Page 15 of The Orc's Princess Bride
His tone was matter-of-fact, but the way he avoided her eyes spoke volumes. There was more to it; she was sure of it. She moved closer, close enough to touch his arm.
“Ulric,” she said softly. “I’m not some fragile flower to be sheltered. If there is a threat, I deserve to know.”
For a long moment, he said nothing. The only sounds were the crackle of the torches and their breathing—hers quick and shallow, his slow and deliberate.
When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. “I believe someone sabotaged the last patrol.”
Her stomach clenched. So that was why the servants had mentioned traitors. “Sabotage,” she echoed. “How?”
“The rockslide that killed our warriors and their mounts. It was no accident.” His expression darkened. “It was deliberate.”
The cold dread returned, creeping up her spine. No wonder he was so tense, so insistent on going himself. But it didn’t make his decision any less dangerous.
“Then you definitely should not be the one to go,” she argued. “If someone is willing to kill your warriors, what makes you think they won’t strike at you?”
Something flickered across his face before he shrugged.
“Forewarned is forearmed. But I need to know what we are facing.”
“And if they’re successful?” She stepped in front of him, forcing him to look at her. “What happens to Norhaven then?”
To us, was the unspoken implication. Because despite everything, there was an ‘us’ now. She’d felt it the moment they’d met, even if she hadn’t recognized it at first. And even if he had retreated since then, she had felt it on that horse, the connection between them. The bond he was too stubborn to acknowledge.
He studied her, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he lifted his hand to brush a strand of hair from her cheek. The gesture was so unexpected, so tender, that it nearly took her breath away.
“I will return,” he murmured, his fingers lingering at the edge of her jaw. “I swear it. Nothing will stop me from coming back to you.”
Her heart fluttered in her chest. She wanted to believe him, but she’d seen firsthand the devastation treachery could bring. She couldn’t shake the fear that this was a mistake, that he was placing himself in needless danger.
She opened her mouth to protest, but before she could speak, his lips covered hers. The kiss was gentle, almost chaste, but it sent a jolt of warmth through her all the same.
“Trust me,” he whispered against her mouth. “I must do this. For Norhaven. For us.”
She wanted to protest, to argue, to demand he see reason. But the look in his eyes, the raw determination and the glimmer of something deeper, silenced her objections. Nothing she could say would change his mind.
“Of course.” She stepped back, her spine straightening. “Forgive me for concerning myself with matters beyond my understanding.”
A flicker of something—regret, perhaps—crossed his face, but it was gone before she could be certain. “Jessamin?—”
“Your Majesty.” She dipped into a perfect, formal curtsy. “I wish you safe travels.”
She turned and left before he could see the sting of tears in her eyes. Her throat burned with unspoken words. With fear. With anger at his stubborn pride. With the terrible knowledge that if something happened to him on that mountain, a piece of her would die with him.
Back in her chambers, she paced the length of her sitting room, her fingers worrying the edge of her sleeve. She felt helpless, a sensation she despised. In Almohad, she’d had influence, connections, a lifetime of understanding the intricate dance of court politics. Here in Norhaven, she was still finding her footing, still learning the steps.
The door opened, and Elspeth entered, carrying a tea tray. Her face softened with concern when she saw Jessamin’s agitation.
“Your Majesty?” She set the tray down. “What troubles you?”
She hesitated, then surrendered to the need to speak her fears aloud. “The king rides with the cliff patrol tomorrow.”
“Ah.” Elspeth’s voice was a well of sympathy. “After what happened to the last patrol? That seems… unnecessarily reckless.”
“He won’t listen to reason.” She sank into a chair, suddenly exhausted. “He pushes me away at every turn.”
Elspeth poured the tea with practiced grace, the fragrant steam rising between them. “Perhaps he doesn’t trust a southern woman’s counsel, my queen.” She handed Jessamin the delicate cup. “The orcs are… different from us. They respect strength above all else. Subtlety is lost on them.”
The words echoed her own darkest fears—that she would never truly belong here, never be more than a foreign ornament. Yet something in Elspeth’s tone made her bristle.
