Page 14 of The Orc's Princess Bride
The crowd erupted in cheers.
“These are dangerous times. Our borders must be secured. I will ride with our warriors on the next patrol along the cliff route. Together, we will defend Norhaven against all enemies.”
The response was deafening, a tide of fervor sweeping through the crowd. Jessamin smiled approvingly, but he could see the curiosity in her eyes. His perceptive little bride knew that there was something odd about his announcement, even if she didn’t know what.
Wulf was not as successful in hiding his concern but he ignored the grim look on his friend’s face. He turned away from them both, focusing on his people. This was his duty. His responsibility.
Let the traitor know he was coming. He would find him, root him out, and ensure Jessamin’s safety—even if it meant walking straight into his trap.
Tomorrow, he would ride out to meet the threat head-on, whatever the cost.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Did you hear that the king is riding the cliff patrol route himself tomorrow?” The whispered words floated through the corridor, hushed and fearful, and Jessamin froze mid-step, her hand tightening on the fabric of her skirt. The two servants hadn’t noticed her, their heads bent close together as they continued down the hallway.
“After the rockslide last month? He’s tempting fate.”
“Or hunting traitors.”
Rockslide? Traitors?Their voices faded, but the cold dread they’d planted remained, spreading through her chest like frost across a windowpane. Was that why he had made that announcement earlier? She’d known something was wrong, but she hadn’t imagined that there were traitors in his household.
And Ulric intended to lure them out himself.
She’d heard the whispers as they left the arena, that the cliff route was the most treacherous path in Norhaven, winding along narrow mountain ledges where one misstep meant certain death. She’d been concerned, but she’d also witnessed Ulric’sstrength and agility firsthand, and she had a great deal of faith in his skills. But if there was treachery involved, it became something else entirely.
She told herself her dread was simply a queen’s concern for her king. That any ruler would worry about their kingdom being left without its leader. That her racing heart and the hollow feeling in her stomach were perfectly reasonable reactions to political uncertainty.
It was a lie.
The truth burned beneath her composed exterior: she couldn’t bear the thought of him in danger. Not Ulric with his golden eyes and rare, transformative smile. Not the male who had brought her back after her poisoning, whose hands had steadied her on her first riding lesson, who’d brought her such shocking, unexpected pleasure.
Before she could make a conscious decision, she found her feet carrying her towards the armory. The heavy wooden door stood ajar, lamplight spilling into the corridor. Inside, Ulric stood alone at a workbench, his broad shoulders hunched as he methodically checked his gear. His fingers moved with the ease of long experience over leather straps and metal buckles, testing each for weakness.
The sight of him—so focused, so utterly unaware of her presence—made her heart clench. He looked invincible in the lamplight, his green skin burnished to bronze, his tusks gleaming. But the scars on his forearms told a different story—even kings could bleed.
“Must you go yourself?” The words escaped before she could prevent them.
His hands stilled, but he didn’t turn. “You should be resting, my queen.”
“As should you, if you’re to ride tomorrow.” She stepped into the room and let the door swing closed behind her. “Why not send your captains? Surely they’re capable.”
“It’s my duty.” His voice was flat and emotionless as he resumed his inspection, testing the edge of a dagger with his thumb.
“Your duty is to stay alive for your kingdom.” She moved closer, trying to catch his eye. “Norhaven needs its king.”
“Norhaven needs security.” He still wouldn’t look at her. “I need to see the route myself.”
“Why?” The question came out sharper than she intended. “What can you possibly see that your warriors cannot?”
Finally, he turned. His golden eyes met hers, but they were distant, as if he were looking through her rather than at her. “I have my reasons.”
The dismissal in his tone felt like a punch to her stomach. Even though he’d retreated after their shared moment on horseback, she’d thought—hoped—that something had changed between them. But here he was, shutting her out again, treating her like a child to be placated rather than a queen to be consulted.
She stared at him, frustration warring with concern. He had retreated behind that stern mask, but she could see the tension in the set of his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched when she pressed him. Something more was at stake here—she felt it in her bones.
“Tell me,” she insisted. “Please. As your queen. As your wife.”
He turned away, picking up a saddle strap and running it through his hands. “There are reports of suspicious movement in the mountains. I need to assess it personally.”
