Page 20 of The Princess and the Orc

A shudder ran through the ground. Faint at first, then stronger. A steady, rhythmic tremor.

The army was on the move.

A young orc came barreling around the bend, his breathing ragged, his wide eyes gleaming with urgency. He skidded to a stop, his voice raw with warning.

“They come, Chief Drogath.”

Drogath gave a single nod, his gaze already turning back to the pass. The time for strategy was over. Now, there was only war.

But the young warrior didn’t leave.

Drogath frowned, shifting his attention back to him. “Was there something else?”

The young orc hesitated, his throat working as he swallowed hard. Fear flickered across his face, not for himself, but for what he was about to say.

“Chief, your mate…” His voice broke. “They have her.”

The world stilled.

The march of the human army, the rustling of wind through the trees, the weight of the impending battle, none of it mattered anymore. Everything inside Drogath went cold, a still, lethal quiet settling over him. His heart did not pound. His breath did not quicken.

A slow, merciless rage coiled in his gut.

A mistake.

A fatal mistake.

Whoever had taken Amalia had signed their own death warrant.

His voice was low, deadly calm. “Where?”

ChapterTwelve

Amalia’s heart pounded like a war drum, her pulse a frantic beat against her ribs. Fear coiled in her belly, cold and suffocating, threatening to pull her under. She swallowed hard, forcing it down, locking it away where it couldn’t paralyze her. She was a princess. Frederich wouldn’t dare harm her.

Would he?

Her throat tightened as she glanced at the lifeless bodies of her guards, their blood dark against the dirt. Frederich had killed them without hesitation, without remorse. His power-hungry gaze now turned to her, and for the first time, she felt truly trapped.

He had dragged her from her horse, binding her hands in front of her before hoisting her onto his warhorse. She had tried to twist away, to create even the smallest distance between them, but he was stronger. His arm locked around her waist, pulling her flush against him. The press of his armored chest made bile rise in her throat.

He laughed when she struggled.

“Don’t worry, Princess Amalia,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. “You’ll see your filthy beast soon enough. You’ll watch as I gut him like the mongrel he is. Him and all his kind.”

Amalia stiffened, her breath shallow.

Frederich’s fingers dug into her waist, his voice dropping into something colder, something crueler. “Too bad you married him. You’re spoiled now. Worthless to me. We could have ruled together.”

She turned her face away, revulsion curling through her. This was not the man she had once considered a possible husband. He had always been arrogant, but now she saw the truth. There was nothing noble about him. He was poison wrapped in silk.

A second rider approached, his horse slowing beside them. Councillor Basinger barely spared Amalia a glance, his expression twisted with disdain.

“You have the girl?” he asked.

Frederich smirked. “Of course. The orc will be so distracted that we’ll have no trouble crushing them.”

Basinger gave a short, humorless chuckle. “They’re beasts. It was never going to be a fight. She’s just insurance against the orcs and her father. Unless you’ve already handled that matter.”

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