Chapter 25: The Deepening Bond
Ten days of stolen moments.
That's what our relationship became. Fragments of time carved from duty and deception, precious because they were brief, dangerous because they existed at all.
Morning: I'd escort Helaena to the godswood. Our hands would brush as I opened the gate. A touch that lasted half a heartbeat but sent electricity up my arm.
Afternoon: Court events. Helaena sitting with Alicent and the other ladies while I stood guard. But when she passed me a book—ostensibly about insects, actually poetry—our fingers would linger. Her thumb traced my knuckles. Gone before anyone noticed.
Evening: The library. Officially, I was there to fetch books for her research. Actually, we were in the darkest corner, between shelves no one visited, holding each other. Whispering dreams and fears while the world moved on outside.
"I dreamed we were flying," she murmured against my chest. "Both of us. On Silverwing's back."
"I don't have Silverwing yet."
"You will. The dreams are rarely wrong about the important things."
Night: The godswood under stars. We'd lie on the grass, mapping constellations. Her head on my shoulder. My arm around her waist. Stealing an hour before she had to return to chambers she shared with a husband who barely noticed her existence.
Every moment was borrowed. Every touch was risk.
And I'd never felt more alive.
"Show me again," Helaena said, trying to break my grip on her wrist.
I held firm but not painfully. "Twist toward my thumb. That's the weak point in any grip."
She twisted. Wrong direction. My hand stayed locked.
"Like this?" She giggled, nervous.
"Other way. Here—" I adjusted her angle. "Now pull hard and fast."
She did. My grip broke. She stumbled back, surprised it worked.
"I did it!"
"You did." I smiled. "Again. This time, I won't tell you which direction."
We'd been doing this for three days. Basic self-defense. Not combat—she'd never be a fighter. But awareness. Escape techniques. How to break holds, where to strike to cause maximum pain, how to scream effectively to draw guards.
She approached it like she approached everything: with quiet intensity and occasional bursts of awkward humor.
"Why are you teaching me this?" she asked during a water break. "You think I'll need it?"
Careful. Truth without revealing too much.
"I think every woman should know how to protect herself. Especially—" I paused. "Especially women who might be targets."
"Because I'm a princess?"
"Because you matter. And people who matter attract danger."
She was quiet for a moment. Then: "The dreams show danger. Fire. Men in the corridors. Screaming." Her voice dropped. "But never me screaming. Always the children."
My hands clenched. "I'll handle the men in the corridors. You just need to know how to get yourself and the children out if I'm not there."
"Where would you be?"
"Dead. Probably. But that's why we have escape routes planned."
She didn't laugh. "Don't joke about dying."
"I'm not joking. I'm being practical." I took her hands. "But I don't plan on dying. I plan on living long enough to annoy you with overprotectiveness."
That got a smile. "You already do."
"Then I'm succeeding."
We resumed training. Her movements were clumsy, unpracticed. But she was learning. Building muscle memory. Becoming less helpless.
Good. When the Dance comes, she'll need every advantage.
Queen Alicent found me on the fifth day, walking the gardens alone between duties.
"Ulf. Walk with me."
Not a request.
We walked in silence through carefully manicured hedges, past flowering plants I couldn't name, toward a fountain where water burbled quietly.
"My daughter is different," Alicent said finally. "Since you became her guard. She smiles more. Speaks more clearly. Stands straighter."
"She's a remarkable woman, Your Grace. She just needed someone who listens."
"And you listen."
"Yes."
"Why?"
I chose words carefully. "Because she sees the world differently. Most people dismiss that as madness. I think it's wisdom nobody else is clever enough to understand."
Alicent stopped, turned to face me. "You care for her."
Not a question. An accusation.
"I protect her. That's my duty."
"Is that all?"
Our eyes met. She knew. Mothers always knew.
"Yes, Your Grace. That's all."
Lie. Bold-faced lie. But necessary.
Her expression hardened. "Helaena is the king's daughter. Aegon's wife. Future queen. She's not some serving girl you can pursue."
"I'm aware."
"Are you?" She stepped closer. "Because the consequences for adultery with a princess are severe. Execution. Torture first, if the husband demands it. And Aegon..." She paused. "Aegon is cruel when he's humiliated."
"I understand, Your Grace."
"Do you? Because I see how she looks at you. How she lights up when you're near. And I see how you look at her." Her voice dropped. "I'm not blind, Ulf. And neither is the court."
My heart hammered. But I kept my face neutral.
"I protect her. I serve her. Nothing more."
"See that it stays that way." She turned, started walking back. "I love my daughter. I want her happy. But I love her alive more. Remember that."
She left me standing by the fountain, alone with the sound of running water and my racing thoughts.
That night, I told Helaena about the conversation. Edited. Softened. But honest about the core message.
"She knows," Helaena whispered. We were in the library, hidden behind astronomy texts. "Or suspects."
"Yes."
"We should stop."
"Should we?"
She looked up at me. Eyes wet. "No. I don't want to. But we should. For your safety."
"My safety is my concern."
"Ulf—"
"No." I took her face in my hands. "I'm not stopping. Not slowing down. Not pretending this doesn't exist. We'll be more careful. More discrete. But I'm not walking away."
"Why? Why risk everything?"
"Because when I'm with you, I'm not just surviving. I'm living. And I've survived too long already."
She kissed me. Deep. Desperate. Then pulled away, breathing hard.
"We need to be more careful," she said, echoing her mother's warning.
"We will be."
"Promise me."
"I promise. More careful. Better timing. No public mistakes."
She nodded. Then: "When I'm with you, I forget to be afraid. The dreams, the dread, all of it—it fades. But when you're gone, the fear returns. Stronger."
"Then I won't go."
"You have to. That's what makes it dangerous."
I pulled her close. "Then I'll become strong enough that the danger doesn't matter. Strong enough to protect you openly."
"How?"
"By training harder. Getting stronger. Becoming someone even Otto Hightower can't threaten."
She rested her forehead against my chest. "Promise me something else."
"Anything."
"Don't become a monster to protect me. Stay you. The man who listens to my dreams and takes me seriously."
I thought of Blood and Cheese. Of the men I'd already killed. Of the violence I was prepared to commit.
Too late. I'm already becoming something else.
But I said: "I promise."
Because she needed to hear it. And because some part of me still hoped it was true.
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