Page 11 of The Orc's Princess Bride
“Captain Grak. I wasn’t informed of this change.” She kept her voice neutral, though her mind raced. Had yesterday’s intimacy meant nothing to Ulric?
“The king has pressing matters to attend to,” Grak replied, his tone flat. “He felt I would be adequate for basic instruction.”
Adequate. The word felt like a dismissal. She swallowed the hurt and nodded. “Then let us begin.”
The lesson proceeded with none of yesterday’s electricity. Grak was competent but distant, explaining techniques with military precision. He never touched her—directing her to the mounting block to mount and instructing her from the ground rather than joining her in the saddle. The morning stretched endlessly, the excitement of yesterday replaced by mechanical repetition.
When they finally paused for a rest, her muscles ached and her spirits had sunk to her boots. She dismounted with as much grace as she could muster, though her legs trembled from the unaccustomed exercise.
“You show promise, Your Majesty,” Grak offered, the closest thing to warmth she’d heard from him. “With practice, you will master it.”
She managed a smile. “Thank you, Captain.”
A light voice called from beyond the fence. “Your Majesty! I’ve brought refreshment.”
Elspeth, one of her Almohadi ladies-in-waiting, approached with a silver tray bearing a pitcher and goblet. She was a thin older woman with greying auburn hair and clever hazel eyes, always quick with a smile or helpful suggestion.
“You looked parched from here,” Elspeth said, pouring cool water infused with mint. “Such dedication to your training!”
She accepted the drink gratefully. “Thank you, Elspeth.”
Grak bowed. “I will check the saddle girth, Your Majesty. We will continue when you are ready.”
As he walked away, Elspeth sighed dramatically. “Such a harsh taskmaster. And on such a brisk morning! The king couldn’t spare an hour from his important business for his own wife?”
She tensed at the implied criticism. “As you say, the king has important business.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.” Elspeth’s voice dropped to a confidential murmur. “Still, it must be difficult for you. The court here is so… primitive compared to Almohad. Your father’s palace was a place of true civilization.”
She took another sip, discomfort creeping up her spine. “Norhaven has its own kind of nobility.”
“Oh, certainly,” Elspeth agreed quickly. “There’s a certain… rugged charm to it all. Though I imagine you miss the refinement sometimes. The music, the poetry.” She glanced toward Grak. “King Ulric is a powerful man, but so… stern. It must be trying to never see him smile.”
“He smiles,” she found herself saying, the words emerging before she could stop them. “When something truly pleases him.”
Elspeth raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure you would know better than I, Your Majesty.”
“The orcs have endured much,” she continued, surprising herself with the heat in her voice. “They fight daily against a curse that would destroy lesser people. Their strength isn’t just in their bodies but in their spirits.”
“Your Majesty is very generous to see it that way.” Elspeth bowed her head, her tone carefully neutral.
“It isn’t generous to acknowledge the truth,” she replied, handing back the empty goblet. “Thank you for the water.”
Throughout the remainder of the lesson, Elspeth’s words echoed in her mind. Not because they rang true, but because they tapped into her deepest insecurities—that she was too soft for this harsh land, that Ulric thought she belonged in her southern palace.
The thought spurred her to push herself harder. When Grak suggested they end the lesson, she insisted on continuing until she could properly control the massive horse at a trot. By the time they finished, her muscles screamed in protest, but satisfaction warmed her chest.
Back in her chambers, she ordered a hot bath, letting the scented water ease her aching body. So far her goal to prove herself worthy of Norhaven seemed to be working, but it would require more than just riding a warhorse. There had to be other areas where she could prove her value, not just as a political bride, but as a true queen.
After dressing, she made her way to the steward’s office. “I wish to review the ledgers for the brides’ dowries and supplies,” she announced.
The elderly steward blinked in surprise. “Your Majesty?”
“I have experience with household management from my father’s court,” she explained. “I should familiarize myself with Norhaven’s resources.”
He couldn’t refuse a direct request from the queen. Soon, she was ensconced in a small study, surrounded by ledgers and inventory lists. This, at least, was familiar territory. Her father had insisted she learn the practical aspects of running a kingdom, not just the ornamental skills expected of a princess.
She worked throughout the afternoon, meticulously checking figures against inventories. The work was absorbing, giving her a sense of purpose and control that had been lacking since her arrival.
