shirt.

I stare at him, drinking my fill. He’s beautiful. Henrik’s breath grows labored as I set the flat of my palm over his heart. His pulse thrums, the pace fast and steady.

There’s an inch-long scar at the bottom-left of his rib cage, and I touch it. “What’s this from?”

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