Page 61 of The Orc and the Innkeeper

I press a tender kiss to her forehead before we resume walking, my arm securely around her waist. As we approach the front door of my childhood home, memories of the confrontation with my parents after Ygra’s meddling flash through my mind. The harsh words exchanged, the way I stood my ground and refused to let them dictate my life or my love.

It was a turning point for me, a moment of growth and clarity. I knew then, with unwavering certainty, that Mariah was the one I wanted to build a future with, if I could ever win her back.

And now, standing together on the threshold of this pivotal evening, that same resolve courses through my veins.

I give Mariah’s hand a reassuring squeeze, our fingers interlaced. “Ready?” I ask softly, searching her face for any sign she might back out.

But she nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “As I’ll ever be.”

With a deep breath, I raise my free hand and knock on the heavy oaken door. It swings open, revealing the warm, inviting interior of my parents’ home.

Ma stands inside the entrance, wringing her hands nervously. Her eyes dart between Mariah and me, her expression a mix of uncertainty and tentative hope.

“Please come in,” Ma says, stepping aside to let us enter. “Welcome to our home, Mariah.” She reaches out as if to embrace Mariah, and then seems to get in her head about it. In the end, she gives Mariah an awkward pat on the arm.

The aroma of hearty stew and freshly baked bread wafts through the air, mingling with the faint scent of woodsmoke from the crackling fireplace. We step through the foyer and into the cozy living room, where Da sits in his favorite armchair, his weathered face etched with apprehension.

Gruna bounds over to us, her dark hair bouncing with each step. She engulfs Mariah in a warm hug, whispering something in her ear that makes Mariah’s shoulders relax slightly.

“It’s good to see you both,” Gruna says, turning to me with a bright smile. “I’ve been helping Ma in the kitchen all afternoon. Wait until you taste the roast venison!” She winks at Mariah conspiratorially.

I chuckle. Leave it to Gruna to diffuse the tension with her bubbly personality. “Sounds delicious, Gru.”

Da clears his throat and rises from his chair, his large frame filling the space. “Mariah,” he says gruffly, extending a hand. “Thank you for coming.”

Mariah accepts his handshake, her small hand dwarfed by his massive one. “Thank you for having me, Mr. Ironfist.”

“Please, call me Krag.” Da’s lips twitch into a semblance of a smile. It’s a start.

Ma ushers us to the dining room, the table laden with steaming platters of food. My gaze sweeps across the room, taking in the beautifully set table. They’ve truly made an effort here.

The centerpiece is a stunning arrangement of polished gemstones and metallic figurines, a nod to our orcish love of precious minerals and expert craftsmanship. It’s an heirloom centerpiece that my family usually only pulls out on holidays. Each place setting features intricately woven placemats in rich, earthy tones, and our finest polished silverware gleams in the soft candlelight.

All of Gruna and my younger siblings have been sent off to an auntie’s house for the night, which lends an unnatural quiet and formality to the room.

We take our seats around the table, and I can feel the nervous energy radiating from Mariah beside me. Under the table, I rest my hand on her knee, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. She shoots me a grateful look, some of the tension easing from her shoulders.

Ma and Da sit across from us, with Gruna sliding into the chair next to Mariah. An awkward silence descends as Ma begins dishing out generous portions of the savory venison stew, the rich aroma wafting through the air.

Gruna, bless her, immediately jumps in to fill the lull. “Mariah, you have to try Ma’s famous honey bread! She only makes it for special occasions.” She passes a basket of golden, glistening rolls.

“It smells amazing,” Mariah says with a genuine smile, helping herself to a still-warm roll. She tears it in half, steam rising from the soft center, and takes a bite. Her eyes widen in delight. “Mor’ghan, this is delicious! You’ll have to teach me how to make it sometime.”

Ma looks surprised but pleased by the compliment. “Thank you, dear. It’s an old family recipe, passed down from my grandmother.” She hesitates, then adds, “Perhaps we could bake together one day.”

Mariah beams at her. “I’d like that very much.”

As we dig into the hearty meal, Gruna keeps the conversation flowing with funny stories from the brewery and updates on our younger siblings. Mariah chimes in here and there, slowly growing more at ease. Ma and Da listen attentively, asking polite questions. There are a few awkward lulls, but overall, the mood is cautiously optimistic.

Until my dad clears his throat and says, “So, Mariah, what are your intentions with our son?”

Her face flushes a beet red and she darts a panicked look at me.

I bristle at my father’s blunt question, but before I can intervene, Mariah takes a deep breath and meets his gaze steadily.

“Krag, I love your son with all my heart,” she says, her voice unwavering. “My intentions are to build a life with him and to support him in his dreams. I know your family has a history with humans that makes you wary of me, but my feelings for Thorak are genuine and true.”

I reach for her hand and intertwine our fingers.

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