“Well, since I’m a queen myself, I think I qualify to listen.”
Her eyes widened. “You are?” Her heart sank at her lack of royal decorum toward the woman. “I thought you were just a friend of Jakob’s.”
“I am. My husband is King Sven of Stagholt. We’re a province over from Onyxheim. And right now, I am just a friend. I’ve been where you are right now, and I would have loved to have someone who understood.” Bryn nodded. “Go ahead. Spill away.”
Mallory didn’t need much encouragement. Something about the woman made her comfortable enough that the words just spilled out. Everything from running into Jakob at the hotel, his refusal to explain, the way it felt like he was retreating just when she’d started to feel a connection with him.
“And he keeps saying there’s danger,” Mallory finished, staring at her hands. “But he won’t tell me what kind. Or from who. Or why it suddenly matters now.”
Bryn’s expression sobered. “You know about the Ruecrags.”
“I know they’re bad guys,” Mallory said dryly. “That’s pretty much the extent of it.”
Bryn nodded slowly. “Then yes. That’s likely the danger.”
Mallory’s head snapped up. “You know?”
“I know enough,” Bryn said carefully. “Sven and I are here to help Jakob handle them. We had trouble with a different group of them in Stagholt so it made sense for us to travel here to assist.”
Mallory’s stomach dropped. “So it’s real.”
“Very.”
“And he’s protecting me from them.”
“Yes.”
Mallory swallowed. “Then why won’t he just say that?”
Bryn studied her over the rim of her mug. “Because that’s not how royals are taught to love.”
Mallory frowned. “That sounds ominous.”
Bryn smiled sadly. “Royals are raised to see people as vulnerabilities. The more you care, the more exposed you are. So when someone matters…” She hesitated. “You don’t draw them closer. You shield them. Even if it hurts.”
Mallory let that sink in. “So pushing me away is his version of caring.”
“In his mind,” Bryn said gently, “yes.”
Mallory laughed, sharp and humorless. “That’s a terrible system.”
“It is,” Bryn agreed without hesitation. “But it’s deeply ingrained.”
Mallory leaned back in her chair. “Do you think he loves me?”
The question hung between them, both fragile and terrifying.
Bryn didn’t answer right away.
When she did, her voice was sure. “Jakob doesn’t risk this much for people he doesn’t love.”
Mallory’s throat tightened. “Then why does it feel like I’m losing him?”
“Because love, when you’re royal,” Bryn said softly, “often looks like fear.”
Mallory closed her eyes.
Fear of what could be taken. Fear of what could be used. Fear of what could be destroyed.
