Chapter 17 #2
A page approached, holding out Jack’s royal helmet with both hands.
He took it without a word, and for a moment, Jack simply looked at it.
He hated wearing his royal silver circlet even for ceremonies, but I’d never seen him reluctant to don his helmet.
It was part of his armor, not a crown jewel, but still, he seemed hesitant before finally sliding it over his head.
Jack’s helmet was no ordinary piece of armor; it was a steel masterwork forged in the image of a hrímdreki’s head.
The brow sloped into a pronounced ridge shaped like a draconic snout, flanked by winged crests that arched backward like swept-back spines.
The eye slits were narrow and angled, their rims inlaid with runes that glowed faintly when they caught the light.
The lower half flared into sculpted cheek guards with subtle scale embossing, and the nape guard mimicked the curve of a dreki’s jaw, protecting his neck while completing the illusion of a creature mid-snarl.
The transformation was instant. Gods. I’d seen him in full royal armor before, but this time it hit differently.
Gone was the boy I’d met in the maze, conjuring snow into birds and bunnies just to make me laugh.
The one who smuggled sweet bread and warm cider into the library so we could read old fairytales by firelight, trading secrets long after the halls went quiet.
The boy who fell asleep on my shoulder inside the watchtower on the anniversary of his father’s death, trusting me with the grief he never let anyone else see.
The fifteen-year-old who taught me to ride, who never let me give up when I couldn’t hit a target.
The one who gave me my first official weapon, not during the overindulgent fanfare of the graduation ceremony, but in the silence of the training yard.
No queen. No guard. Just Jack, the stars in his eyes, and a long seax wrapped in cloth.
It was a single-edged, pointy, and slightly curved classic Skadgardian large knife, perfect for delivering swift, slicing cuts and stabbing in close quarters.
“You’ve earned your blade, Sergeant. Welcome to the guard,” he’d whispered.
Etched along the blade in old Skadgardian runes had been the words: For you, I bleed.
For no other, I yield—a private echo of the night I bested him in sparring, carving the first line of red across his shoulder.
He hadn’t yielded then, not until he was on one knee, chest heaving, pride burning in his eyes.
“Does she have a name?” I’d asked.
“The swordsmith who I had craft it named it Mánskari.”
“What’s it mean?”
“Moonshadow,” he’d said, his eyes softening, glinting under the stars, as if he’d been referring to me and not the blade.
Jack had also been the one to stand beside me at my father’s grave in silence, offering no words, only his hand in mine until the weight in my chest loosened.
And he’d been—still was—the only person who could read my heart with a single look.
Now, with the helm sealed in place and his cloak billowing in the breeze, he didn’t look like my childhood best friend turned prince, he looked like a fae warrior blessed by the gods, like the future Frost King of Skadgard he was destined to become.
My breath caught in my throat.
Goddess above. He was breathtaking. Regal. Untouchable.
And I… I was just a girl in plain clothes and a wool-lined cloak. A former captain. Stripped of command. Stripped of true purpose. Stripped of him.
“You look like you’ve swallowed gravel,” a familiar voice said beside me.
I turned to see Ravin approach, his gloved hands guiding a horse forward. He wore travel leathers under a cloak slung over one shoulder, red hair still slightly damp from a morning wash.
“You’re coming?” I asked, surprised, swallowing the lump in my throat. “You weren’t on the itinerary.”
“That’s because I wasn’t originally invited,” he said with a crooked grin. “But I wasn’t about to let the two of you bungle diplomacy with the Unseelie King and doom us all to Hel. Think of me as your chaperone…or disaster insurance, whichever you prefer.”
I might’ve laughed if the nerves weren’t eating my stomach alive.
“Please fetch my mare,” I said to a page who approached. “She should be saddled and ready—”
The boy hesitated. “She’s not, miss. I was told you’re to ride in one of the wagons.”
I frowned. “Who told you that?”
“Captain Varik.”
Should’ve known. Which meant maybe it had been Lord Kaelven behind this and not the queen.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Ravin muttered.
“You mean like kick the asshole in the balls?”
“Stand in line. I’ve got dibs on that one. Though, according to His Royal Highness, it’s forbidden. So, we’re not to touch him.” He made air quotes and rolled his eyes.
“Speak for yourself.” I stormed toward where Varik barked orders to a column of mounted guards, Ravin tsk-tsking behind me.
“Lieutenant,” I snapped.
He turned around quickly, his expression scrunched. “You mean captain.”
I ignored his correction. “Why is my mare not prepped for travel?”
“Because you’re not riding,” he said cooly. “You’re in a wagon. Or did you forget you’re the prince’s attendant now, and your presence is to remain unnoticed, lest the kingdom finds out you weren’t truly injured. Or would you like them to demand that His Royal Highness be flogged again?”
That pressure building at my fingertips roared again, the need to claw his face off screaming at me.
But that would mean he’d gotten under my skin, and I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
Flexing my fingers, I took several calming breaths, or the queen might’ve needed to appoint a brand-new captain.
“The valleys on the path to Thrymgard are extremely rugged and known for their howling wind tunnels and frozen river crossings,” I said, choosing to stick to official business.
“Not to mention they are always thick with fog in the mornings. And with treacherous cliffs on either side, it makes the passage a prime target for an ambush, not just from the wild beasts that roam the ruins of the Shadow Court, but from dissenter raiders. Not to mention the Isogrim border is not far from the main valley. It’s why we’re being sent to escort the king.
This formation”—I gestured to the exposed flanks of the envoy—“is vulnerable. If we’re attacked on the pass, it’ll be over before the horns can even sound.
You need eyes on the perimeter. Experienced riders who can respond to threats before they escalate. You need me.”
Varik’s lips twitched, not quite a smirk. “Your tactical mind is impressive, but you speak as if I have no knowledge of the terrain.”
“Quite frankly, I’m worried that you don’t know anything about the Drunan Passage. And your inability to heed advice is going to put the prince and this envoy in danger.”
He leaned over me, his breath hot on my face. “Need I remind you that you were dismissed from your post? This isn’t your command anymore. Find your fellow companions, Sylvanna, and get in a wagon like a good fucking girl.”
The asshole turned away without another word, continuing to signal the line to form as if my warning had meant nothing.
I stood there, fists curled at my sides, helpless to do anything but watch the final preparations.
Eyes fell on me from guards who once respected me, but who now watched to see if I would crumble or obey their new captain’s orders.
This was what they wanted. To see me unfurl before their eyes. To show a lack of restraint and embarrass myself in front of the whole guard. To prove to them that I’d never been fit to lead, anyway.
But I’d not climbed their ranks untested. I’d bested many of these soldiers on the sparring mats and fought alongside them in battles. They could pretend all they wanted that I wasn’t one of them anymore, but regardless of how they now treated me, I would always have their backs, no matter what.
I let Varik have his little boy victory and puffed a resigned breath before walking away when a set of icy blue eyes found mine across the courtyard, and my troubled world fell away.
Atop his horse, Jack smiled, and warmth spread all over my body.
Pride, admiration, and a little bit of subdued rage shone in his eyes, despite them being slightly obscured by his war helmet.
He’d witnessed the whole exchange with Varik, but had stayed in the background, letting me fight my own battle. Even if, in the end, I’d lost.
I returned the smile as I strode toward him, though a part of me felt the defeat a little more profound now that I knew he’d seen me argue with Varik.
This was one of those times when maybe he should’ve intervened, and maybe I wouldn’t have minded.
He outranked Varik. He could’ve ordered Eira to be saddled; he could’ve told Varik to fuck off.
Jack knew riding in that wagon was going to strip me raw, and he’d done nothing.
I tried not to be pissed at him. After all, he was dealing with his own issues, including his injured back. And his mother had ordered for me to stay hidden as much as possible. Last thing he needed was to defy her orders.
Still. I couldn’t help the slight feeling of disappointment, even if I knew he’d made the right choice. And it chafed worse than the damn riding leather trousers I didn’t even need anymore.