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CHAPTER EIGHT

“ D id you hear that the king is riding the cliff patrol route himself tomorrow?” The whispered words floated through the corridor, hushed and fearful, and Jessamin froze mid-step, her hand tightening on the fabric of her skirt.

The two servants hadn’t noticed her, their heads bent close together as they continued down the hallway.

“After the rockslide last month? He’s tempting fate.”

“Or hunting traitors.”

Rockslide? Traitors? Their voices faded, but the cold dread they’d planted remained, spreading through her chest like frost across a windowpane. Was that why he had made that announcement earlier? She’d known something was wrong, but she hadn’t imagined that there were traitors in his household.

And Ulric intended to lure them out himself.

She’d heard the whispers as they left the arena, that the cliff route was the most treacherous path in Norhaven, winding along narrow mountain ledges where one misstep meant certain death.

She’d been concerned, but she’d also witnessed Ulric’s strength and agility firsthand, and she had a great deal of faith in his skills.

But if there was treachery involved, it became something else entirely.

She told herself her dread was simply a queen’s concern for her king. That any ruler would worry about their kingdom being left without its leader. That her racing heart and the hollow feeling in her stomach were perfectly reasonable reactions to political uncertainty.

It was a lie.

The truth burned beneath her composed exterior: she couldn’t bear the thought of him in danger.

Not Ulric with his golden eyes and rare, transformative smile.

Not the male who had brought her back after her poisoning, whose hands had steadied her on her first riding lesson, who’d brought her such shocking, unexpected pleasure.

Before she could make a conscious decision, she found her feet carrying her towards the armory.

The heavy wooden door stood ajar, lamplight spilling into the corridor.

Inside, Ulric stood alone at a workbench, his broad shoulders hunched as he methodically checked his gear.

His fingers moved with the ease of long experience over leather straps and metal buckles, testing each for weakness.

The sight of him—so focused, so utterly unaware of her presence—made her heart clench. He looked invincible in the lamplight, his green skin burnished to bronze, his tusks gleaming. But the scars on his forearms told a different story—even kings could bleed.

“Must you go yourself?” The words escaped before she could prevent them.

His hands stilled, but he didn’t turn. “You should be resting, my queen.”

“As should you, if you’re to ride tomorrow.” She stepped into the room and let the door swing closed behind her. “Why not send your captains? Surely they’re capable.”

“It’s my duty.” His voice was flat and emotionless as he resumed his inspection, testing the edge of a dagger with his thumb.

“Your duty is to stay alive for your kingdom.” She moved closer, trying to catch his eye. “Norhaven needs its king.”

“Norhaven needs security.” He still wouldn’t look at her. “I need to see the route myself.”

“Why?” The question came out sharper than she intended. “What can you possibly see that your warriors cannot?”

Finally, he turned. His golden eyes met hers, but they were distant, as if he were looking through her rather than at her. “I have my reasons.”

The dismissal in his tone felt like a punch to her stomach.

Even though he’d retreated after their shared moment on horseback, she’d thought—hoped—that something had changed between them.

But here he was, shutting her out again, treating her like a child to be placated rather than a queen to be consulted.

She stared at him, frustration warring with concern. He had retreated behind that stern mask, but she could see the tension in the set of his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched when she pressed him. Something more was at stake here—she felt it in her bones.

“Tell me,” she insisted. “Please. As your queen. As your wife.”

He turned away, picking up a saddle strap and running it through his hands. “There are reports of suspicious movement in the mountains. I need to assess it personally.”

His tone was matter-of-fact, but the way he avoided her eyes spoke volumes. There was more to it; she was sure of it. She moved closer, close enough to touch his arm.

“Ulric,” she said softly. “I’m not some fragile flower to be sheltered. If there is a threat, I deserve to know.”

For a long moment, he said nothing. The only sounds were the crackle of the torches and their breathing—hers quick and shallow, his slow and deliberate.

When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. “I believe someone sabotaged the last patrol.”

Her stomach clenched. So that was why the servants had mentioned traitors. “Sabotage,” she echoed. “How?”

“The rockslide that killed our warriors and their mounts. It was no accident.” His expression darkened. “It was deliberate.”

The cold dread returned, creeping up her spine. No wonder he was so tense, so insistent on going himself. But it didn’t make his decision any less dangerous.

“Then you definitely should not be the one to go,” she argued. “If someone is willing to kill your warriors, what makes you think they won’t strike at you?”

Something flickered across his face before he shrugged.

“Forewarned is forearmed. But I need to know what we are facing.”

“And if they’re successful?” She stepped in front of him, forcing him to look at her. “What happens to Norhaven then?”

To us , was the unspoken implication. Because despite everything, there was an ‘us’ now.

She’d felt it the moment they’d met, even if she hadn’t recognized it at first. And even if he had retreated since then, she had felt it on that horse, the connection between them.

The bond he was too stubborn to acknowledge.

He studied her, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he lifted his hand to brush a strand of hair from her cheek. The gesture was so unexpected, so tender, that it nearly took her breath away.

“I will return,” he murmured, his fingers lingering at the edge of her jaw. “I swear it. Nothing will stop me from coming back to you.”

Her heart fluttered in her chest. She wanted to believe him, but she’d seen firsthand the devastation treachery could bring. She couldn’t shake the fear that this was a mistake, that he was placing himself in needless danger.

She opened her mouth to protest, but before she could speak, his lips covered hers. The kiss was gentle, almost chaste, but it sent a jolt of warmth through her all the same.

“Trust me,” he whispered against her mouth. “I must do this. For Norhaven. For us.”

She wanted to protest, to argue, to demand he see reason. But the look in his eyes, the raw determination and the glimmer of something deeper, silenced her objections. Nothing she could say would change his mind.

“Of course.” She stepped back, her spine straightening. “Forgive me for concerning myself with matters beyond my understanding.”

A flicker of something—regret, perhaps—crossed his face, but it was gone before she could be certain. “Jessamin?—”

“Your Majesty.” She dipped into a perfect, formal curtsy. “I wish you safe travels.”

She turned and left before he could see the sting of tears in her eyes. Her throat burned with unspoken words. With fear. With anger at his stubborn pride. With the terrible knowledge that if something happened to him on that mountain, a piece of her would die with him.

Back in her chambers, she paced the length of her sitting room, her fingers worrying the edge of her sleeve.

She felt helpless, a sensation she despised.

In Almohad, she’d had influence, connections, a lifetime of understanding the intricate dance of court politics.

Here in Norhaven, she was still finding her footing, still learning the steps.

The door opened, and Elspeth entered, carrying a tea tray. Her face softened with concern when she saw Jessamin’s agitation.

“Your Majesty?” She set the tray down. “What troubles you?”

She hesitated, then surrendered to the need to speak her fears aloud. “The king rides with the cliff patrol tomorrow.”

“Ah.” Elspeth’s voice was a well of sympathy. “After what happened to the last patrol? That seems… unnecessarily reckless.”

“He won’t listen to reason.” She sank into a chair, suddenly exhausted. “He pushes me away at every turn.”

Elspeth poured the tea with practiced grace, the fragrant steam rising between them. “Perhaps he doesn’t trust a southern woman’s counsel, my queen.” She handed Jessamin the delicate cup. “The orcs are… different from us. They respect strength above all else. Subtlety is lost on them.”

The words echoed her own darkest fears—that she would never truly belong here, never be more than a foreign ornament. Yet something in Elspeth’s tone made her bristle.

“The king is no simple brute,” she said, surprising herself with her defensiveness. “He’s a skilled strategist and a thoughtful ruler.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Elspeth gave her a placating smile. “I meant no disrespect.”

She sipped her tea, the familiar taste of Almohadi spices a bittersweet comfort. Then she sighed and returned to the ledgers she’d been reviewing earlier that day, seeking distraction in the orderly columns of numbers and inventory lists.

Elspeth moved quietly around the room, straightening cushions and arranging flowers. Then, as if it were an afterthought, she paused.

“Your Majesty, I hesitate to trouble you with this, but…” She twisted her hands in her apron. “Yesterday evening, I saw something… concerning.”

The nervousness in the older woman’s voice caught her attention and she looked up. “What was it?”

“One of the guards.” Elspeth lowered her voice. “He was passing a note to one of the human cooks in the kitchen. It may have been nothing, but they looked… furtive.”

A chill ran down her spine. After the discrepancy with the silk, after Ulric’s sudden decision to ride a dangerous patrol route himself, this seemed too coincidental to dismiss.

Her concern was immediately followed by doubt.

Was it truly suspicious, or was she seeing threats where none existed?

And if she reported it to Ulric or his captains, would it seem as though she were spying on his men?

The very thought made her stomach twist. He already kept her at arm’s length; accusing his guards without solid evidence would only widen the gulf between them.

But if she said nothing, and it was something significant…

“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, hating the uncertainty in her voice.

Elspeth’s face brightened. “Perhaps, Your Majesty, you might write a note to the Captain of the Guard? Frame it as a general concern for security, rather than a specific accusation.”

It was a reasonable solution. The captain could investigate discreetly, without it appearing as if she’d overstepped her bounds.

“I could draft it for you,” Elspeth offered. “In the formal Almohadi style. It would carry the appropriate weight of your station without seeming… intrusive.”

Relief washed through her. “Would you? I find my thoughts scattered tonight.”

“Of course, my queen.” Elspeth moved to the writing desk, selecting a sheet of parchment and preparing the ink. “I’ll make it appropriately vague. Just enough to warrant investigation, not enough to cause offense.”

She nodded, grateful for the assistance.

Her mind was still filled with images of Ulric on that treacherous mountain path, of rockslides and broken ropes and the terrible, yawning drop to the valley below.

She couldn’t protect him from his own stubbornness, but perhaps she could ensure the fortress was secure in his absence.

Elspeth’s quill scratched quietly across the parchment, the elegant Almohadi script flowing from her practiced hand. The lady-in-waiting’s face was a mask of concentration, her lips moving slightly as she composed the message.

“There,” Elspeth said finally, dusting the ink with fine sand to dry it. “Will this suffice, Your Majesty?”

She took the note, her eyes skimming the formal greeting and carefully worded concerns. It was perfect—respectful but firm, concerned but not accusatory.

“This is excellent, Elspeth. Thank you.”

“Shall I have it delivered tonight?”

She nodded, folding the parchment and pressing her seal into a drop of wax. “The sooner the better.”

As Elspeth took the sealed note and departed with a graceful curtsy, she turned back to the window. The mountains loomed dark against the night sky, their jagged peaks like the teeth of some great beast. Somewhere amongst them wound the cliff patrol route, where Ulric would ride tomorrow.

Be safe , she thought fiercely, as if she could will the words across the distance between them. Come back to me.