“I’ll be nearby,” she said quietly, and turned toward the inner corridor without waiting for permission.
Harald watched her go, the sway of her skirts disappearing into shadow. The space she left behind felt abruptly colder as the echo of her steps faded deeper into the keep.
Harald’s boots struck the stone with a rhythmic, violent finality. He didn't look back at Henry, but he could feel the man's presence—a cold, calculating shadow that smelled of old parchment and hidden agendas.
Under his ribs, the irritation was a living thing, clawing at his lungs. It wasn't just the threat at the coast; it was the way Enya had looked at him before she had left—the way she’d looked at the horizon.Anticipation.The word tasted like poison. Was she afraid for her life, or was she waiting for a rescue he hadn't seen coming?
He pushed the heavy oak doors of the council chamber open. The groan of the hinges sounded like a warning.
The room was still half-empty, the long table waiting beneath the low light of the torches, chairs standing ready like sentinels. Harald crossed to the high-backed seat at its head and remained standing, hands braced briefly against the worn wood as if grounding himself before the weight of command settled fully into place.
One by one, the councilmen arrived.
Cloaks were shrugged off, low greetings exchanged, chairs scraping against stone as the last of the Council took their places around the table. The murmur lingered only a moment longer before Harald lifted his hand and the sound died immediately.
He remained standing at the head of the table, gaze sweeping the room once before settling on the two men who waited near the wall, cloaks still on, boots dusted with sand and grit.
“Tell me everything,” he said. His voice carried easily, steady and unhurried. “Start from the coast.”
One of the scouts stepped forward, helmet tucked under his arm. “We spotted them at first light, me jarl. Westward side, just past the bend o’ the cliffs.”
Harald’s gaze went to the man first, brief but attentive. “Ye’re all right?”
“Aye,” the scout replied at once. “We kept our distance.”
Nay blood.
“Good,” Harald inclined his head slightly. “How many were they?”
“Hard tae say exactly. At least eight. Possibly further inland.”
Harald nodded slowly, absorbing it. “On foot or mounted?”
“On foot,” the man replied. “They moved careful. Kept tae the rock where the land dips. Kent how tae keep out o’ sight.”
A second scout spoke then, younger, eyes still sharp with the memory of it. “They didnae linger where they could be seen.”
Harald’s fingers rested against the back of the chair as he considered that, his gaze moving between the two men. “That suggests discipline,” he said, more thoughtful than sharp. “Or purpose.” He looked back to the first scout. “What’s yer sense o’ it? Were they watching us, or something else?”
The man hesitated only a moment. “Felt like testing, me jarl. Nae rush. Like they wanted tae learn the ground before being noticed.”
A dark, heavy murmur moved through the table.
Harald’s fingers curled lightly against the back of the chair. “They were armed, aye?”
“Aye,” the first man said. “Swords at least. Carried close, nae fer show.”
A murmur moved through the table.
Harald felt the air in the room turn cold. He pictured the shoreline—the very rocks where Enya had been standing. Had they seen her? Had she been the signal they were waiting for? The thought made his stomach churn with a mixture of possessiveness and a terrifying, dawning suspicion.
“What routes did they take?” Harald prompted, trying to keep his voice steady.
“They followed the shoreline north, then cut back,” the second scout answered. “Like they were testing the ground. Watching how often the patrols passed.”
A sharp, violent tightening seized Harald’s chest. They were testing his home, observing where he slept, where his people lived, and where Enya was currently hiding.
“How close did they come?” someone asked.
