The Alliance

Chapter 40: Safe Haven

The moon is a slatter of silver hanging above the dense canopy of trees, casting a ghostly glow over the forest floor. Morgan crouches behind a thick gnarled root, her breath shallow, her heart drumming against her ribs like a caged bird. The night air is crisp, filled with the distant howls of wolves and the occasional snap of a twig. She has been on the run for days now—her body aching, her feet blistered, her hands scraped raw from clawing her way through bramble and thorns.

She was lucky to escape. If she had lingered even a moment longer, the king’s men would have had her in chains, dragging her back to Eldermere to be used as a pawn in some cruel political scheme. But she is no one’s pawn. She is Jasmine’s mother. And she will get to her daughter or die trying.

Morgan clutches the reins of her mare tighter, her fingers numb from the cold. She has kept to the shadows, avoiding the main roads where bounty hunters and spies lurk, selling information to the highest bidder. Every town she passes through is filled with dangers—men who see a lone woman and assume she is easy prey, travelers who eye her too closely, as if sensing she is something more than she appears. She cannot afford mistakes.

Her only solace is that she is drawing closer. Another day’s journey, and she will be within reach of Mercia’s borders. Another day, and she will see Jasmine again.

Back in Mercia, Jasmine sits by the window of her chamber, staring at the ink-black sky. The wind brushes against the glass, howling softly, carrying with it the weight of her unease. Gina and Ginny, her trusted handmaidens, sit beside her, both of them mirroring her concern.

“You must rest, Your Highness,” Ginny murmurs, gently reaching for Jasmine’s hand. “You’ve been on edge all day.”

Jasmine exhales sharply. “I can’t help it.” She turns her gaze back to the night, her fingers curling in frustration. “It’s been weeks. I have sent letter after letter, yet my mother has not written back.”

Gina frowns. “Perhaps she never received them. You said yourself that Eldermere is filled with spies. What if they intercepted them?”

Jasmine’s stomach churns at the thought. What if something has happened to her? The last time she saw her mother, she was frail, coughing into a rag with trembling hands. What if she was too sick to travel? What if the king’s men had already found her?

“I need to know if she’s safe,” Jasmine murmurs, gripping the armrest of her chair. She looks up at her handmaidens with determination burning in her chest. “I will send a spy to Eldermere.”

The twins exchange uneasy glances. “That’s dangerous,” Gina warns.

“I don’t care,” Jasmine says firmly. “I will not sit idly by while my mother is in danger.”

Before either of them can protest further, a knock sounds at her door. Jasmine straightens as Prince Phillip enters, dressed in a loose white tunic and dark breeches, his golden hair tousled as though he had been outside battling his thoughts.

His expression softens when he sees her, but there is something else there—something heavy. Gina and Ginny quickly exit their chambers.

Jasmine stands, smoothing the folds of her nightdress. “Is something wrong?”

Phillip shakes his head, stepping closer. “Tomorrow, we leave for Caeloris,” he says, voice calm but firm. “My uncle, King Aldred, has summoned me.”

Jasmine furrows her brows. “Caeloris? Why?”

Phillip exhales, rubbing his hand over his jaw. “It’s about my kingship,” he admits. “Before my coronation, I must seek my uncle’s counsel. He’s one of the few men my mother still trusts.”

“But your coronation cannot happen unless your father is—-“ Jasmine bites her bottom lip. Each time she brought up his father, he always evaded the topic. Although she has heard whispers in the courtroom, she wants to hear it from the horse’s mouth.

She watches him carefully. “And your father?” She presses. “Was he close to King Aldred?”

At the mention of his father, something shifts in Phillip. His jaw tightens, his shoulders go rigid, and his blue eyes darken with a storm of unspoken pain.

Jasmine recognizes that look—it is the same one she wears when she thinks of her own past.

“No one speaks of my father,” Phillip says, his voice rough, laced with restrained anger. “Not anymore. The queen forbade it.”

Jasmine steps closer, reaching out to place a gentle hand on his arm. “Why?” she asks softly.

Phillip looks away, his fingers curling into fists. “Because his death was painful.”

A silence falls between them, heavy and charged. Jasmine can see that whatever happened to his father left a scar deeper than most people realize. She wants to press more, to ask him what really happened, but she also knows what it’s like to carry a wound that bleeds even in silence.

So instead, she whispers, “You don’t have to tell me now. But one day, I hope you will.”

Phillip’s gaze snaps back to hers, the hardness melting away, replaced by something raw, vulnerable. He reaches for her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “I will,” he promises. “But… be patient with me, Jasmine.”

Jasmine smiles softly. “I will.”

The moment stretches between them, the warmth of Phillip’s touch sending an unfamiliar heat through Jasmine’s veins. She cannot get used to how Phillip looks at her like she is the only thing in the world.

Phillip leans in, capturing her lips in a slow, lingering kiss. It is gentle at first, his hands cradling her face as though she might disappear, but when Jasmine presses closer, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, his restraint shatters.

He lifts her into his arms, carrying her to the bed as their lips move hungrily against each other’s. The nightgown slips off her shoulders, pooling at her waist as Phillip trails kisses down her neck, his breath warm against her skin. Jasmine trembles beneath his touch, her fingers threading through his hair as he lays her down against the silk sheets.

When he finally joins her, their bodies tangled in the glow of candlelight, Jasmine feels everything—the heat, the tenderness, the raw emotion that neither of them dare put into words.

This is her safe haven.

Phillip is gentle, deliberate, as if memorizing every part of her, as if trying to prove something—to her, to himself. And as they move together, as their breaths mingle in whispered gasps and moans, Jasmine realizes she can never get enough of this, of him.

By the time they collapse into each other, their skin damp with sweat, Phillip wraps his arms around her, pulling her close. “Sleep,” he murmurs against her hair, his voice hoarse with exhaustion.

Jasmine smiles, pressing a kiss to his chest. She feels safe even though her heart carries a heavy burden