Knight from the Ashes by Shari L. Tapscott
Clover
“You’re in for it,”Calla says when she catches up to me in the hall. She straightens her bodice as if it twisted out of place while she was hurrying after me, though with the way we’re cinched into these things, it would take more than a quickened pace to move them.
I smile at my friend. “What did I do this time?”
Calla shakes her head. “You truly have no idea, do you?”
Laughing, I parrot, “I truly have no idea.”
“That odd thing that happened between you and Henrik—don’t bother playing stupid. The entire court saw it.”
“What thing?” I pause in the hall, giving her my full attention. “What are you talking about?”
“You held the door for that boy, and then you and Henrik stared at each other for the longest time. Camellia is livid. Her face turned red—she looked like she swallowed a toad.”
“Oh, that,” I say, losing interest. It really doesn’t take much to get the princess in a tizzy. “He was giving me an awful look. Believe me, it was nothing even marginally interesting.”
“Did you want it to be?” she asks, lowering her voice.
I frown. “What do you mean?”
Calla rolls her eyes and then whispers, “I mean, do you like Henrik?”
I wrinkle my nose and bark out an incredulous laugh. “No, I don’t. Camellia is welcome to him.”
We continue walking, and Calla idly runs her fingers through her long, blonde curls. “Then you’re the only woman at court who doesn’t.” Dreamily, she adds, “What I would do to get that man to look at me.”
“Try locking yourself in a tower and screaming for help. Henrik will do anything to get his seal.”
She flashes me a stern look. “You’re cold, you know that?”
I bump her shoulder with mine. “I’m only teasing. But you must admit Henrik is solemn all the time. I have no idea how Camellia kisses him. It would be like locking lips with a fish.”
“Ladies,” a man says from directly behind us.
Calla gasps, and I whirl around.
My eyes lock with Henrik’s, and shame washes over me. I hadn’t meant to be unkind, not really. At least not to the soldier’s face…which probably doesn’t make it any better now that I think about it.
Henrik looks thoroughly unimpressed, and I’m worried Calla is going to faint right here. I grasp hold of her arm, hoping to keep her upright.
He gives me a sharp nod, the barest of respectful gestures, and then he passes us.
I very much want to slink under the plush red carpet.
“Clover,” Calla breathes after Henrik turns a corner. “I’ve never been so mortified in my life.”
“How was I supposed to know he was behind us?” I rub the middle of my chest, trying to work the embarrassment away. “I thought he was still with the king.”
She shakes her head. “I left right after he was dismissed, but I had no idea he came this way.”
“Oh well,” I say with a shrug. “Henrik can cry to Camellia, and she will have just one more reason to hate me. That will make her happy, don’t you think?”
Looking like she’s trying not to laugh, Calla nods. “Yes, most likely. Hating you is one of the princess’s favorite pastimes.”
* * *
The knightsand archers who have gathered around me howl with laughter when my arrow hits the target almost dead center of the bullseye. Resting the end of my bow on the ground, I smugly watch the fletching tremble before it finally goes still. Then I turn to Gavriel. “I believe I win. Again.”
“Bested by a woman,” Danhugh says to my opponent, slapping him on the back. “We’ve been here half an hour. It’s time to admit defeat, my friend.”
“No shame when the woman is your sister,” Gavriel answers smoothly. He extends his hand as if making a lecture. “Clover’s great skill is a testament to my fine teaching skills.”
I snort, rolling my eyes. Leave it to Gavriel to twist my win into one of his own.
“Because we had nothing to do with Clover’s training,” Denny says to Colter.
The pair stand near me in the crowd, laughing at our older brother’s narcissism.
Father says it’s impossible to miss that we four are related. I am slender, and my brothers are tall and lean, with frames that were gangly when they were youths but they thankfully grew into. We have the same mischievous smile and sandy brown hair that lightens to blonde in the summer. We also inherited Mother’s spring green, vaguely almond-shaped eyes that betray there’s likely High Vale elf somewhere in our lineage.
Besides the princess, no one in court has ever dared taunt or tease me—I have my own familial bodyguards right here. Call it a perk of being born last.
Granted, my brothers are slightly overprotective, but they mean well.
I smile at Denny and Colter, acknowledging that they too had a hand in my success, and then I turn my eyes toward the arch that separates the practice yard from the rest of the bailey.
Prince Lawrence walks into the courtyard with Miguel, one of His Majesty’s sealed knights.
Standing straighter, I turn back to Gavriel. “One more time,” I urge. “Let’s see if you can redeem yourself. This next shot for the win.”
My brother readily accepts the challenge. He nudges me out of the way and nocks an arrow into his bow.
The crowd parts for Lawrence, thinking nothing of his presence. The prince is often in the practice yard.
Gavriel shoots, and the shot is a good one. His arrow pierces the target, edging just inside the centermost red circle.
Feeling Lawrence’s eyes on me, I line up to the target, prepare my arrow, and draw back. Stilling my breath, I shoot…
And miss.
My arrow lands just outside the bullseye.
My crowd of admirers groans, and I let my head fall back.
Despite his bluster from a few minutes ago about relishing how skilled an archery tutor he is, Gavriel raises his brows at me, looking quietly pleased.
“It’s all right, Clover,” Danhugh says, setting his arm across my shoulders, perhaps thinking I need consoled. “We all saw you trounce him.”
Gavriel shoots his friend a stony look of warning, and Danhugh immediately removes his arm.
Sensing the match is finally over, our audience filters away. Miguel excuses himself, and Lawrence nods absently as the knight leaves. The prince, however, remains nearby as if waiting for the crowd to clear.
Quietly, Denny says to me, “I know you’re friends, but be cautious of him, Clover,”
“Go away,” I hiss.
It’s not the first time one of my brothers has voiced the warning, and I’m certain it won’t be the last. But I’m not a fool—I know what kind of philanderer Lawrence is. If I walk into his trap, it will be with my eyes wide open.
Once Denny is gone, Lawrence ambles toward me. The man is wickedly handsome, with thick, light reddish-brown hair that falls past his shoulders and warm honey-brown eyes. Every time I look at him, my heart gives an extra thump—not necessarily because I’m besotted, but because he holds the thing I want most in life.
A crown.
And while some might think it’s the prestigious position itself that I covet, they would be wrong. My ambitions are rooted in one small hope—once I make myself queen, I will finally outrank Camellia.
It’s a petty thing, perhaps. But I yearn for it all the same.
All my life, I’ve answered to the horrid princess. When we were children, I was forced to play dolls with her and the other unlucky girls, and she would lord over us like a wicked empress. If we didn’t like her game, she would throw tea on our dresses and cry until someone removed us from her sight.
She’s not any better now, though her tantrums are a bit subtler.
It was a dark day when I turned fourteen and was officially chosen as one of her ladies. After all these years, it’s time I hold a little power over her. And if Lawrence is the key to making my dream a reality, then I’m going to snare myself a prince.
“That was a fine show,” Lawrence says, following me as I walk to the target to retrieve my arrow.
The day is warm, and the sun shines down on the courtyard, heating the stones and making it feel like mid-summer. But the smell of autumn is in the air, with the scent of meat curing in the castle smokehouses, and the breeze is cool. Our pleasant days are numbered.
Soon, I’ll be trapped in the castle with Camellia for the long, dreaded winter.
“Sadly, you missed most of it,” I say.
“I was watching from the wall.” Lawrence offers me a knowing smile. “You didn’t miss until I joined you. Do I make you nervous, Clover?”
I smile prettily and look away as if embarrassed, pretending the question is rhetorical.
But as I feign Besotted Girl, I notice Henrik from the corner of my eye. The soldier is rarely in this section of the bailey, as he prefers blades to bows. He pauses, his attention momentarily captured by Lawrence and me. Then, with an enigmatic expression I cannot read, he continues to the gatehouse.
Lawrence follows my gaze and groans. “Don’t tell me you’re taken with him, too?”
“Taken with whom?” I ask, turning my attention back to him.
“Henrik the Stoic, the Mannered, the Valiant. The Dull as Dirt. Choose any title you like.”
I laugh and pull the arrow from the target. “I only have eyes for one man, and he’s not Henrik.”
“You know I’m good at keeping secrets.” Lawrence edges closer. “Tell me who it is.”
Turning my gaze on him, I play coy. “If I were to tell you, it would be a secret from him no longer.”
With his eyes locked on mine, Lawrence presses a hand over his heart. “You must not say things like that, Lady Clover, for I will jump to conclusions and be heartbroken if I learn it isn’t so.”
And though I’m trying to play the part of a doe-eyed girl, I can’t help but snort. He’s too much sometimes.
“Ah, there’s the Clover I know and adore,” Lawrence says, abundantly amused. He leans against the wall, crossing his arms. “Make my day; tell me you love me.”
“Why?” With the arrow in my hand, I press my palms to my hips. “Do you secretly pine for me, Lawrence? Have you been waiting to confess all this time, but fear of rejection has held you back?”
“Just admit it—three little words. Say you love me.”
“What’s not to love?”
He grins, enjoying the banter. “You tease, but I am well aware you only want me for my title.”
“Figured it out, have you?”
“And I only want you for your wit.” His smile morphs into a frown, and he slowly drifts his eyes over me and pushes away from the wall. He takes two languid steps forward, catching me by the waist. “And your eyes and your lips and your—”
“Careful,” I warn. But because we’re alone for the moment, I don’t bother to push him away.
“When, exactly, did you become so delectable, Clover?”
“About the same time you started chasing everyone’s skirts but mine.”
Lawrence raises his brows, intrigued, and then he lowers his voice suggestively. “Would you like me to chase your skirt, Clover?”
Laughing, I step out of his arms. “I see a flaw in my grand plan.”
“And what’s that?”
“If I marry you for your crown…I would have to be married to you.”
He drops his arms, releasing me. “Your words gut me like a knife.”
“I’m sure,” I say, laughing.
“Clover!” screeches Camellia from across the practice yard.
“She’s found me,” I deadpan as we watch Lawrence’s sister hasten to us.
Sunlight shines upon Camellia’s warm blonde hair, making it glisten like spun gold. The agitated sway of her hips catches the attention of several guards on the inner wall, proving that Henrik is not the only man blind to the princess’s many, many shortcomings.
“Are you not one of my ladies-in-waiting?” Camellia demands when she reaches me. Her blue eyes bore into me like glittering daggers, but I’m familiar with her agitation. She places her hands on her hips. “Tell me, are you supposed to be attending my brother or me?”
“Choose me,” Lawrence says under his breath. “I’m more fun.”
I bow my head and fight the impulse to laugh. “My apologies, Your Highness.”
“Come along,” she commands, already turning back the way she came. “I need you to stand for the dressmaker. You know how I hate wasting my day while the clumsy girl stabs me with her pins.”
“Lucky you,” Lawrence says when Camellia is a safe distance away. “You’re nearly the same size as my sister.”
“It’s not as bad as it sounds.” I drop my voice. “Minda only stabs Camellia.”
“As she should.” Lawrence chuckles. “We must take those golden opportunities as they arise.”
Camellia’s dulcet tones reach me once more. “Clover!”
“If you’ll excuse me,” I say to Lawrence with a sigh, already starting for the castle.
Before I go, my friend catches my arm, smirking. “If you need comfort when the ordeal is finished, you know where to find me.”
“Yes, I’ll just knock on all the girls’ doors. I’ll eventually discover the right one.”
Laughing, Lawrence shakes his head. “You wound me, Clover.”
Smirking, I hurry after Camellia.