Chapter Five
The palace buzz like a creature at dawn breathing under firelight, walls whispering through the cold. Jei sleeps in her own chambers, curled under fur so thick it hides her small frame. I stand by the mirror, pulling my hair into place.
The green dress clings to me more tightly than intended, the silk catching faint light from the hearth. I smooth the skirt, pinch my cheeks, and press one of the cherries she'd brought earlier to my lips until they bloom red.
Then I pick up the tray.Two plates and cups. One Queen who refuses to be invisible.I knock once on the connecting door. No answer.So I push it open anyway.
The King's chamber is dim, cold, and painfully tidy no excess, no scent of life except for the faint metallic tang of dragon heat that lingers in the air. He sits at his desk, half dressed , with his hair undone for once, shoulders bare where the morning light hits him.
"I thought we agreed to breakfast in the hall," he says, not looking up from his papers.
"I didn't agree to a thing" I reply, setting the tray down on his desk. "And since we share a wall, it seemed polite to start sharing mornings too."
He glances up then. His eyes sweep over the dress once slow enough to count as insult, fast enough to pass as accident. "That color's dangerous."he said.
"For the dress or for me?"I replied."For whoever keeps looking."he says looking at me like he's starving .I smile, unbothered. "Then you should stop."I say.He huffs a sound sounding like amusement or a warning. "You play this game well."
"I learned early that power likes confidence." I slide one of the cups toward him. "Eat before your temper eats you."I say without breaking eye contact.When he reaches for the cup, our hands touch.Just our skin. Barely a moment. But it's enough.
Heat floods the air like the forge from yesterday, sharp and electric. I feel it crawl up my wrist, into my throat, something primal whispering danger and don't pull away. He does first. His knuckles flex once, then retreat.
"I've never met a woman who feeds a dragon breakfast," he murmurs.
I tilt my head. "Then you've been meeting the wrong women."I say because anything else wouldn't be me.
His mouth curves, almost almost a smile. "Maybe."We eat in silence for a while, the tension between us a third presence at the table. When I finally stand to leave, he says quietly, "You've made enemies."
"Which ones?" I ask."All of them." His tone is flat. "You humiliated men twice your age yesterday. They'll try to make you regret it."he says.I look back over my shoulder. "They'll have to get in line."I replied.
By midday, the guards arrive six of them, armored in silver and froststeel. Klus stands at their head, every inch the soldier, his expression every bit of a leader.
"By order of His Majesty," he says, "Her Grace and her maid will have round the clock protection. No exceptions."
Jei, standing behind me, frowns. "We don't need..."she tries to say.
"Yes, we do," I interrupt, smiling faintly. "Thank you, Captain."I said.He nods once. But his eyes looked pale , follow me even after the formalities end.
When they leave, I find the patrol map on the table. Their routes are neat, symmetrical and all wrong. They leave blind corners between the servant halls and my chambers. Jei's door sits at the most vulnerable intersection.
So I take a quill and fix it.When Klus returns an hour later, I hand him the parchment. "I moved your patrol lines." I said.He blinks once, then takes it. "You what?" he says in disbelief."This hallway faces the east wing no guard can see that turn after sunset. Jei's room is here. If someone wants to get to me, they'll come through her first."I said.
He studies me in silence for a long moment. Then: "You've drawn a soldier's pattern."he says"I grew up guarding things more valuable than myself," I say. "Princess can't afford mistakes when the world is watching."I continue.The corner of his mouth moves a flicker of surprise, maybe respect. "I'll see to it."
When he leaves, I can tell he's thinking.And when I catch him later, watching Jei chase a stray cat across the gardens, I realize he's not looking at me anymore.He's studying us. Maybe he's beginning to understand that loyalty doesn't always come from crowns.That afternoon, the trade council meets again. The same men from yesterday now sit quieter, the air thick with forced civility. I take my seat beside the King, no invitation needed.
A messenger announces the problem before anyone else can speak.
"The bridge to Frostwell collapsed, Your Majesty. Merchants stranded. Supply lines frozen."
Valerius leans forward. "Cause?"
"Steel shortages," the messenger says. "We've lost two full convoys this month."they continue.The table erupts in argument miners blaming smiths, smiths blaming merchants, merchants blaming tariffs. I wait until the shouting folds in on itself, then rise.
"What about trade?"
"What about it?" one lord snaps.
"The South imports silk. We waste half of it in trimming. If the North refines that waste into thread for rope binding, we can reinforce the bridge joints."I say.A silence follows. Then a chuckle. "Waste silk?" someone says. "You'd use vanity cloth for steelwork?"they continue.
"Yes," I answer. "Because silk doesn't burn and doesn't rot in salt wind. Your steel nails will last twice as long, and you'll save coin while you're at it."Raelix leans back, watching me. "You've done this before."
"I used to keep our merchant house from collapsing," I say simply. "Numbers are just stories told by smart people who lie less."He studies me, then nods once to his steward. "Test it. And name her as the proposal's sponsor."
The steward hesitates. "Name her?"
The King's gaze cuts across the table. "I said name her."
The next day, workers begin binding silk to steel, and when the bridge stands again a week later, the Frostwell merchants call me the Bridge Queen.
Training begins before dawn.
The air in the courtyard bites sharp and cold. Klus stands waiting, arms crossed, a wooden practice sword in hand. His eyes flick from my boots to my dress to my posture, unimpressed."You requested hand to hand combat?" he says.
"Yes."
"In that?" He nods at the green dress.
"I like a challenge."
He exhales through his nose, then tosses me a blunted practice blade. It's heavier than I expect. My fingers ache immediately, but I grip it tighter.
"Rule one," he says, stepping into stance. "Don't wait to be hit."
He swings low. I dodge late. The flat of his sword catches my ribs, not hard, but enough to knock the air out of me.
"Lets go again," I wheeze.
He raises a eyebrow. "Already?"
"yes again."
This time, I swing first. He blocks easily, steps in close, and twists until the weapon flies from my hand. My back hits the dirt. He plants the wooden blade at my throat.
"Rule two," he says quietly, "Don't fight like someone who expects to lose."
I glare up at him. "Then stop treating me like someone who will."
His eyes narrow, studying me. Then he extends a hand. I take it. When our palms touch, the contact lingers heat meeting cold, pressure folding into understanding. He pulls me up, slower than necessary.
"You're dropping your guard," he says, wiping dust from his tunic.
"I'm just tired," I reply, rubbing my bruised shoulder.
"You don't hold back." "Your enemies won't either." He stops and hands me a waterskin. "You hesitated. When I lunged. Why?" "I was thinking." "Thinking gets you killed." He steps closer, tapping a finger on my temple. "Your mind is a weapon, not a distraction. You think about the next move, not the last one." I take a long drink, the cool water a relief. "It's not easy." "It's not supposed to be." We walk back through the western corridor in silence.
Our boots echo against the ground. The hall is dim, lit only by torches guttering in their sconces. He glances at me. "You're really doing this." It's not a question. "Did you think I was playing?" I ask. "Most do. They want the idea of power. They don't want the pain of it."he says "I'm not most," I reply, meeting his eyes.
We stop at the end of the hall. A servant passes, bowing, then disappears around the corner. For a moment, it's just us, the scent of sweat and steel, and the unspoken acknowledgment of the bruises we've given each other. He nods once. "Don't be late tomorrow." "I won't," I say, and step past him into the main keep.he turns after me. "Wouldn't miss it."
That night, I sit by the window between our chambers, watching the forge lights flicker across the horizon.
Somewhere below, the people whisper my name again not like an insult, but a beginning.Bridge.And for once, I don't feel like an impostor.I feel like the spark before a kingdom catches flame.