Page 40 of The Orc's Princess Bride
“Ulric,” Wulf said carefully, “I understand your pain, but one person against Kel’Vara? It’s suicide.”
“A full army would never reach her in time,” he said without looking up. “Lasseran took her for a reason. The envoy from her father warned us that he planned to use her in a blood ritual—quite possibly the blood ritual to control the Beast Curse. We don’t have weeks for a military campaign.”
“Then send your best warriors,” Wulf argued. “You cannot leave Norhaven without its king. The succession is not secure, the alliances are fragile?—”
“There is nothing,” he cut him off, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, “that will stop me from going to her. Nothing.”
The icy fury in his voice silenced any further argument. He was not a king making a strategic decision. He was a male whose mate had been stolen.
“Then I’m going with you. Two can travel as fast as one.”
He hesitated, then jerked a nod. “Thank you.”
“My horse is still saddled. I left him at the stable when I heard the news. I can bring him and Storm to the far side of the training field and meet you there.”
The training field. The memory of their riding lesson almost made him falter, but he pushed it aside.
“Yes. Go now. I’ll meet you there.”
“There’s one more thing.”
“What?” he asked impatiently, trying to calculate how long it would take to get to the city.
“You know Egon grew up in the slums of Kel’Vara? If anyone can find a way into the city without attracting attention, it would be him.”
A brief, desperate hope flared in his chest. He’d take anything that would improve his odds of reaching her.
“I can’t order him to come.”
“He’ll come,” Wulf said confidently “My village is on our way south. We can stop there and pick up some items that will help us blend in once we reach the city.”
His Beast chafed at the idea of even a small delay, but Wulf was right. A sneak attack was more likely to succeed than a full-on assault.
“Very well.”
Wulf nodded and left the room.
As he finished packing, he realized his hands were shaking. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to take a deep breath, then another. He touched the small carved box Jessamin had given him, his fingers tracing the intricate pattern. The memory of her face that morning—soft with sleep, her eyes filled with trust and something deeper—threatened to shatter his composure.
He forced the image away, locking it deep inside where it could not weaken him. In its place, he cultivated his rage, honing it into a cold, focused weapon. He would need its clarity in the days ahead.
Ten minutes later, two cloaked figures rode away from the stronghold. No fanfare, no formal farewells. Just two warriors on a mission that would likely end in death.
He did not look back at Port Cael as they rode into the darkness. His gaze was fixed southward, toward Kel’Vara. Toward Jessamin.
He was not just rescuing his queen; he was reclaiming his future. And the gods help anyone who stood in his way.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The blindfold was removed with a sharp tug as Jessamin was pushed into a huge, opulent chamber. She staggered, her legs tired and shaky after what felt like endless days and nights of riding. They’d never stopped for more than an hour or so, Khorrek driving them on relentlessly. It was just as well he’d tied her to her horse because she’d fallen asleep in the saddle several times despite the breakneck pace.
Khorrek was one of Lasseran’s Beast warriors, a product of Lasseran’s twisted scheme to create an army of orcs he could control. From what Ulric had told her, obedience and loyalty were beaten into them from the time they were born. But she thought she’d seen cracks in that loyalty. When he’d blindfolded her to bring her into the palace, he’d looked almost… regretful. But his regret hadn’t stopped him from leaving her in this lavish prison.
She blinked, still shocked by the sudden stillness, and tried to take in her surroundings. The room stretched before her, vast and elegant, with soaring ceilings adorned with intricate frescoes. Massive windows framed by heavy velvet curtainslooked out over the Southern Sea, the water glittering like crushed sapphires in the morning light. The furniture was exquisite—carved rosewood inlaid with mother-of-pearl, cushions of the finest silk, delicate crystal decanters filled with amber liquid.
Yet for all its splendor, the room felt like a tomb. The air hung heavy and still, untouched by any natural breeze. The windows were sealed shut, and when she looked more closely, the frescoes depicted battle scenes with people dying in a variety of gruesome ways. In the middle of the ceiling, an enormous black dragon sprawled atop a mountain of corpses. The apparent luxury was a cage, the silken hangings were chains.
She shuddered, feeling the oppressive weight of the room pressing in on her. A sense of dark, suffocating power seemed to emanate from the very walls. This must be the Obsidian Keep—Lasseran’s palace in the heart of Kel’Vara.
