Page 6 of The Orc's Princess Bride
He had willingly walked into a trap of his own making. Tomorrow, he would have to touch his wife—feel the warmth of her skin beneath his hands, breathe in her scent, hold her body against his. And he didn’t trust his control, not when it came to her.
The Beast Curse stirred within him, a low, primal hunger that had nothing to do with bloodlust and everything to do with the woman who had just left his study.
“Fool,” he muttered to himself. But it was too late to retract his promise.
Dawn would come, and with it, a test of his restraint he wasn’t certain he could pass.
CHAPTER FOUR
The morning mist clung to the training grounds, wreathing the stone walls in a pearly haze. Jessamin drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders as she made her way quickly across the courtyard, her split skirt swishing around her legs. It hadn’t occurred to her until after she’d asked for the lessons that she hadn’t thought about what to wear. She’d been on the verge of asking for a pair of pants when she remembered the skirt from her riding lessons back in Almohad. But those lessons had been brief and basic—enough for her to ride a gentle well-trained horse in a ceremonial setting. She had the feeling this would be a completely different experience.
The castle was still shrouded in silence, with only a few servants stirring, but she could already hear the rhythmic thud of hooves on packed dirt and the low rumble of Ulric’s voice. She spotted him as soon as she turned the corner, standing tall and imposing beside a massive black warhorse that pawed restlessly at the ground. Even from a distance, the beast looked formidable—all rippling muscle and gleaming coat, standing at least eighteen hands high. His ears flicked forward as she approached, intelligent eyes tracking her movement.
Her mouth went dry. What had seemed like a bold, empowering idea in the safety of her chambers now felt reckless in the cold light of dawn.
Ulric turned at her approach. For a fleeting moment, something flickered across his face—something warm and unguarded—before the usual stern mask slipped back into place.
“You came,” he said, his voice betraying no emotion.
“Did you think I wouldn’t?” She raised her chin slightly, refusing to show her nervousness.
“Most would reconsider, facing Stormcloud here.” He ran a large hand down the horse’s powerful neck, and the beast nudged against him with surprising gentleness.
“Is that his name? Stormcloud?”
“Yes.” A hint of affection colored his voice. “He’s the son of my Storm.”
She stepped closer, slowly extending her hand palm up. The warhorse snorted, blowing warm breath across her fingers.
“He’s magnificent,” she said honestly.
His lips twitched in a rare almost-smile. “Yes, he is.”
She took a deep breath. “So, what do I need to do?”
“First, we need to establish trust. Let him get to know you, and you, him. Put your hand here, on his neck.” He guided her hand to Stormcloud’s glossy black hide, holding it there until the horse’s muscles quivered under her touch. “Now, move your hand in circles, slowly and firmly.”
She followed his instructions, trying to ignore the heat radiating from his body as he stood beside her. The horse shifted beneath her hand, but didn’t shy away.
“Good,” he murmured. “Now, lean closer and blow gently on his nose. Don’t be afraid to let him smell you.”
Her heart pounded in her chest as she did as he asked. Stormcloud’s breath was warm and sweet as he sniffed curiously at her face, his whiskers tickling her cheek.
“Well done.” His quiet praise filled her with warmth. “Now, we’ll start with the basics. Norhaven warhorses aren’t like your southern mounts. They’re trained for battle first, comfort second. They respond to pressure from your legs, the shift of your weight, and voice commands.”
“Not reins?”
“To a certain extent, but they are less important. In a battle situation you need both hands free.”
He continued explaining, his tone all business, pointing out the different parts of the saddle and bridle, demonstrating how to hold the reins. She listened attentively, committing each detail to memory.
“You’ll need to mount now,” he said finally.
She stepped forward, reaching for the saddle, but quickly realized it was far too high. She would need to use the mounting block, which felt like admitting defeat before she’d even begun.
“Allow me.”
Before she could respond, he moved behind her. His big, warm hands circled her waist, his fingers nearly spanning her entiremidsection, and the contact sent a shockwave of excitement up her spine. Her breath caught as he lifted her effortlessly, as if she weighed nothing at all.
