Page 3 of The Princess and the Orc

“Thank you.” Her voice shook a bit as she spoke. “For saving my life. Though I don't understand why.”

Drogath smiled. Maybe he would finally get his audience with the king. King Henrik could hardly refuse to speak with the orc who saved his only daughter. “Perhaps, princess, there is much about my people you do not understand.” He stepped closer again, testing her courage, and she didn’t flinch, though she smelled of fear, and something else. “Though if you wish to learn, these woods are my territory. And I would not be opposed to teaching you.”

“Take me home,” she commanded, her voice impressively steady. “At once.”

Drogath smirked. She was terrified. He could smell it on her, yet she dared to order him about like a common servant. More interesting still was the other scent threading through her fear. Arousal, sharp and sweet. His blood stirred in response, along with something else he hadn’t expected to find and didn’t dare name, not yet. Didn’t dare to hope.

“Take you home?” he rumbled, letting his voice drop to its deepest register. “But I am an orc, little princess. Haven't you heard? We kidnap beautiful women for sport. Keep them, bind them to us forever.”

She paled further, her skin creamy under her fiery red hair, but lifted her chin higher. “You saved my life. You won't harm me now.”

“Such certainty.” He stepped closer, noting how her pupils dilated. “But there are brigands still searching these woods for you. The second force that had split from this group. I hear them even now.” He did, too. Crashes through the underbrush, voices calling to each other in the distance. “I could protect you, escort you safely home... for a price.”

“What price?” Her fists tightened next to her body, but she didn't back away.

“Marriage.”

“What?” The word exploded from her in a most un-princess-like squawk. “Absolutely not!”

Drogath shrugged his massive shoulders. “As you wish.” He turned, hefted his ax, and began walking away, counting silently in his head. One. Two. Three. Shouts were growing closer. Whether they were the enemy or her own guard, because there was no way the princess was out alone, he didn’t know. But if he didn’t know who it was, neither did she, which gave him an advantage. He had waited for an opportunity, leverage with the king. Now he had one in his claws. The princess herself. His victory would be sweeter if she came willingly.

“Wait!”

He smiled, then smoothed his expression before turning back. Amalia stood rigid, hands fisted at her side, face white but determined, her face tilted in a regal expression. Behind her, the voices grew closer.

“I accept.”

“Accept what, precisely?” He wouldn't make this easy for her. He needed her to say the words, to seal the bargain.

She swallowed hard. “I accept your offer of marriage.”

“Ah.” Relief flooded him. He had her.

Drogath moved closer until he towered above her, forcing her to look up to meet his eyes. “Then we must seal our bargain properly.” He reached for her, giving her time to pull away if she truly wished to refuse. When she remained still, he cupped the back of her head with one massive hand and drew her toward him.

“With a kiss.”

ChapterThree

Amalia held herself rigid as Drogath's massive hand cradled the back of her head. It was just a kiss, a meaningless gesture to seal a bargain that would never come to pass. Her father would never allow her to marry an orc, no matter what promises she made in the heat of the moment. The thought steadied her. One kiss, and then she would be safely escorted home.

She tilted her chin up, expecting a quick, perfunctory press of lips. Instead, Drogath's dark eyes caught and held hers, filled with an intensity that made her breath catch. His other hand settled at her waist, and with surprising gentleness, he pulled her to him as if she weighed nothing at all.

“Scared, little princess?” His deep voice rumbled through her where their bodies pressed together, and she realized her hands rested against the solid wall of his chest, the heat from his mostly bare body searing her.

“Of course not,” she lied, proud that her voice remained steady. “It's just a kiss.”

His tusked mouth curved in a knowing smile. “We shall see.”

Then his lips claimed hers, and all thoughts of propriety and politics burned away in a rush of sensation. This was no chaste peck between nobles at court. Drogath kissed like a warrior claiming territory, passionate and demanding, yet with an underlying tenderness that made her knees weak. His tusks, which should have been awkward or frightening, somehow added to the erotic pleasure of the kiss.

Against her will, Amalia melted into him, her lips parting on a gasp. Drogath took immediate advantage, deepening the kiss until she moaned softly into his mouth. Her fingers curled into the leather straps that criss-crossed his chest, trying to ground herself as unfamiliar heat pooled in her belly.

He broke the kiss only to trail his lips down her throat, and Amalia's head fell back, her body arching into his touch. “This isn't... we shouldn’t…” But she made no move to push him away.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against her skin, his breath hot and sending shivers down her spine. “Tell me you don't want this.”

She should. She knew she should. But when she opened her mouth, all that emerged was another breathy moan as his teeth grazed her pulse point. His hands, so massive they could span her waist, slid up her sides with maddening slowness.

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