Page 16 of The Princess and the Orc

Though she wished he'd tell her why they were in such a hurry.

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Drogath's muscles tensed as he guided his mount through the narrow mountain passes. Every instinct screamed at him to move faster, but he couldn't risk the horses on the treacherous terrain. He'd sent two guards ahead to scout while three remained with their group, though he trusted his own senses more than their human eyes.

The wind shifted, bringing with it the scent he'd been dreading—metal, leather, horses, and too many men. An army on the move.

One of the scout guards appeared around the bend, riding hard. “My lord! There's a force moving parallel to us through the valley. At least two thousand strong, maybe more.”

Drogath cursed in his native tongue. He'd known this was coming, had felt it in his bones when he had not seen Councillor Basinger at the royal wedding. He knew the man was colluding with Prince Frederich in their attacks on the orc clans, and, when the older man disappeared before the wedding, he feared that the older man would move on his clan. He'd hoped to have more time, to get Amalia safely to the clan before war broke out. But it wasn’t to be. He'd led his mate straight into danger.

“Show me,” he ordered, dismounting. He turned to Amalia, who watched him with worried eyes. “Stay here with the guards. I need to see this myself.”

The guard led him to a rocky outcrop. Below, partially hidden by the trees, moved a sea of armed men. They had no banners, but Drogath didn't need them to know who the men belonged to. This had been building for months.

He returned to the group, his decision made. “Matthias,” he addressed the youngest of the guards, “you and Tyrell ride back to the castle. Tell King Henrik that Councillor Basinger's troops march on orc lands, along with Darea’s troops. Trust no one but the king himself with this message. Go!”

The guards’ faces paled at the implications, but they wheeled their horses around without question and galloped back the way they'd come.

He turned to Amalia. “We must hurry. You will ride with me for the rest of the trip.”

She only nodded, her face pale. Crispin, the captain of the guards, helped her dismount and Drogath settled her on his mount, then mounted behind her. “We ride quickly. No stops.”

Everyone nodded. They understood the urgency.

Several hours of hard riding later, they rode through the clan gates. Amalia's slight form tensed against him as they rode through the wooden gates. The settlement sprawled across the valley floor, stone buildings interspersed with tents and training grounds. Orcs stopped their activities to stare at the approaching group, their expressions ranging from curiosity to outright hostility. Despite the late hour, preparations were well underway for battle. Word had reached the clan about the approaching army.

He could smell Amalia's fear, though she held herself proudly. He wanted to comfort her, to explain that his people would come to love her as he did, but before he could speak, a massive figure shouldered through the gathering crowd.

Korroth. Of course, it would be Korroth.

His cousin's scarred face twisted in a sneer as he took in their small party. “Welcome home, cousin. I see you brought back three soldiers. Scant defense against an army.” He gestured at the royal guards. “I brought something better. A promise of alliance with Osna. Their warriors are fierce, their numbers great.”

Drogath kept his voice level, though his hand tightened on Amalia's waist. “A promise is nothing without action. I’ve brought an alliance with Sherith itself. This is Princess Amalia, my mate. King Henrik's only daughter and heir to the throne.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. The clan elders pushed forward, their aged faces grave as they studied Amalia.

Korroth's laugh was ugly. “Oh, brilliant strategy, mating a human. But tell me, does your human princess know there's an army marching toward our lands? Will her father's troops come to our aid, or will they abandon us to our fate?”

“I’m aware of the army, having seen them with my own eyes,” Drogath growled. “I’ve already sent riders to alert the king.”

“Have you now?” Korroth's eyes glittered. “Then we shall see who saves our people first. Your human allies or mine. We’ll see who is worthy of leading our people.” He spun on his heel and stalked away, shoving aside anyone too slow to move.

Elder Throkgar stepped forward, his white braids gleaming in the sunlight. “The situation is grave, Chief Drogath. We must speak with you immediately.” His eyes flicked to Amalia. “Let the females see to your mate's comfort. This is a matter for warriors.”

Drogath wanted to refuse, to stay with Amalia until she was settled, but he could read the urgency in the elders' faces. He swung down from his mount, then reached up to help Amalia dismount.

She was trembling slightly, though whether from the long ride or the hostile welcome, he couldn't tell. Her voice was barely a whisper: “Did you marry me just to secure an alliance?”

The question hit him like a physical blow. He opened his mouth to deny it, to tell her how much more she meant to him than any political advantage. But Elder Throkgar was already pulling at his arm, speaking urgently about troop movements and defensive positions.

He allowed himself to be led away, hating himself for the hurt he saw in Amalia's eyes. He would explain later, would make her understand that, while the alliance had been his initial motivation for their bargain, she had become so much more to him.

But as he followed the elders toward the council chamber, he couldn't shake the feeling that she might not give him the chance to explain. He'd just handed his mate over to strangers, leaving her alone among his people with her trust in him shaken.

Some chieftain and mate he was turning out to be.

ChapterTen

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