Page 9 of The Orc's Princess Bride
“Who sent this?” he demanded, his voice dangerously quiet.
“The seal is the Priest King’s, but it could be forged,” Rook answered. “The courier claims he was paid by an intermediary. We’re still questioning him.”
He crushed the parchment in his fist. The message played directly into his deepest fears about the Priest King’s motives. Had the alliance been a ruse all along? A way to insert Jessamin into Norhaven as a spy, a saboteur?
The thought of Jessamin—her body pressed against his on the horse—twisted painfully in his gut. Had it all been an act? A calculated seduction to lower his guard?
No. He refused to believe it. The woman he’d held in his arms had been real and vulnerable. He knew, in his bones, that she wasn’t a spy.
But she could be used as a pawn. A way to control him— a way to destroy him. A Priest King who’d already sacrificed his daughter to an orc to further his ambitions wouldn’t hesitate to use her again.
The message from the goddess echoed in his mind:Danger closes in while she waits alone.
What if the danger wasn’t to Jessamin, but to him?
“Increase surveillance on everyone in the queen’s immediate circle,” he ordered, hating the words even as he spoke them. “Her handmaidens from Almohad, especially.”
Rook nodded, his face betraying nothing. “And the queen herself?”
His jaw clenched so hard he thought his tusks might crack. “Observe, but discreetly. I want to know who she speaks with, what messages she sends or receives.”
“It will be done, my king.”
As Rook turned to leave, he added, “And Rook? This stays between us. No one else is to know.”
“Of course.”
When the door closed, he sank into a chair, the weight of his decision heavy on his shoulders. He stared at the crumpled message in his hand, feeling as if he had just betrayed something precious and fragile.
The male who had been so affected by Jessamin’s touch, who had felt something stir in his chest when she trusted him with her pleasure—that male was now buried under a king’s suspicion. A king who couldn’t afford to trust, who had to protect his people at all costs.
Even if the cost was his own heart.
He tossed the parchment into the fire, watching as the flames consumed the words. The paper curled and blackened, becoming ash that would tell no tales.
Like the warmth he had briefly allowed himself to feel, it was gone.
Outside his window, storm clouds gathered over Norhaven’s mountains, dark and ominous. A fitting reflection of the shadow that had fallen across his soul.
A heavy knock interrupted his dark thoughts. Not the tentative rap of a servant, but three solid impacts—a warrior’s knock. He hesitated, unwilling to face anyone with the ashes of the letter still warm in the fireplace. But he was the king, and a king did not get the luxury of avoiding his warriors.
“Enter,” he called, straightening his shoulders and pushing away from the hearth.
The door swung open, and a genuine smile crossed his face when Wulf entered. Ulric had been an only child, as were most in Norhaven, and Wulf was the closest thing he’d ever had to a brother. They had trained together and fought together. As a clan leader, Wulf also understood something of the weight of leadership, and that knowledge was in his eyes as he looked at Ulric.
“Egon told me about the warning,” Wulf said without preamble, closing the door behind him. “That Jessamin is in danger. I came as soon as I heard.”
He appreciated the other male’s concern, but he wasn’t ready to discuss the matter, especially in light of recent events. He waved a dismissive hand. “It’s being handled.”
“How?” Wulf asked bluntly.
“I’ve increased her security,” he said, turning back to stare into the fire. “She’s well protected.”
“But you aren’t with her.”
His jaw tightened, remembering his earlier thoughts. “It’s not necessary.”
He could feel the weight of Wulf’s stare on his back but he refused to turn around.
