Page 28 of Alien Orc Warlord's Captive Bride

He did not ride with me back to his castle. I was thrown over the back of a horse, chafing with every bounce, brought into this castle like a sack of flour and into his bed.

"Do you understand what you are? The King is humiliating me." His lips curl back in a snarl. He doesn't look at me, staring at his own reflection, his hand closing into a fist.

"I didn't mean for this to happen. The Orcs took me."

"Orcs. This is not over. Oh, this is not over." He turns to me, his face drawn tight. "You think I don't know what those paints mean? The cut on your hand? You're one of them now."

I swallow, hard. His cold, dead eyes get a glint of cruelty as he continues. "They'll be blighted out from this world. Every last one of them. And your village, too."

"What...what do you mean?"

He smiles then. It's more terrifying than a frown. "Those poor, starving Orcs. So hungry, they'll attack your little town."

"They would never."

"Oh, but they will. They'll sack the whole town and leave it burning, because we burnt their village home. The King does not want to waste his resources on a petty squabble, no, but when he sees what they are capable of, he'll have no choice."

I sit up in the bed. I hate being naked in front of him, hate the way his eyes scroll over my body, not in lust, but in hatred. "That village is under your protection. If it burns...he'll find a new Lord who can protect it."

He stalks to me, and my ears ring from the slap. I can't even raise my hand to stop him. I keep them planted at my sides, terrified. "You think you can tell me strategy? You learned so much, from fucking savages?"

"I'll do anything. You can have me, any way you want, please...they're innocent."

Lord Ashbourne sneers. It makes his thin, skeletal face even more cruel. "You have nothing to bargain with, Aira. You will serve me any way I wish." He grabs my nipple, tight and hard, pulling me to him. "Your womb is polluted. The only pleasure you little Orc whore will get is from your ass. By the King's laws, if you do not bear me a son within the year, I can choose another and be rid of you. I'll fuck every other hole."

Then he pulls away, like I am on fire.

"Wash those paints off you. Scour them off, and if there is one bit left, I'll have two men hold you down and scrub you with kitchen bristle even if I have to take your flesh off to get rid of those savage marks. I will return in an hour. Do not displease me, mybride-to-be." He puts scorn into the word “bride,” and his eyes flash with deeper hatred.

"Clean yourself. Get the stink of Orc off you," he spits out. I pull myself from the bed, and he grabs the blanket I was on, stuffing it into the fire where it billows into smoke, filling the room with the acrid scent that reminds me of the burned Orc village. Then he leaves, his robe swishing, slamming the door behind him. The blanket smolders in the huge fireplace, igniting, and I rush to the window, opening it wide to get air before I pass out. It would be just like him for his bride-to-be to die in a horrible accident.

I am in his tower, the citadel that rises from the bleak stone of his castle. Moss grows on the side, and men are training below, dull iron blades clanging against wooden shields. The walls rise up all around me, and soldiers patrol, but as evening falls, I see one yawning in boredom. No one has ever dared attack Lord Ashbourne's fortress—but the guard next to the yawning one gives him a hard slap on the shoulder to rouse him, aiming his rifle out towards the mountains. I breathe in the cold air greedily, wishing I was running through the peaks with Ragnar, wishing he was by my side.

Ten more guards clamber up the stairs to the walls, and I can hear their low grumbles. The guards already there do not leave, instead leaning against the walls in tiredness and looking out towards the mountains.

Double shifts. Lord Ashbourne is a cautious man. Even after the blow he dealt to the Orcs, he fears a counter-attack. if only he knew the truth. That right now, the only man who could threaten him is being hunted by those he trusted.

Those mountains mock me. Hard, cold peaks that remind me of his broad, strong face. I see him everywhere. Has Ragnar been killed already, ambushed by his closest men? Would Ulric be cut down as well, defending him?

Gorak must have been plotting in the shadows behind him. I saw how they argued, that first day when he took me. He can't accept a human queen to his Chieftain. He thinks of Ragnar as weak because he has a heart.

The thin blanket has burned up and is now a smoldering, smoking mess, smoke churning up through the chimney and stinking up the room.

So this will be how I will be taken. In a cold bed, the air soured by smoke, by the man I hate more than anything. I can remember his horrible words when he picked me. That if I was obedient, I would be rewarded.

For my village, for everyone I knew, I'll have to be the submissive little bride he demands. It might not be enough, but even a hint of defiance will only bring more terrors to them. He'll calm down soon. The sting of shame is making him act rashly, making him plot things that will be his own undoing. I'll close my eyes and imagine Ragnar, trying to blot out the cruel Lord as he takes me. He'll be rough, that I know, but I'm stronger than I've ever been before.

I can imagine the feeling of kitchen pads, made to scour heavy, greasy frying pans scraping up and down my body, and I rush into the bathroom. The bathroom is made in the same dull granite of his castle. There is a clawfoot tub, a smooth mirror, and a square shower. I'd heard of showers, but never seen one in real life, and I walk into it, turning both nozzles. A stream of icy water shoots down, and I gasp, but keep my head up. A little chill is nothing compared to what is coming.

I have to kill him.

The thought comes from somewhere deep inside me, the certainty of it making a chill rush up and down my body as the waters heat.

It's the only way.

He cannot take the humiliation of having a bride who was the property of the Orc. He's a cunning, careful man, but he's been driven too far, and he'll burn up my village and kill everyone I know to get his revenge, blaming it on the Orcs and forcing the King to respond with strength. Maybe the King will strip him of his post for failing to protect the village—but it will be too late for my little brother. Being Ashbourne’s obedient little pet might stay his hand...

But the only way to be certain my village will be safe is to end him. I gulp, because I know what will happen after.

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