Page 5

CHAPTER FIVE

U lric stripped off his training leathers, flinging them onto the floor with more force than necessary.

His skin buzzed with awareness, every nerve ending still alight from the proximity to Jessamin.

Her scent—wildflowers and sunlight—lingered on his skin, a torturous reminder of what they had shared.

He paced his chambers like a caged animal.

The memory of her body pressed against his, the way she had come apart so sweetly in his hands, was seared into his mind.

He had let his guard down, allowed his desire for her to overpower his reason.

He’d even lost control enough to bite her, his Beast desperate to claim her.

It was a mistake he could not afford to repeat. He couldn’t endure another “lesson” like that. Not if he wanted to maintain his control, his distance. Not if he wanted to keep her safe from the dangers of Norhaven.

From the dangers of his Beast.

He grabbed a quill and parchment and scrawled a quick message instructing Captain Grak, his stablemaster, to take over the lessons.

He hated assigning the task to Grak, but it was necessary.

Grak was stoic, professional, and utterly without the complication of desire.

He would teach her well, and more importantly, safely.

He sealed the message and summoned a page, watching the boy scurry away with the parchment that would put proper distance between him and his queen once more.

“It’s for her own good,” he muttered to the empty room, but the words rang hollow even to his own ears.

The knock that came wasn’t the expected acknowledgment from the page, but the distinctive pattern used by Rook, his spymaster. His shoulders tensed.

“Enter.”

Rook slipped inside, his lean frame belying his lethal nature. The orc moved with the silent grace of a shadow, his mismatched eyes—one amber, one gray—taking in Ulric’s state with a single glance.

“My king,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. “We’ve intercepted something you need to see.”

Rook extended a folded parchment, the seal already broken. “A courier carrying this was caught trying to slip in through the western postern gate. When questioned, he claimed to be delivering grain reports.”

He unfolded the parchment, his eyes scanning the neat script. On the surface, it appeared to be exactly that—a detailed accounting of grain shipments from Almohad, with projections for the coming season. But Rook wouldn’t have brought it to him if that were all.

“Read between the lines,” Rook suggested quietly.

He read it again, more carefully this time. The wording was clever, almost too clever. Certain phrases stood out:

… should Norhaven’s position remain unreasonable

…alternative arrangements with southern interests may prove necessary…

…while we value the current alliance, we must consider all avenues to ensure our people’s prosperity…

Cold realization spread through his chest. This wasn’t about grain at all. This was a veiled threat—a suggestion that Almohad was willing to negotiate with another power, almost certainly Lasseran, if Norhaven proved “unreasonable.”

“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.

“You seem to forget that I was there,” Wulf said quietly. “When you first saw her.”

He stiffened. He didn’t need to ask what Wulf meant. A heavy silence fell between them, and he knew the other male was studying him, waiting for an answer.

“Have you acknowledged it yet?” Wulf finally asked. “The mate bond?”

His Beast growled approvingly, recognizing truth when it heard it. The connection he’d felt with Jessamin from the first moment, the way his senses heightened around her, the visceral need to protect her—it wasn’t just attraction or duty.

It was the mate bond. The rare, sacred connection that sometimes formed between orcs and their true mates. The same bond Wulf and Egon shared with their mates.

“There is no bond,” he said flatly, though his Beast snarled in protest. “There can’t be.”

“Because you will not allow there to be?” Wulf’s voice hardened. “You’re fighting it. I can see it in every line of your body. Why?”

He whirled to face him. “Because I am King! I don’t have the luxury of following my heart the way you did.”

“A mate bond is not a luxury, Ulric. It’s a gift. One our people desperately need to see right now.”

“A gift?” He gave a bitter laugh. “When there’s a traitor in our midst? When Lasseran’s agents are plotting against us? When my own wife—” He cut himself off, unwilling to voice his suspicions even to Wulf.

Wulf’s eyes narrowed. “Your own wife what?”

“Nothing,” he said, moving to his desk and shuffling through papers. “How is your harvest looking? With the possibility of war on the horizon, we will need to preserve everything we can.”

The abrupt change of subject hung awkwardly between them. Wulf stood still for a long moment, then sighed heavily.

“Very well,” he said finally. “We’ve had an abundance of apples and are drying them for storage. But that’s not why I’m here.”

“That’s all I wish to discuss,” he said, his voice brooking no argument.

Wulf studied him, disappointment evident in his eyes. “Very well, my king.” The formal address was deliberate. “I’ll have a full report sent to you by morning.”

He turned to leave but paused at the door. “She makes you better, you know. When you let her. I’ve seen it. The whole court has seen it.” His voice softened. “Don’t let fear rob you of what the gods have given you.”

The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving him alone with the weight of unspoken truths.

Outside, thunder rumbled across the mountains, echoing the turmoil in his heart. His Beast paced restlessly within him, agitated by Wulf’s words.

Mate , it growled. Ours .

But the king—the male who had just ordered shadows placed on his queen—silenced it with ruthless efficiency.

The mate bond was real. He’d known it from the moment he’d first seen her, felt it grow stronger with every touch, every shared look. It was why the thought of her betrayal cut so deep, why the mere thought of her in danger had sent him racing back to Port Cael.

But he couldn’t acknowledge it. Not now. Not when acknowledging how much he truly needed her would destroy him if she proved false.

He moved to the window, watching as lightning split the darkening sky. The storm was coming, whether he was ready or not.