Page 32 of The Orc's Princess Bride
When no response came, he tested the door. It was unlocked. Pushing it open cautiously, he stepped into her chambers.
The room was empty, but not abandoned. Her things remained—her books, her clothing, the small trinkets she had brought from Almohad. The scent of her lingered in the air, that intoxicating blend of wildflowers and sunlight that had haunted his dreams.
Relief flooded him. At least she hadn’t fled. But where was she?
A movement caught his eye—the curtain to the balcony stirring in the breeze. He crossed the room in three long strides and pushed the drape aside.
She stood on the balcony, her back to him, her hands gripping the stone balustrade. Her hair, freed from its braids, tumbled down her back in waves of honey gold. She’d even replaced the green gown with a plain white one. His heart ached as herealized she had removed all of her previous attempts to show that she belonged as his queen.
She didn’t turn at his approach, though he knew she must have heard him.
“Jessamin,” he said quietly.
Her shoulders stiffened, but she didn’t speak.
“Your father’s envoy arrived,” he continued, the words spilling out in a desperate rush. “He told me everything—about Lasseran, about why you were sent here. I know why you knew that letter couldn’t have come from your father. I understand now.”
She turned then, and the sight of her face nearly drove him to his knees. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying, but they were dry now, her expression a mask of regal dignity that couldn’t quite hide the raw hurt beneath.
“Do you?” she asked, her voice cool and controlled. “Do you understand what it feels like to live your entire life in fear of your own blood? To be judged not for who you are, but for who you’re related to?”
“No,” he admitted, taking a step toward her. “I can’t claim to understand that. But I understand that I failed you. I let my fear poison my judgment. I let Lasseran’s lies turn me against you.”
“You believed I would betray you,” she said quietly, but each word sliced him open. “After everything we shared, you thought I would hand you over to him.”
“I was a fool,” he said, the admission torn from his very soul. “A blind, suspicious fool who couldn’t see what was right in front of him. I was so afraid of losing you that I pushed you away.”
He took another step forward, close enough now to touch her, though he didn’t dare. “Your father sent you here because he believed orcs were more honorable than humans. I proved him wrong. I proved that I was no better than those who would judge you for your blood.”
Her composure cracked, just slightly. Her lower lip trembled before she pressed her lips together in a firm line.
“I don’t ask for your forgiveness. I haven’t earned it. But I’m asking for a chance to try. To prove that I can be the male, the husband, you deserve.”
He sank to one knee before her. “I love you, Jessamin. I have since the moment I saw you—not as a political asset but as a woman—but I was too afraid to admit it, even to myself.”
“Why? Why were you so afraid?”
“My mother betrayed my father, and it destroyed him because he loved her. I was determined that the same thing would never happen to me. I devoted myself to my duties and told myself it was enough. But you saw past my crown and my Curse to the male beneath. You taught me what it means to truly trust someone.”
Her eyes widened at his declaration, a flash of vulnerability breaking through her guard.
“I know I failed that trust,” he acknowledged, his voice raw. “But if you give me the chance, I will spend the rest of my life making it right. Not because you’re my queen, but because you’re my heart.”
The silence that followed seemed to stretch for an eternity. He remained kneeling, his heart pounding in his chest, waiting for her judgment.
Finally, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Rise, Ulric. A king should not kneel.”
“I’m not kneeling as your king,” he said, remaining where he was. “I’m kneeling as your husband.”
Her eyes softened a little more, more cracks in the wall she’d built around herself.
“Then rise, husband,” she said, extending her hand to him. “We have much to discuss.”
He took her hand and stood, careful not to pull her towards him, though every fiber of his being ached to hold her. Her fingers were cool in his grasp, but she didn’t pull away.
It wasn’t forgiveness—not yet. But it was a chance.
