Page 6 of The Princess and the Orc

King Henrik rolled his eyes and looked at Drogath. “Are you sure you want to marry a headstrong female such as this?”

Drogath only smiled. “We made a bargain, your majesty. I escorted her safely back to the castle in exchange for her hand in marriage.”

“You can’t mean to hold me to that. I was coerced!” Amalia cried out.

Her father exchanged glances with Sir Cadvael and his expression turned cagey. “Will you join us for dinner?”

* * *

Drogath sat on the red velvet cushioned chair across from King Henrik and immediately servants began laying plates in front of him, piled high with food. Roasted pork. Fresh warm bread. Creamy butter. Cold ale. Spiced wine. It was a feast for the senses, and he was starving. Yet the only thing he wanted to devour was his mate, Princess Amalia. She had bathed in something floral that masked her own sweet scent, but he could still smell her underneath it all. And her courtly dress covered more than he would like, hiding her from his eyes. It was the orc way to show off their mates and flaunt their treasures, for that was what a mate was—a veritable treasure that not all males were honored to find, but he wasn't ready to share his.

“What brings you to my kingdom?”

Drogath smothered a smile. “Orcs used to roam freely across your lands, your majesty. But we have restricted ourselves to the mountain regions for safety in recent decades. I came because I believe we have an enemy in common.”

The king exchanged glances with his chief advisor. “We do? I was under the impression that your people were our enemy.”

Drogath frowned. “You have been misled. We are not your enemy. We only wish to live in peace with you and your people. We have not attacked your borders or your people. Instead, we have been the victims of foul attacks and slander against our name.”

Sir Cadvael spoke up. “We have evidence of your attacks on our villages.”

“Lies,” Drogath spoke flatly. “We have never attacked your villages or anyone else. Anyone killed has only been in response to attacks on our homes.”

“You’re saying that someone left orc weapons and clothing in our villages and used your techniques to kill humans?”

Drogath wanted to slam his hands on the table. Why wouldn’t they listen? But he had to maintain his composure to save his people. He was his clan’s, no, all the orc clans’ only hope of defense against their dishonorable enemies. He had to persuade King Henrik to ally with them and stand against their enemies before it was too late. Other orcs were attempting to reach out to other kings, but Sherith had always been friendly to orcs and they were in the direct line of attack. Drogath had no doubt that once the orcs were removed, Sherith would be next, whether from the enemy within or the one they could not see on their borders.

He knew the neighboring kingdom of Darea had been attacking his people, but he had no proof. They used uniforms from Osna or none at all, appearing as brigands or outlaws to throw his sentries off the scent. But he’d caught sight of their prince with his distinctive white-blond hair, watching the attack from a distance, even coming close enough to take part at one point. Darea was involved up to their prissy little necks, and he suspected they were behind the attack on the princess earlier that day.

But Drogath met the king’s gaze evenly. “Yes, I am saying exactly that.”

The king frowned and his advisor looked troubled. “These are serious accusations. I assume you have proof?”

Drogath scowled. “Not enough for a human court.”

The king made a sound and focused on his food for a few minutes. Drogath waited but, when nothing else was said, he also began eating. The food, while delicious, felt like dirt in his mouth. The only positive side was that his mate was also picking at her food, avoiding his gaze, though occasionally stealing glances at him, her eyes darting away when he caught her.

The king didn’t miss the exchange. “Explain how you think you’re worthy of my daughter’s hand in marriage.”

Drogath heard the steel in the king’s tone and had a choice to make. He could kowtow to the king, as many of the human courtiers would, or he could act as a warrior and stand up for himself.

He met the king’s gaze. “Your daughter pledged herself to me in exchange for her safety. This is between us.”

The king’s white eyebrow raised. “She needs my permission to marry.”

“I’m not asking to marry her. In the eyes of my people, we’re already mated.”

“What?” Amalia screeched, half rising out of her seat. “You didn’t tell me that.”

He smirked at her. “You didn’t ask, nor did you stay around long enough for me to enlighten you.”

“You are under the impression that you and my daughter are already mated?” The king asked, his tone mild.

“Not an impression, a fact,” Drogath corrected. “She accepted my terms. We are mated. Though there is still a ceremony we will perform with my clan. Amalia is of an age to make her own decisions. We do not rely on family permissions, like humans do. We allow the parties involved to make their own decisions.”

The king pursed his lips and glanced at his advisor, who looked consideringly. They put their heads together and spoke quietly for a few moments.

Meanwhile, Drogath felt Amalia's glare upon him, her hands fisted around her knife as if she envisioned stabbing him with it. He liked a female with fire. She’d make a fine mate and mother for his young.

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