Page 5 of The Princess and the Orc

Then she turned back, kicked her horse into motion. The animal's hooves thundered against the packed earth as she fled toward the safety of her walls. Drogath watched her go, noting how she leaned forward in the saddle, her red hair streaming behind her like a banner. She was beautiful in flight. And it gave him a reason to spank her delectable ass, once he caught up with her.

He continued his steady pace toward the castle, watching as she reached the gates. She spoke briefly to the guards, then disappeared inside without a backward glance. By the time he approached, the guards had arranged themselves in a defensive formation, spears leveled at his chest.

“That's far enough, orc,” the captain called out, his voice steady despite the scent of fear rolling off him in waves. He probably was alarmed by the blood smeared on Drogath’s chest, some of which had come off on the princess’s velvet riding habit. “The princess warned us you'd try to follow her. Turn back now, and we won't be forced to hurt you.”

Drogath's laugh rumbled deep in his chest. “Hurt me? With those toothpicks?” He took another step forward, noting how the younger guards shuffled nervously. “Your princess and I have business to discuss.”

“The princess gave explicit orders that you're not to be admitted,” the captain insisted. “She says you accosted her in the forest.”

“Did she?” Drogath held up the silk ribbon, letting it flutter in the breeze. “Strange that she'd give her token to someone who accosted her, wouldn't you say?”

The captain's eyes narrowed as he studied the ribbon. Drogath could practically see the thoughts churning behind his eyes. The ribbon was clearly the princess's, its quality unmistakable. And if Drogath had truly attacked her, why would she have ridden home accompanied by him instead of being pursued? Why would she be unharmed?

“Could have taken it from her by force,” one of the younger guards suggested, but he didn't sound convinced.

“And yet here I stand, asking permission to enter rather than scaling your walls or breaking down your gate,” Drogath pointed out mildly. “I’ve come to speak with King Henrik about matters that concern both our peoples. The princess can confirm that I mean no harm, unless you're suggesting she's a coward who runs from peaceful discussions?”

That hit its mark. None of them would dare imply their princess was a coward. The captain shifted uncomfortably, clearly uncertain how to proceed.

“Send for Sir Cadvael,” he finally ordered one of his men. “The king's advisor will know how to handle this.”

As the messenger hurried off, Drogath wandered over to a bucket of cold water and washed the blood off of his skin. It was getting itchy as it dried, and he didn’t want to meet the king looking like a barbarian, after all. Then he settled into a relaxed stance. Let them see that their weapons didn't concern him. Let them wonder why their princess had given him her token. Let them stew in their uncertainty and prejudice while they waited for someone else to make the hard decisions.

He inhaled deeply, picking out individual scents through the miasma of human fear and sweat. There. The lingering trace of Amalia's passage through these gates. Beneath the fear she'd been projecting, he'd caught a hint of arousal, of reluctant attraction. She might have run from him, might even have convinced herself she'd escaped a monster, but her body remembered the truth of what had passed between them.

She was his promised bride, whether she admitted it to her people or not. And Drogath was nothing if not patient. Let her hide behind her walls for now. Let her pretend their bargain meant nothing. He would wait, and watch, and when the moment was right, he would have his mate, his prize.

He smiled, showing just enough fang to make the guards shuffle backward. The ribbon danced in his grip like a promise.

ChapterFour

Amalia settled into her seat at the banquet table, after having carefully bathed and dressed for dinner. Her body still hummed from her afternoon with the orc, but she had to put him firmly behind her. There was no way the guards would let him into the castle. Orcs had been conducting raids along the borderlands, sadly leaving few survivors. Prince Frederich had told her of his own country’s woes with the orcs, which he admitted was one of the reasons he sought her hand in marriage. He wanted an alliance with Sherith to join forces and defeat the orcs once and for all.

Only, her orc hadn’t seemed warlike or nasty or evil at all. He had saved her from sure death, or at least a kidnapping, the outcome of which she didn’t know and feared. Being a princess wouldn’t save her from harm. She wasn’t naïve enough to think that would make any difference. In fact, it would probably put her in more danger. She was a valuable hostage, being the daughter of the king and the only heir to his throne. The brigands could have held her prisoner and forced her father into any manner of things, or forced her into a marriage to take over the kingdom. Stranger things had happened elsewhere.

Amalia knew her behavior had been impetuous and reckless. She should have listened to her father, heeded his warnings. At least no one needed to know about her adventure.

She picked at the roast pig, normally one of her favorites, especially the way Cook made it. But she had no appetite this evening. Her stomach was tied in knots, worried as she was that somehow her dalliance would come back to haunt her. As the meal progressed, her father and his chief advisor discussed matters of state. Normally, Amalia tried to pay attention, learn from them. Her father had been involving her in the running of the kingdom more and more, telling her that she could not rely on her husband-to-be. She thought it would be boring, but she liked it, enjoyed being needed and involved. It was better than sitting in her solarium and stitching useless things. Besides, no one liked her needlework. It was atrocious.

Finally, a soldier came to speak to Sir Cadvael. He frowned and excused himself. Her father turned his attention to her and they spoke of Prince Frederich and his reasons for refusing the marriage.

A commotion at the door roused their attention. Sir Cadvael stood there with the captain of the guard behind him and another figure looming over both of them. A green hulking beast of a creature. Her stomach plummeted. It was the orc. How had he gotten in despite her orders?

She clenched the arms of her chair, her heart freezing in her chest. Sir Cadvael shot her a sympathetic look, then refocused on her father. “Your majesty. We have a visitor who says he knows Princess Amalia. He says he is her… fiancé.”

Everyone turned to stare at Amalia. A servant dropped a platter to the floor, shattering the silence that had gripped the hall. Her father stood, still looking uncertain.

“Please, come in. Join us, sir.”

The orc pushed past Sir Cadvael. “I’m Drogath, representing the Broken Fang clan. I have been trying to speak with you for three days, your majesty.”

King Henrik arched his eyebrows, but when he spoke, his tone was mild. “And instead you accost my daughter? How did that happen, exactly?”

He turned to Amalia, and she squirmed in her chair, avoiding his penetrating stare. “I went for a ride today and got separated from my escort. Brigands attacked me, but this orc saved my life.”

His expression turned thunderous. “I expressly forbade you to go riding. You are a target, Amalia. I told you this could happen.”

“You didn’t tell me this. You only asked me to stay close to the castle. How was I to know that I would be attacked?”

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