Page 9 of The Princess and the Orc

“Quiet,” he reminded her, continuing his careful exploration. “Unless you want the guards to overhear?”

She buried her face against his neck, muffling her sounds as he worked her higher, stroking her with his thumb, while his finger delved deeper into her tight channel. She was a virgin. Not that he expected anything else, but it would make consummating their mating more difficult. She clearly had an exhibitionist streak in her, considering how she reacted whenever he brought up someone overhearing. That would be a good thing for an orc mate. Orc males loved to show off their mates, though they rarely shared them.

Her hips rocked against his hand, seeking more friction, more pressure. He gave her what she needed, drinking in her quiet gasps and whimpers, using his fingers to stretch her, getting her ready for his much larger cock, while his thumb worked her nub relentlessly.

When she finally shattered, she bit his shoulder to stay silent, her body trembling in his arms. He held her through it, murmuring praise in his native tongue as she came down from her high.

“Why…” she managed finally, her voice shaky. “Why didn't you…”

“Take you fully?” He smiled against her hair as he stroked her back with one hand, his other still buried inside of her. “That pleasure will wait until you’ve been prepared.” He decided not to mention the claiming before the clan. She wasn’t quite ready for that knowledge, though he suspected she’d enjoy it. He shifted her in his arms, laying them both down on her bed. “For now, sleep. You'll need your strength for the next few days.”

She made a soft sound of protest but was already drifting off, curled trustingly against his chest. Drogath pulled her closer, breathing in their mingled scents. His little mate might fight their bond, might rage against the changes coming to her life, but her body knew the truth of where she belonged.

He would let her sleep for now. Tomorrow they might battle again, but tonight she purred like a kitten, wrapped safely in his arms where she belonged.

ChapterSix

“Why is this… creature attending our council meeting?” Councillor Victor Basinger, a hardened older man from one of the border regions, sneered at Drogath, who sprawled in one of the chairs looking remarkably unconcerned.

Amalia glanced nervously between her father and Drogath, wondering if anyone was going to respond to the inherent challenge in the comment. Amalia often attended Council meetings, initially under her father’s gentle suggestion so she could learn the business of the kingdom, then as she found it interesting. She knew many of the older Council members were waiting for the day when she married, constantly putting forth potential husbands for her father’s consideration so she could get to her real purpose: popping out babies and raising the next generation. She was nothing more than a vessel to many of them, though there were a few, like Sir Cadvael, who respected her and listened when she spoke.

Now King Henrik stood and announced her marriage, or mating, to an orc. The clamor was deafening, and Drogath only sat there, one leg propped over the arm of the chair, swinging slightly, a smirk on his face. He was intentionally baiting the Councillors, acting the part of a lazy, indolent orc, when she suspected otherwise. They had spent only one night together so far, but she already knew he was far more intelligent than anyone believed, which he manipulated to his advantage. Was it a game or did he have a deeper purpose in coming here? What did a common orc know about ruling a kingdom? He would be better served hanging with the soldiers, as her maid told her he’d done that morning.

Amalie caught Drogath’s gaze across the chamber, and he gave her a wicked wink, his sharp teeth flashing in a knowing grin. Heat licked down her spine, pooling low in her belly as memories of the previous night crashed over her. The way his calloused hands had roamed her body, the way his mouth had explored, teased, claimed—she had never felt anything like it. Prince Frederich, with his careful courtship and chaste kisses, had never dared to touch her so intimately.

And now, all she could think about was returning to their bedchambers, peeling away the layers of propriety and seeing if it had been as good as she remembered. Or if it would be even better.

Not that she was particularly pleased with him at the moment.

She had slept all night wrapped in warmth, cocooned by the solid weight of a male who radiated heat like a living furnace. His scent, rich and dark with the spice of something utterly him, had wrapped around her like a second skin, and for one blissful moment, she had expected to wake to his hands skimming her body, to the rough scrape of his tusks against the delicate skin of her throat.

Instead, she had been met with empty sheets and the chill of his absence.

The disappointment had been sharp, unexpected. Perhaps a little distance had been for the best. She wasn’t sure she was ready to lose herself completely in an orc’s embrace.

Tell that to her traitorous body.

Every time Drogath flashed her that wicked grin, the heat flared again, spreading like fire through her limbs. Her thighs pressed together involuntarily, desperate for friction, for relief from the ache building inside her. He knew exactly what he was doing to her. She could see it in the way his gaze lingered, the way his nostrils flared slightly, as if he could scent the longing curling beneath her skin.

And gods help her, she wanted him to do something about it.

“Princess Amalia. Are you listening?” An exasperated voice broke into her thoughts, and she turned her burning face to Councillor Basinger.

Before she could respond, Drogath growled and leapt to his feet, stepping between her and the Councillor. “Speak to my mate with more respect. She is my mate, your princess, and your future queen.”

The Councillor’s eyes flared with fear and he stumbled back a few steps, falling into his chair. Amalia stifled a giggle, glad to see the overbearing man put in his place. He had been the one to put forth Prince Frederich as a potential husband, being related to the prince or something, and she was sure he was disappointed by the king's refusal to consider him. But her heart warmed at the defense. Even her father had never defended her, saying she needed to hold her own against the Council if she wanted to rule after he was gone.

“My apologies, Princess Amalia,” Councillor Basinger finally sputtered in her direction.

She gave a graceful nod. “Thank you, Councillor. As you can understand, this may not have been the alliance we were expecting with our neighbors of Darea, however, this marriage will bring us more safety and a strong union with the orc clans of the mountain regions through which our enemies have to travel to invade us. Our orc allies know the mountain passes better than anyone and can provide defense for us, along with faster warnings, so we can be better prepared for any attacks.”

“Assuming they are not the ones attacking us now,” the Councillor muttered.

“We are not attacking you,” Drogath stated flatly. “However, that is an excellent change of subject. Who is attacking your settlements, not to mention ours?”

Councillor Basinger glared at him, then turned to the king. “Your majesty, I don’t have to speak to the creature who is killing my people.”

King Henrik steepled his fingers in front of him, a thoughtful look on his face. “In fact, you do. I have sent several of my guard to investigate and have not heard from them. They were supposed to coordinate with you and you have not mentioned them. I find this alarming.”

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