Page 2

CHAPTER TWO

T he commotion in the courtyard below drew Jessamin’s attention, and she looked down to find Ulric astride his massive warhorse. The beast’s sides heaved with exertion, foam flecking its powerful shoulders.

But it was Ulric’s face that captured her attention—panic etched across features usually carved in stoic determination.

Golden eyes locked on hers and her breath caught.

She’d never seen him like this, wild and fierce.

His hands were clenched around the reins, huge and powerful, and his shoulders were bunched with tension, his chest heaving as if he’d run from the mountains rather than ridden.

She had the sudden, startling impression that he had been afraid for her.

Before she could react, the wild look vanished from his face.

Like a shutter falling closed, his expression hardened.

His usual stern mask descended, transforming him once more into the remote, untouchable ruler of Norhaven.

The transformation was so complete that she almost doubted what she’d seen.

She retreated from the balcony, one hand pressed against her stomach to quiet the flutter of nerves. What could have caused him so much alarm? There had been no disturbances, no threats. The day had been peaceful, almost pleasant, although she’d missed her husband.

After the attempt to poison her, he’d politely but firmly insisted that she take up residence in his stronghold, rather than remain in the former convent with the Brides.

She’d been too shaken by the incident to object, and she’d discovered she enjoyed being close to him.

Despite the distance he seemed so determined to keep between them, they usually saw each other at least once a day, more if there were some official duties to perform.

He’d fallen into the habit of joining her for breakfast, asking her politely about her plans for the day.

He’d even begun telling her more about the affairs of the realm.

He didn’t exactly ask her advice, but he was usually willing to answer her questions and he always listened courteously to her opinions.

And occasionally his mask would slip for an instant and she would see something in his eyes—a warmth, a hunger that made her heart skip a beat.

He’d been gone for two weeks and every morning she’d looked at the empty place across the breakfast table and felt the loneliness of his absence. But now he was back and he was upset. She had to know why.

Before she could go to him, the door to her sitting room burst open without a knock and Ulric filled the doorway.

Even after all these months, the sight of him still stole her breath.

Tall and powerful with a heavily muscled physique built for battle.

The silvery scars marring the deep mossy green of his skin bore evidence to those battles.

His features were strong rather than handsome, with high cheekbones and a surprisingly sensual mouth framed by fierce tusks.

But it was his eyes that always drew her attention and today they burned with golden fire, despite his controlled mask.

The neat warrior braids that usually confined his dark, silver-streaked hair were in disarray, and he seemed even larger than usual, bristling with barely contained energy, his presence expanding to fill every corner of the room.

“Your Majesty,” she said politely, her voice calm. “Is something amiss?”

His eyes swept the chamber, cataloging every detail. “Who has been in these rooms today?”

The warmth that had filled her at his return withered under that intense scrutiny. No greeting. No inquiry after her well-being. Just questions, sharp as the blade at his hip.

“My ladies attended me this morning. The kitchen boy brought lunch.” She took a step towards him, searching his face for any trace of the concern she’d glimpsed earlier. “Ulric, what’s happened?”

“Your guards. Who were they?”

“Dorn and Eryk, as usual.” Her voice cooled to match his. “You’re frightening me. What’s wrong?”

He ignored her question, moving to examine her balcony doors, testing the latch. “These remain locked at night?”

“Yes, of course. As you ordered.” She crossed her arms defensively. Each question felt like an accusation, as though she had somehow invited danger through carelessness. “Now tell me what’s going on.”

For a moment she thought he’d refuse, but he finally turned to face her.

“There is a threat against you. More specific than before.”

Her pulse quickened. “What kind of threat? From whom?”

“Unknown. But credible.” His voice was flat and emotionless, despite the anger still burning in his eyes. “Your security will be increased, effective immediately. No more unaccompanied movement through the stronghold. No visitors without prior approval.”

The walls of her chambers seemed to contract around her. She straightened her spine, lifting her chin. “I am not your prisoner.”

“No. You are my queen. And queens have enemies.”

“As do kings,” she snapped, her usual composure slipping. “Yet I don’t see you restricting your movements.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “That’s different.”

“How? Because you’re stronger? Because you’re a male? Because you’re an orc?” The words spilled out, sharp with frustration. “Or because I’m just a fragile human who needs to be locked away for her own good?”

“Because you were nearly killed once already under my protection,” he growled, the words raw and jagged as his mask slipped again. “Because I will not—cannot—let that happen again.”

The echo of genuine fear in his voice made her hesitate. She took a step toward him, softening slightly.

“I understand your concern, but I cannot live in a cage, even a gilded one.”

Something flickered in his eyes—a shadow of recognition, almost pain. Then he stepped back, away from her, his expression closing like a fortress gate.

“These measures are temporary. Until the threat is neutralized.”

She felt herself retreating behind her own mask—the polite, accommodating princess her father had raised her to be. It was easier than showing how much his coldness wounded her.

“I have matters to attend to,” he said, already turning towards the door. “I will have Captain Dorn review the new security protocols with you.”

“As you wish, my king.” Her voice was perfectly modulated, empty of emotion.

He paused at the threshold, his broad back rigid. For a moment, she thought he might turn, might say something more. Instead, he squared his shoulders and left without another word.

Damn him . If she hadn’t been taught such perfect control she would have thrown a vase at the door as it closed behind him. Instead she sank into the window seat, pressing her fingertips against her temples.

To a certain extent she understood his fear.

The memory of the poisoning was still fresh for both of them.

In spite of the antidote, she sometimes thought she would have died if she hadn’t heard him calling her back.

Or had he? She’d thought she’d heard him tell her he loved her too, but he’d never repeated the words and as soon as she was on the mend, he was back to his old self.

What hurt was not his concern, but his belief that he had to solve the problem by himself.

That he didn’t value her input, or trust her judgment.

That he was determined to keep her at a distance.

She had thought they’d been making progress.

Now she wondered if she had imagined the whole thing.

A sigh escaped as she remembered the brief flare of hope she’d felt watching his face in the courtyard. Foolish.

She might have the title of queen, but it meant nothing without his confidence in her.

A queen in name only, just like I’m a wife in name only , she thought bitterly.

He had promised her father he would marry her as soon as she arrived and he’d kept his vow, escorting her directly from the ship to the former convent devoted to the Goddess Freja for the ceremony.

The rest of the day had passed in a blur as she made sure the women who had accompanied her were settled before presiding over a long formal dinner—far more formal than she’d expected given Norhaven’s reputation as an uncivilized land.

Afterwards she’d been taken to her bedchamber where Makari, her chief attendant, had prepared her for her wedding night.

Makari had been excited for her, chattering cheerfully about how big and powerful the king was, and how lucky Jessamin was, and how she hoped the king would give her a child that night.

She’d tried to smile and nod, while her stomach churned with a mixture of apprehension and excitement.

Her father and her stepmother always treated each other with kindness and affection, but they had also taught her about political marriages and that a princess’s duty was to her family and her kingdom.

She’d been taught what to expect from the physical side of marriage as well, although that had been when she was expected to marry a human man. Were orcs that different?

She hadn’t been able to bring herself to wait for him in bed and she’d been standing by the balcony doors when he entered, so huge and fierce that her heart pounded against her ribs.

Despite her nerves, she also felt a shiver of awareness travel down her spine.

She hadn’t expected to find the king of Norhaven attractive, but she couldn’t deny that she was drawn to him.

That burning gold gaze traveled down over her body beneath the thin lace nightgown and she felt her nipples harden in response. For a moment his eyes seemed to flash black, but then he took a step back, looking away from her.

“You are a beautiful female, Princess.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, her throat suddenly dry.

His gaze flicked back to her and she waited breathlessly for him to approach her. Instead he began pacing the room.

“I promised your father I would marry you immediately and I kept that vow. However, I realize we have not had a chance to get to know one another. I propose that we wait to consummate our marriage.”

Whatever she’d expected him to say, that had not been it.

“W…wait? For how long?”

“Perhaps until the Brides who accompanied you have been claimed?”

Admittedly part of her had been relieved, but another part of her had been secretly disappointed.

Political alliance or not, she’d expected to share his bed.

Since a proper princess would never demand such a thing, she’d simply agreed to his proposition.

However, three months had passed since then and she regretted it more every day.

Surely if they were sleeping together he would see her as more than some helpless little female?

She sighed and wandered out onto her balcony.

The landscape before her was wild, untamed—a stark contrast to the manicured gardens of Almohad.

Rugged peaks thrust toward the sky, their snow-capped summits tinged pink in the fading light.

Dense evergreen forests carpeted the lower slopes, dark and mysterious.

Norhaven was not gentle. It was not safe. It demanded strength from those who would call it home.

She had tried to be what she thought Ulric wanted—a gracious, accommodating southern princess who brought the polish of the Almohadi court to his wild kingdom.

But perhaps that was precisely the problem.

In trying to be what she imagined he wanted, she had allowed herself to become exactly what he feared—something delicate that needed protection.

A solitary rider emerged from the tree line below, an orc warrior returning from patrol. The massive warhorse moved with surprising grace despite its size, responding to the slightest pressure from its rider’s knees. Horse and rider moved as one, a perfect partnership of trust and respect.

Something stirred in her mind. A memory of her first weeks in Norhaven, watching from this same balcony as the warriors trained their mounts in the yard below. She had been both terrified and fascinated by the massive beasts—so different from the elegant, slender-legged horses of Almohad.

“Those aren’t horses,” her lady-in-waiting had whispered, horrified. “They’re monsters.”

But they weren’t monsters. They were creatures perfectly adapted to this harsh land—powerful, resilient, and utterly loyal once their trust was earned.

Like the king himself.

What if she could earn that trust? What if she could learn to ride a Norhaven warhorse? The idea was probably madness. The warhorses were notoriously difficult to handle, bred for battle and bonded to their orc riders through years of training.

But if she succeeded… if she could prove herself capable of mastering something so quintessentially Norhaven… perhaps Ulric would begin to see her as more than a fragile southern flower in need of constant protection.

Tomorrow she would make her request. She was almost positive he would refuse—it was a direct challenge to his perception of her as something breakable—but if he did, she would find another way.

Because she was not merely a political bride to be locked away in a gilded cage.

She was Jessamin, daughter of the Priest King of Almohad, and Queen of Norhaven.

And it was time both she and her husband remembered it.