Page 91 of Orc's Redemption

33

RANI

The arena still hums.

The crowds trickle away as the Al’fa leaves the balcony, followed by the others who drift away into shadowed corridors. My body aches with tension as tight as a bowstring refusing to release. My breath catches, shallow and uneven. I force my steps to stay measured, but my legs are shaky.

I have witnessed history. I helped shape it. My vision, the last hope I see for my people, is now real.

Yet, all I feel is the unbearable weight of hundreds of watching eyes. The echo of jeers and cheers still tangle in my ears, and the knowledge that I have tied my people’s fate to our enemies.

I walk alone. Khiara lingers behind, likely still listening as Zat’an briefs the warriors on fortification efforts and gathering reports on the damage from the quake. The Al’fa has vanished down a tunnel with Drogor and Rosalind in tow. The moment I’m out of view of the crowd, I sag against the cool stone wall. I press my hand to my heart like I can will it to slow.

He defended me. Not just me, what I represent.

He stood in front of his people, looked them in the eye, and said I speak for the future of both peoples. He doesn’t even trust me. Not fully. But he did it anyway. Why?

My pulse thrums louder and I’m not sure that it’s only adrenaline. The memory of his voice, low and steady in front of the crowd, replays in my mind. His stance was grounded, so sure when he stepped forward to silence the challenge against me.

He carried the weight of an honored warrior claiming his mate, which leaves me with weak knees and this racing heart. No, it was more than that. That was a leader choosing a path he cannot walk back from.

I press my hands to the wall and close my eyes.

Everything’s moving too fast. I’ve found support from my former General, Janara, built a brittle alliance, stood on a stage beside a male I swore I would never be able to trust and now here I am. Breathless, raw, and aching for something I don’t have words for.

“Queen,” Khiara says softly from behind.

I straighten, quickly fixing my expression into something regal. I turn, grateful he doesn’t ask what I was thinking. I know by the look on his face that he doesn’t have to.

“There’s a gathering in the strategy chamber,” he says. “The Al’fa called it. He wants you there.”

Of course he does. I nod and fall into step beside him, trying to quiet the storm inside my head.

We walk in silence. The tunnels twist like veins through the compound, pulsing with warm light from flickering torches. My heart won’t still. It pounds louder with every step. It’s not fear. Or maybe it is, but if so it’s layered with something else. Something deeper. Something dangerous.

Longing.

It claws at my chest, fierce and unwelcome. I hate that I feel it — but hatred doesn’t make it disappear.

The strategy chamber is full when we arrive. Zmaj warriors line the walls. Rosalind stands beside Drogor. Za’tan is present, with his arms crossed, and expression unreadable. And at the head of it all is the Al’fa.

He turns when I enter, and for a moment, we simply look at each other. I don’t bow. I don’t smile. But I feel it. again. This unspoken thread that pulls taut between us, just like it did in the arena. Still there. Still humming. Still dangerous.

“You’re late.” The Al’fa’s voice is low, roughened by something more than irritation.

“I was breathing,” I answer. “Something you might consider trying.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. His eyes, storm-shadowed, flick over me like he’s searching for cracks in my armor. And he finds them. I see it in the way his brow furrows.

“Come,” he says at last, and gestures to the stool beside him. “We have much to discuss.”

I move across the room, acutely aware that all eyes are on me. I keep my head high, shoulders square, and my hands firmly clasped in front of myself. I take the stool, spine straight and face unreadable. But inside?

Inside, I’m cracked glass.

The Al’fa speaks first. His voice is calm, but there’s something sharp beneath it, like steel barely sheathed.

“We cannot wait. The damage to the compound is more extensive than we can quickly fix. There are sections that will collapse under their own weight if we don’t do something. Every tremor weakens the compound. Assuming the Queen is right and this is the Paluga stirring, we must act. If we delay longer, there will be no compound left to defend, no Urr’ki stronghold to take. All that will be left is ash and ruin.”

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