Page 4

CHAPTER FOUR

T he 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 entire midsection, 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.

For a moment, she was held aloft in his powerful grip, feeling small and delicate against his strength. Then he placed her gently on the saddle.

The world looked different from this height. The saddle was broad and flexible beneath her, designed for a warrior’s frame rather than a queen’s comfort. Her feet dangled well above the stirrups, which had been adjusted for Ulric’s much longer legs.

“We’ll need to—” he began, but stopped as she reached down to adjust the stirrups herself, remembering his instructions.

A flicker of approval crossed his face. “Good.”

She had just settled her feet when the saddle shifted. He swung up behind her in one fluid motion, his body caging hers completely. His broad chest formed a solid wall of heat at her back, his powerful thighs bracketing hers. The intimacy of the position stole her breath.

“I’ll teach you to control him properly,” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent another shiver down her spine. “Until then, we ride together.”

He reached around her to take the reins, his arms forming a protective prison. His hands were so large they made the thick leather straps look almost delicate. She was enveloped completely—surrounded by his warmth, his strength, his scent.

She had a sudden memory of being surrounded by him before. He’d held her like this when she was poisoned, she was sure of it. Perhaps she hadn’t imagined his words after all.

“Relax your body,” he instructed, his warm breath tickling her ear. “Let yourself move with the horse.”

He made a soft clicking sound and Stormcloud began to walk forward. The motion rocked her back against his chest, then forward again, and she instinctively braced herself, trying to hold her posture.

“Relax,” he repeated. “Trust the horse. Trust yourself.”

She took a slow breath and tried to obey. It wasn’t easy—every part of her was keenly aware of his presence, of the hard muscles beneath the worn leather vest, the way their bodies fit together, and the way his scent surrounded her, filling her senses.

She was acutely aware of every point of contact—the solid press of his chest against her back, the way his thighs tensed and shifted with the horse’s movement, guiding her own.

His arms encircled her completely, hands steady on the reins.

This was more intimate than any courtly dance she had ever performed, more thrilling than any flirtation she had ever engaged in.

“Feel how he moves,” he said, his voice vibrating through her. “A warhorse doesn’t just carry you; you become part of each other.”

She nodded, not trusting her voice. The careful composure she had maintained since arriving in Norhaven was melting away with each step of the horse, each brush of his body against hers.

They circled the training ground slowly.

Stormcloud responded to the slightest pressure of Ulric’s legs, the smallest shift in his weight.

She tried to focus on learning these subtle commands, but her mind kept returning to the feel of his body against hers, the strength in his arms, the heat of him seeping through her clothing.

“You’re a natural,” he said, his voice softer than before. “Most first-timers grip the saddle in terror.”

“Perhaps I have a good teacher,” she replied, surprised by the breathiness in her own voice.

The horse took a slightly uneven step, and she instinctively leaned back to steady herself.

Her body pressed more firmly against his and she felt something hard and rigid against her bottom.

She might be inexperienced, but she was not ignorant and she knew he was erect—hugely, massively erect.

A bolt of liquid heat shot through her and her nipples tightened in response.

The rhythm of his breathing changed, becoming slightly faster.

She should straighten up, put distance between them, maintain the proper decorum she’d been taught all her life.

Instead, she remained where she was, letting his heat seep into her back, the hard length of his erection nestled against her.

She felt as if she were balanced on the edge of a precipice, teetering between decorum and desire.

“Should we… should we try a faster pace?” she asked, not recognizing her own voice.

His answer was a low growl, almost inaudible.

Then he tightened the reins, urging the horse to a trot.

The jolt of the saddle beneath her sent shockwaves of sensation through her body, and she gasped softly.

Her bottom rubbed against him with every stride, an intoxicating friction that sent jolts of need through her.

“Is this what you wanted, little bride?” His voice was rougher than usual, edged with an almost feral intensity. “You wanted to know what it’s like to ride a Norhaven warhorse? To feel its power between your thighs?”

She was beyond words now. Her entire being was focused on the sensations coursing through her—the primal rhythm of the horse, the feel of Ulric’s body, and the tension building deep within her core.

Every rock and sway of the horse stoked the fire inside her, driving her closer to an unknown precipice.

His arm tightened around her, one hand leaving the reins to cup her breast, his thumb rolling over her aching nipple, and a breathless cry escaped her lips.

“Do you understand what you’re asking for?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“I…” She couldn’t form words, couldn’t think beyond the need burning inside her. “Please…”

A low, primal sound rumbled in his chest, and she felt a shudder run through him.

He dropped the reins completely, his arm wrapping around her stomach and pulling her tighter against his erection as he kissed her throat.

The horse increased his pace, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her with each stride.

She gasped, arching her back, pressing her breast more firmly into his hand.

His fingers found her nipple, teasing and pinching until she thought she would go mad.

She was falling, flying, hurtling towards something she couldn’t name.

The horse’s stride quickened, the rhythmic motion driving her closer and closer to the edge.

His teeth closed on her neck, his tusks pressing against her skin, and the sharp pain mingled with the pleasure in a way she hadn’t thought possible, and suddenly she shattered into a thousand pieces of light.

When she came back to herself, the horse had slowed to a gentle walk and his arms were wrapped tightly around her, holding her against his chest as if she were something precious.

Part of her thought she should feel embarrassed, but she didn’t.

She felt warm and safe and connected to him in a way she’d never been before.

“That’s enough for today,” he said finally, his voice rough. “You’ve done well for the first lesson.”

He guided Stormcloud back to their starting point, but made no move to dismount, to break the contact between them.

For several heartbeats, they simply sat together, then he abruptly dismounted.

He reached up to lift her down, his hands gentle.

Then his thumb feathered lightly over the place where he’d bitten her, and his stern mask snapped back into place as he turned away.

“Will you be joining me for breakfast?” she asked carefully, not sure what to say. Perhaps she should apologize for her behavior, but she couldn’t bring herself to regret it.

“Not today. I have matters that need my attention.”

“Lunch perhaps?” She knew she sounded desperate, but she couldn’t help herself.

“I’m not certain.”

A cold fist clenched around her heart. Had she been wrong about the connection between them?

“Very well,” she said, her voice carefully even. “I’ll see you at dinner you’re holding for the wool merchants, then.”

He nodded once, still not looking at her, and walked off, leaving her standing alone in the misty courtyard with a heavy heart.