Page 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

T he roar of the crowd rolled across the arena as Brakk, a battle-scarred warrior with tusks like curved daggers, heaved a massive stone over his head.

Muscles strained, veins bulging along his forearms as he summoned a final surge of strength and hurled the boulder.

It crashed to the earth with a thunderous impact that sent dust billowing upward, landing a full arm’s length beyond the previous mark.

Ulric nodded his approval from the royal viewing platform, though his thoughts were elsewhere.

The Bride Trials continued, each contest more demanding than the last, designed to match the strongest warriors with the foreign brides.

Today’s stone-throwing competition would determine the next three matches.

“Impressive,” Wulf murmured. He’d delivered the report Ulric had requested but he hadn’t immediately returned to his village.

He was sure the other male had remained because of the prophesied threat, but while he appreciated his friend’s concern, he didn’t like the way the other male watched his interactions with the queen.

His gaze automatically drifted to Jessamin at the thought.

She sat on a cushioned chair to his right, her honey-gold hair woven with small purple wildflowers in the Norhaven style.

Against the backdrop of shouting warriors and flying stones, she was a vision of serene grace.

Her purple silk dress—the color of a twilight sky—rustled softly as she leaned forward to speak with a nervous-looking Bride.

The woman was giving Brakk’s huge body a wide-eyed look, but her tension visibly eased under Jessamin’s gentle attention.

He couldn’t suppress his pride in her. She had adapted to Norhaven with remarkable resilience, behaving with the grace and dignity of a true queen.

The Brides looked to her for guidance and reassurance.

His warriors, initially skeptical of a human queen, now bowed their heads with genuine respect when she passed.

The pride curdled instantly into fear, sharp and possessive. Jessamin’s very presence in Norhaven was like a beacon—a shining light in his harsh world. What if his original interpretation of the warning was correct and she was in danger?

“My king.”

The soft voice came from behind, barely audible over the crowd’s latest cheer. Rook.

“I will return shortly,” he murmured to Wulf, then moved to the sheltered alcove at the back of the platform where Rook waited.

“Report,” he commanded, keeping his voice low.

“We found the source of the missing silk, my king.” Rook’s expression was grim. “It was used to pay off a stable hand—Dren, who tended the patrol mounts.”

His jaw tightened. “What did he do?”

“Sabotaged the rigging on the cliff patrol route. Cut halfway through the main support rope.” Rook paused. “It was the cause of the rockslide two weeks ago.”

Cold fury washed through him. Four warriors had died in that rockslide.

They had assumed it was a terrible accident, but now they knew it had been deliberate.

And there was another aspect to the incident that gave him pause.

He regularly joined that patrol along that route.

The only reason he hadn’t been with those warriors was because he’d been called to the Fanged Gate.

What if the sabotage hadn’t been aimed at random warriors—what if it had been meant for him?

“And Dren?” he asked.

“Found dead this morning behind the stables. Throat cut.” Rook’s mismatched eyes narrowed. “Professional work. No witnesses.”

The pieces aligned with terrible clarity.

The silk from Jessamin’s dowry used to bribe a traitor.

The assassination attempt. The clean elimination of the only witness.

This was no random act of sabotage—this was a coordinated strike against the crown—and he had no doubt at all that Lasseran was behind it.

“Have you told the queen about the silk?” Ulric asked.

“No, my king. I came to you first.”

He nodded, grateful for Rook’s discretion. Jessamin had been reviewing the ledgers, looking for discrepancies. Her dedication to mastering Norhaven’s resources was admirable, but he wouldn’t have her involved in this. Not when the danger was so clear.

A thunderous cheer erupted from the arena as another stone landed, drawing Ulric’s attention back to the competition. His gaze found Jessamin again, watching her smile and applaud politely. The sunlight caught in her hair, turning it to spun gold.

His decision crystallized in that moment. He had to root out the source of these issues and put an end to it—for her sake as much as his.

“I will lead the next patrol along the cliff route,” he announced, and Rook’s eyes widened. They both knew that there was the possibility of another attempt.

“My king, with respect?—”

“I need to look at the sabotage scene myself and understand what we’re facing.”

“We could send?—”

“No,” he said firmly. “This was meant for me. I will face it directly.”

Rook fell silent, recognizing the futility of argument. After a moment, he gave a short bow. “When will you depart?”

“Tomorrow at dawn. Choose six of our most trusted warriors to accompany me.” He turned back toward the arena. “And Rook—speak of this to no one.”

The spymaster melted away without another word, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He knew what he was about to do—walk into a trap, deliberately springing it to draw out the traitor. It was reckless, perhaps even foolish, but necessary.

He returned to his seat to find Wulf watching him suspiciously and he bit back a sigh.

“Did Rook have any news?” the other male asked softly. He should have known that Wulf would have spotted the spymaster.

“Nothing specific,” he said, truthfully enough. “A stable hand has been murdered.”

“Why a stable hand, I wonder?”

Thankfully Jessamin turned to him before Wulf could ask any more questions. Despite his cowardly avoidance of the riding lessons, she smiled at him, a smile that warmed something deep in his chest.

“Who will win, do you think?” she asked, nodding toward the two remaining competitors.

“Grul,” he answered automatically, noting the warrior’s stance. “He conserves his strength between throws. Harsk is already tiring.”

She studied the competitors with newfound interest. “I see it now. Grul is patient.”

Her perception impressed him, as always. She didn’t just observe; she understood. In another life, without the weight of his crown, he might have pulled her into his arms right then, might have shown her how deeply he valued that quick mind of hers.

Instead, he watched the conclusion of the competition, making appropriate comments when required, while his mind churned with darker thoughts.

Someone inside his household—perhaps even now watching from these very stands—wanted him dead and had used silk from Jessamin’s dowry to pay for his assassination.

But who? Had the same person been behind the attempt on Jessamin’s life?

As the final stone landed and the crowd roared its approval, he rose to his feet. The crowd fell silent, waiting.

“Strength has been proven today,” he declared, his voice carrying across the arena. “Honor has been earned.”

The crowd erupted in cheers.

“These are dangerous times. Our borders must be secured. I will ride with our warriors on the next patrol along the cliff route. Together, we will defend Norhaven against all enemies.”

The response was deafening, a tide of fervor sweeping through the crowd. Jessamin smiled approvingly, but he could see the curiosity in her eyes. His perceptive little bride knew that there was something odd about his announcement, even if she didn’t know what.

Wulf was not as successful in hiding his concern but he ignored the grim look on his friend’s face. He turned away from them both, focusing on his people. This was his duty. His responsibility.

Let the traitor know he was coming. He would find him, root him out, and ensure Jessamin’s safety—even if it meant walking straight into his trap.

Tomorrow, he would ride out to meet the threat head-on, whatever the cost.