Page 22 of The Princess and the Orc

Drogath was moving before she hit the ground. He snatched up his axe and crossed the space between them in three massive strides. Frederich was still struggling to breathe when Drogath's axe took his head from his shoulders.

“The princess!” Basinger shouted, wheeling his horse around. “Kill the princess!”

But Drogath was already there, sheltering Amalia behind his bulk as arrows whistled past them. His warriors surged forward with war cries that shook the earth.

A horn sounded from the rear of Frederich's army. Drogath grinned ferally as he saw the royal banners of Sherith appearing over the ridge. King Henrik had come after all.

“The king!” someone shouted. “The king has come!”

Frederich's forces broke in panic, caught between Drogath's warriors and Henrik's cavalry. Basinger tried to flee in the chaos, but found himself surrounded by orc warriors who had specifically been watching for his attempted escape.

“Are you hurt?” Drogath asked Amalia as he cut her bonds, his hands gentle despite the battle rage still raging through him.

“No.” She looked up at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “You came for me.”

“I will always come for you.” He pulled her close, breathing in her scent. “Even when you don’t want me. My brave, clever mate.”

“I’m sorry I doubted you,” she whispered against his chest. “When they captured me, all I could think was that I might never see you again, never tell you how I felt. I was coming back, Drogath. I was coming for you.”

A throat cleared nearby. They turned to find King Henrik watching them, his expression caught between amusement and concern.

“Perhaps we should save the reconciliation for after we've dealt with the traitors?” he suggested mildly.

Drogath reluctantly released Amalia, though he kept one hand on her waist. “Of course, Your Majesty. Though I believe you can handle this part.”

“It would be my pleasure.” Henrik's eyes hardened as he looked at the captured Basinger.

Amalia leaned into Drogath's side, her hand finding his. “Take me home?” she asked softly.

“To the clan?” he asked, needing to hear the words.

She smiled up at him. “To our people.”

ChapterThirteen

Amalia lingered in the cave, the soft white robe draped over her body the only barrier between her bare skin and the cool air that whispered over her. Beneath the fabric, intricate symbols had been painted onto her flesh, each stroke laid with reverence by the clan’s medicine woman, each marking binding her to the traditions of the orcs. The fire crackled in the small space, throwing flickering golden light over the cavern walls, but the warmth it provided did little to soothe the tremor beneath her skin.

Tonight, she would stand before the clan and be united with Drogath, not just as his wife, but as his true mate. The weight of it pressed into her chest, equal parts exhilaration and apprehension. Soon, she would rule beside him, not only over his clan but over all orc-kind.

She pressed a hand to her stomach, where the smallest flicker of life stirred within her. Their child. Their future. A future she would protect with everything she had.

It had been two weeks since the battle that never truly came to pass. Once Frederich fell beneath Drogath’s blade and Basinger was captured, the enemy army lost its will to fight. Surrender came swiftly. The northern force, disorganized and leaderless, scattered like windblown leaves the moment they heard their leaders were either dead or imprisoned.

Not a single orc had fallen. They had won.

Frederich’s father, ever the politician, had wasted no time suing for peace. King Henrik had demanded nothing less than full surrender, absorbing the defeated kingdom as a city-state under Sherith’s rule. Basinger’s vast estates had been stripped from him, his co-conspirators swiftly identified and imprisoned.

But not all threats had been so neatly dealt with.

Korroth had vanished like a shadow at dawn, his treachery exposed. He had led Frederich’s army through a hidden pass into the valley, betraying his own kind. Worse still, he had failed to secure an alliance with Osna. Without power, without allies, he was a fugitive now. Drogath had sent scouts to track him, ensuring that his cousin would never again bring danger to their people. Or to Amalia.

She was grateful for that. She had spent too long being hunted. Too long looking over her shoulder, waiting for the next betrayal.

Now, she only wanted peace, for herself, for her mate, and for the child she carried.

A rustling at the cave’s entrance pulled her from her thoughts. The older orc female stepped inside, her sharp eyes gleaming with knowledge as they flicked over Amalia.

“It’s time, child.”

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