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CHAPTER SIX

T he morning air bit with a sharp chill as Jessamin made her way to the training grounds.

She had spent extra time braiding her hair in the Norhaven style, weaving in small leather cords as she’d seen the orc women do.

She hadn’t seen Ulric again since the previous morning, but she’d told herself that wasn’t unusual.

And perhaps he’d needed time to consider what had happened between them—what might happen again today. Her heart raced with anticipation.

Until she saw who awaited her.

Not Ulric’s towering form, but the stocky, grim-faced Captain Grak stood beside the massive black warhorse. His scarred green face betrayed no emotion as he bowed stiffly.

“Your Majesty. I am to continue your riding instruction.”

Disappointment hit her like ice water thrown in her face. Perhaps it wasn’t surprising given his remoteness at the end of the lesson, but that didn’t stop it from stinging. Her step faltered briefly before she forced herself forward, chin high.

“Captain Grak. I wasn’t informed of this change.” She kept her voice neutral, though her mind raced. Had yesterday’s intimacy meant nothing to Ulric?

“The king has pressing matters to attend to,” Grak replied, his tone flat. “He felt I would be adequate for basic instruction.”

Adequate. The word felt like a dismissal. She swallowed the hurt and nodded. “Then let us begin.”

The lesson proceeded with none of yesterday’s electricity.

Grak was competent but distant, explaining techniques with military precision.

He never touched her—directing her to the mounting block to mount and instructing her from the ground rather than joining her in the saddle.

The morning stretched endlessly, the excitement of yesterday replaced by mechanical repetition.

When they finally paused for a rest, her muscles ached and her spirits had sunk to her boots. She dismounted with as much grace as she could muster, though her legs trembled from the unaccustomed exercise.

“You show promise, Your Majesty,” Grak offered, the closest thing to warmth she’d heard from him. “With practice, you will master it.”

She managed a smile. “Thank you, Captain.”

A light voice called from beyond the fence. “Your Majesty! I’ve brought refreshment.”

Elspeth, one of her Almohadi ladies-in-waiting, approached with a silver tray bearing a pitcher and goblet. She was a thin older woman with greying auburn hair and clever hazel eyes, always quick with a smile or helpful suggestion.

“You looked parched from here,” Elspeth said, pouring cool water infused with mint. “Such dedication to your training!”

She accepted the drink gratefully. “Thank you, Elspeth.”

Grak bowed. “I will check the saddle girth, Your Majesty. We will continue when you are ready.”

As he walked away, Elspeth sighed dramatically. “Such a harsh taskmaster. And on such a brisk morning! The king couldn’t spare an hour from his important business for his own wife?”

She tensed at the implied criticism. “As you say, the king has important business.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Elspeth’s voice dropped to a confidential murmur. “Still, it must be difficult for you. The court here is so… primitive compared to Almohad. Your father’s palace was a place of true civilization.”

She took another sip, discomfort creeping up her spine. “Norhaven has its own kind of nobility.”

“Oh, certainly,” Elspeth agreed quickly. “There’s a certain… rugged charm to it all. Though I imagine you miss the refinement sometimes. The music, the poetry.” She glanced toward Grak. “King Ulric is a powerful man, but so… stern. It must be trying to never see him smile.”

“He smiles,” she found herself saying, the words emerging before she could stop them. “When something truly pleases him.”

Elspeth raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure you would know better than I, Your Majesty.”

“The orcs have endured much,” she continued, surprising herself with the heat in her voice. “They fight daily against a curse that would destroy lesser people. Their strength isn’t just in their bodies but in their spirits.”

“Your Majesty is very generous to see it that way.” Elspeth bowed her head, her tone carefully neutral.

“It isn’t generous to acknowledge the truth,” she replied, handing back the empty goblet. “Thank you for the water.”

Throughout the remainder of the lesson, Elspeth’s words echoed in her mind. Not because they rang true, but because they tapped into her deepest insecurities—that she was too soft for this harsh land, that Ulric thought she belonged in her southern palace.

The thought spurred her to push herself harder. When Grak suggested they end the lesson, she insisted on continuing until she could properly control the massive horse at a trot. By the time they finished, her muscles screamed in protest, but satisfaction warmed her chest.

Back in her chambers, she ordered a hot bath, letting the scented water ease her aching body.

So far her goal to prove herself worthy of Norhaven seemed to be working, but it would require more than just riding a warhorse.

There had to be other areas where she could prove her value, not just as a political bride, but as a true queen.

After dressing, she made her way to the steward’s office. “I wish to review the ledgers for the brides’ dowries and supplies,” she announced.

The elderly steward blinked in surprise. “Your Majesty?”

“I have experience with household management from my father’s court,” she explained. “I should familiarize myself with Norhaven’s resources.”

He couldn’t refuse a direct request from the queen.

Soon, she was ensconced in a small study, surrounded by ledgers and inventory lists.

This, at least, was familiar territory. Her father had insisted she learn the practical aspects of running a kingdom, not just the ornamental skills expected of a princess.

She worked throughout the afternoon, meticulously checking figures against inventories. The work was absorbing, giving her a sense of purpose and control that had been lacking since her arrival.

As twilight approached, she noticed something odd.

According to the ledgers, twelve bolts of fine Almohadi silk had been included in her dowry—an extravagant gift meant to demonstrate her father’s generosity.

Yet when she cross-referenced the numbers with the inventory of the royal storerooms, only eight bolts were accounted for.

Frowning, she rechecked her figures. Four bolts of silk, each worth a small fortune, were missing. It could be a simple clerical error, but the precision of the other entries made that unlikely.

“Your Majesty?” Elspeth’s voice startled her. The lady-in-waiting stood in the doorway, a concerned expression on her face. “The dinner hour approaches. The court will be waiting.”

“Elspeth,” she said, tapping the ledger. “Do you recall how many bolts of silk my father sent with my dowry?”

“Twelve, Your Majesty,” Elspeth replied without hesitation. “I helped pack them myself. The deep blue was particularly stunning—your father said it would complement your eyes.”

“Yet only eight are listed in the storeroom inventory.”

Elspeth’s brow furrowed. “How strange. Perhaps they were placed elsewhere? The quartermaster might know.”

“Perhaps.” She closed the ledger, a flicker of unease disturbing her. Missing silk wasn’t a crisis, but it represented a significant value. And if this discrepancy existed, what others might be hidden in the kingdom’s accounts?

“Would you like me to inquire about it, Your Majesty?” Elspeth offered. “I could speak with the quartermaster discreetly. No need to trouble the king with such matters when he’s so… preoccupied.”

She hesitated. There was something in Elspeth’s eagerness that gave her pause. “That’s kind of you to offer.”

“It would be my pleasure to help,” Elspeth said, her smile warm and reassuring. “After all, we Almohadi must look after one another in this foreign land, mustn’t we?”

The words were innocent enough, yet they deepened her disquiet. Elspeth had been nothing but helpful since their arrival, but something about this interaction felt wrong.

“Let us both look into it,” she decided, watching Elspeth’s face carefully. “I’ll speak with the quartermaster tomorrow. You can ask among the servants if anyone recalls where the silk might have been stored.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.” Elspeth’s smile didn’t waver, but something flickered behind her eyes—disappointment? It was gone too quickly for her to identify.

As they walked to dinner, she pondered the missing silk. It was a small matter, perhaps, but it nagged at her. In her experience, small discrepancies often pointed to larger problems. And in a kingdom beset by enemies, every irregularity deserved scrutiny.

She would get to the bottom of this. It was a way to prove her worth to Norhaven—and to Ulric. A way to show him she was more than a political asset to be guarded; she was a queen capable of protecting their kingdom in her own way.