Page 25 of The Orc's Princess Bride
“The king had a… difficult night,” she said carefully. “But he is resting now.”
Elspeth’s eyes widened slightly, taking in Jessamin’s disheveled appearance—her loose hair, her rumpled nightdress. A faint blush colored her cheeks.
“I’m glad to hear it, Your Majesty.” She hesitated, then reached into the pocket of her robe. “This is the other reason I came to you. A messenger from your father arrived while you were… attending the king. He insisted this be delivered to you immediately.”
Elspeth pressed the folded parchment into her hand. “He said it was urgent, Your Majesty.”
The parchment was sealed with her father’s official seal—the golden sun and sword of Almohad embossed in red wax. The sight of it sent a pang of homesickness through her, quickly followed by concern. What could be so urgent that her father would insist on a message being delivered to her in the middle of the night?
“Thank you, Elspeth.” She clutched the letter tightly. “You may return to your rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Should I wait for a response?”
“No. Whatever it is can wait until morning.”
Elspeth hesitated for a moment, then curtseyed again. “Of course, Your Majesty. Sleep well.”
She watched her lady-in-waiting hurry away down the corridor and closed the door behind her. The fire in her sitting room had died to embers, casting the room in a soft, golden glow. She sat at her small writing desk and broke the seal with trembling fingers.
The letter was written in her father’s familiar hand, the elegant script a comfort in this strange land. But as she read, that comfort transformed into cold, creeping horror.
My dearest daughter,
I pray this finds you well. I write with heavy heart but clear purpose. High King Lasseran has approached me with terms for peace between our kingdoms. His demands are many, but reasonable when weighed against the alternative of continued bloodshed.
He asks only for your safe return to Almohad and the wisdom of compliance from Norhaven in certain matters of trade and governance. In exchange, he will lift the blockade and restore our trade routes.
I know you have formed attachments in your new home, but I implore you to consider the greater good. Lasseran’s power grows daily, and I fear what will become of us all should we continue to resist.
A loyal servant awaits your response in the lower chambers. Send word of your decision, and arrangements will be made for your safe passage home.
With all my love and concern,
Your Father
She stared at the parchment,her blood running cold with confusion and horror. This couldn’t be from her father. The Priest King she knew would never bow to Lasseran’s demands, would never suggest she abandon her husband and her duty for political expediency.
And yet, the handwriting was unmistakably his. The seal was perfect. Even the phrasing—“with heavy heart but clear purpose”—was one of his favorite expressions.
She read it again, her mind racing. “Reasonable terms” from Lasseran? “The wisdom of compliance”? It was as if a stranger had written these words, not the father who had raised her to value honor and duty above all else.
A servant waiting for her response… in the lower chambers. Her skin crawled at the thought. Who was this “loyal servant”? And what did they truly want from her?
The letter trembled in her hands. Something was terribly wrong. This message, coming on the heels of the intimacy she had just shared with Ulric, felt like a violation. A shadow cast over the fragile, precious trust they had built.
She should go to him now, wake him and show him the letter. But he was finally resting peacefully after his nightmare. And what if the letter was genuine? What if her father truly had capitulated to Lasseran’s demands? The implications horrified her.
She set the parchment down on her desk, her mind whirling with questions. The seal was real. The handwriting was her father’s. But the message… the message felt wrong, a discordant note in a familiar melody.
The father who had sent her to Norhaven to protect her from Lasseran would never write such things. He would die before suggesting she return to the very danger he had sought to shield her from.
Unless… unless something had happened to change his mind. Unless Lasseran had found some leverage, some threat too terrible to resist.
Or unless this letter was a forgery, a masterful one designed to lure her into a trap.
She pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to think through the fog of emotional exhaustion. She needed to be clear-headed, to consider all possibilities. The stakes were too high for hasty decisions.
One thing was certain—she would not respond to this “loyal servant” tonight. Not until she had spoken with Ulric, shown him the letter, sought his counsel. Whatever this was, they would face it together, as king and queen, as husband and wife.
