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CHAPTER THREE

U lric bent over the map table, his finger tracing the patrol routes along Norhaven’s eastern border.

The scouts had reported increased activity there—subtle movements that might be nothing or might be everything.

In the dim light of his study, shadows played across the parchment, obscuring details he desperately needed to see.

He rubbed his eyes, exhaustion settling deep in his bones. The candles had burned low, wax pooling on the iron holders. How long had he been at this? Hours, certainly.

His mind refused to focus, drifting instead to Jessamin’s face when he’d left her chambers the previous day. The hurt in those blue eyes, carefully masked behind royal composure. The proud tilt of her chin that couldn’t quite hide the wound he’d inflicted.

“Damn it all,” he muttered, shoving away from the table.

He’d been cruel. Efficient and cold, as a king should be when security was compromised. He’d interrogated her like a suspect rather than speaking to her as his queen. His wife.

The memory of her quiet dignity made his chest ache. She hadn’t argued or protested, just answered his questions with a perfect, empty courtesy that had been worse than any defiance.

He paced the length of his study, boots heavy on the stone floor. The security measures he’d outlined were necessary. He couldn’t risk another attempt on her life. The poisoning had nearly?—

He slammed his fist against the wall, the pain barely registering. The memory of small body, so pale and still, flashed through his mind again. It haunted him that she had come so close to death, that his strength would not have saved her.

Never again. He would build walls around her if necessary. Station guards at every door, vet every person who came near her. She would be safe, even if she hated him for it.

She would be even safer by your side , an insidious little voice whispered in his head, and for one brief moment he allowed himself to consider it.

Her sweet little body tucked against his every night, her smiling face greeting him every morning, her calm presence in the seemingly endless meetings and audiences that were a necessary part of his duties.

He had no doubt she would fulfill her duties as queen with grace and dedication, and he’d already learned that her perspective was valuable.

But that would require trusting her. Opening his heart to her.

And he’d seen what that had done to his father.

His parents had not married because of love but because of political necessity—there had to be a successor to the throne—but his father had allowed himself to love his mother.

His mother had not reciprocated. As soon as she had given birth to him, she considered her duty fulfilled and devoted herself to other… pleasures.

She’d been a beautiful female and in a kingdom so short of females, not many males would refuse her.

He couldn’t remember how old he was the first time he discovered her in bed with someone other than his father, but he’d been too young to understand the level of her betrayal.

That innocence hadn’t lasted long. He’d grown up watching his mother’s affairs slowly destroy his father.

He’d been almost relieved when she died, hoping that his father might finally be at peace.

But the king had never recovered from her death and he’d been killed in battle only a year later.

The grief had weakened him. He’d been slow to avoid a blow that should have been easily deflected, and Ulric had watched the light fade from his father’s eyes, his chest heavy with sorrow and guilt.

He refused to allow the same thing to happen to him, and he knew with overwhelming certainty that Jessamin could destroy him if he allowed himself to care for her. He refused to admit that he already did—that he had since the first time their eyes had met and he’d felt the connection between them.

Mate, his beast growled but he refused to acknowledge. He was in control, not his Beast.

A soft knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. He straightened, composing his features into the impassive mask expected of Norhaven’s king.

“Enter.”

The door swung open, and Jessamin paused in the doorway.

She wore a simple gown of deep emerald that clung enticingly to her lush curves, and her honey-gold hair was braided in the Norhaven style she’d adopted since she arrived.

Her posture was perfect, shoulders squared, head high, every inch a queen despite her small statue. Fuck, she was beautiful.

“My king,” she said calmly. “I require a moment of your time.”

He gestured for her to enter, trying to ignore the way his pulse quickened at her presence. “Of course.”

She stepped into the room, closing the door behind her with quiet deliberation. Her gaze swept over the maps and documents scattered across his table, taking in the evidence of his long day’s work, before returning to his face.

“I have come to make a formal request,” she said.

Something in her tone—a thread of determination beneath the courtly phrasing—put him instantly on alert.

“Speak freely,” he said, though part of him dreaded what might come next.

She drew a deep breath, her breasts moving enticingly beneath the heavy silk of her gown, and met his gaze steadily. “I wish to learn to ride one of the warhorses.”

For a moment, he wasn’t certain he’d heard her correctly. “A warhorse,” he repeated. “You mean a Norhaven warhorse.”

“Yes.”

He shuddered at the thought of Jessamin’s small body atop one of the massive, powerful beasts bred for battle. Horses that stood nearly eighteen hands high, with hooves that could crush a man’s skull, temperaments as wild and unpredictable as the mountains themselves.

“No.” The word escaped before he could temper it. “Absolutely not.”

“No?” She arched a delicate eyebrow, her expression coolly unreadable. “May I ask why?”

“They’re dangerous,” he said bluntly. “Even fully trained warriors are thrown and injured. They’re bred for battle, not?—”

“Not for delicate southern princesses?” she finished.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Isn’t it?” The first crack appeared in her composure. “I am not asking to lead a charge into battle, my king. I am asking to learn a skill that would allow me to move freely in my new home.”

“There are other horses—smaller, gentler mounts that would suit you better.”

“And mark me instantly as an outsider,” she said. “As someone fragile and foreign who doesn’t belong.”

He had to admit that she wasn’t wrong. The sight of the queen on a southern palfrey would only reinforce the perception that she was something other—something separate from Norhaven and its people.

She—and all of the Brides—had been greeted with great enthusiasm by a land so short of females, but enthusiasm did not necessarily equal respect.

“It’s too dangerous,” he insisted, but he didn’t sound as convinced as he’d like.

“Everything in Norhaven is dangerous,” she replied. “The mountains, the winters, the politics. If I am to be your queen in truth, not just in name, I cannot hide from danger. I must face it and master it.”

Again, she was not wrong. To deny her would be to declare, in the clearest possible terms, that he had no faith in her at all. That he saw her as nothing more than a political asset to be protected, not as a partner or a queen in her own right.

It would widen the chasm between them into an unbridgeable gulf and as much as he was determined to protect himself, he couldn’t stand the thought of more distance between them. His Beast snarled restlessly beneath the surface, urging him to claim her.

No. He couldn’t do that, but perhaps…

What if he taught her to ride? If she was determined to learn, who better to ensure her safety than him? He was the finest horseman in Norhaven, with a bond to his mount that even other orcs envied. If anyone could teach her safely, it was him.

The thought of the forced proximity sent a jolt through him—equal parts dread and desire.

He would have to lift her onto the saddle, his hands spanning her small waist. He would have to ride behind her, her soft little body pressed against his, his arms around her to guide the reins, and her scent filling his head.

His body immediately responded to the image and he knew it was madness. A trap he was setting for himself.

“Very well,” he found himself saying anyway. “I will teach you myself. Tomorrow, at dawn.”

Surprise flickered across her face, quickly replaced by wary hope. She had clearly expected more of a fight.

“You’re certain?” she asked.

“It’s a matter of security. I won’t entrust your safety to anyone else.”

The brief, radiant smile she gave him almost made him forget his doubts. “Thank you, my king. I will be ready at dawn.”

She turned to leave, her movements as graceful as always. At the door, she paused, glancing back over her shoulder.

“I won’t disappoint you,” she said quietly.

Then she was gone, leaving only the faint scent of wildflowers in her wake.

He stood motionless for a long moment, then he growled and slammed his fist against the wall again.

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.