Page 63 of The War God's Woman

Lirienne follows me inside, hesitant. The torchlight reveals the worn tapestries along the walls, each telling of old battles. A hush fills the chamber, the guards outside giving us space. I move to the stone throne, placing a hand on its armrest.

Finally, she’s standing in front of me. I beckon her to come closer, “Lirienne.”

She takes small hesitant steps toward me, and I meet her halfway. I capture her in my arms to her surprise. A beautiful smile blooms on her lips as she asks, “What is it, Ghorzag? What’s on your mind?”

I hold her tighter, feeling every part and inch of her. In a shaky, nervous voice, I ask her, “Will you be my mate, Lirienne? In every sense of the word. Not because you’re my human bride, but because you want to be?”

Lirienne’s eyes open a fraction wider, and she nods. “Yes, Ghorzag,” she replies breathlessly.

“My mate,” I pronounce, full of love and hope for the future. Then, I kiss her, sealing not just our lips but our hearts and future together.

19

GHORZAG

Three days later, the courtyard glows with torchlight, the last tendrils of evening sky yield to a starlit canopy. Orc warriors, elders, priests, and families fill every corner, a hum of excited chatter reverberating through the fortress walls. In the center of it all stands a simple wooden platform, draped in bold crimson cloth and anchored by tall braziers at each corner. The braziers send sparks dancing into the night, marking the site of our wedding’s final vows.

I stand at the foot of the platform, arms folded to contain my own nervous energy. My father’s old battle-ax leans nearby as a symbolic relic, though I no longer need weapons tonight—this ceremony is about forging unity, not drawing blades. My chest feels tight with anticipation, memory flickering back to the day I first saw Lirienne in this very courtyard, trembling under the clan’s suspicious glare. How far we’ve come: illusions dispelled, sabotage vanquished, the War God’s direct blessing turning our world from fear into acceptance.

Across the dais, Lirienne approaches in orcish ceremonial attire. My breath catches, heart pounding at the sight. She looks every inch the chieftain’s bride, her hair braided with silverbeads that catch the torchlight, the embroidered vest hugging her slender frame. Yet beneath the regal aura is the same quiet determination I once admired from the start. Our gazes lock over the heads of the gathered onlookers, and my heart thunders in my ears. Tonight, we seal our bond with words from the depths of our journey.

Drahn, the lead priest, lifts his staff, ornaments rattling. The crowd’s low rumble falls silent. It has been a day of joyous feasting already, an extension of the wedding ceremony begun in the morning. But this final moment—where we speak personal vows—marks the true completion of our union under the War God’s gaze.

Karzug and Harzug stand on either side of me, expressions solemn but eyes shining with pride. Orcs press in a respectful circle, some perched on ledges or crates for a better view. The fortress walls bristle with torch-lit watchers. I inhale the faint scent of spiced meat from nearby tables, the tang of the evening air, and the lingering perfume of blossoms draped around the dais.

With a tap of his staff, Drahn clears his throat, voice amplified by the hush. “Clan of Stormborn,” he says, the old words resonating off stone. “We gather to hear the final vows of our chieftain, Ghorzag, and his bride, Lirienne. Their bond began in fear and trials, tested by illusions, sabotage, and the War God’s own domain.” He pauses, glancing around at the sea of expectant faces. “Yet they stand unbroken, blessed by a pillar of divine flame. Now, let them speak the words that will echo among us, binding them in love and forging a new era for the clan.”

An electric anticipation crackles through the courtyard. My pulse hammers, but I square my shoulders and step up onto the dais. Lirienne ascends from the opposite side. We meet in thecenter, torches casting flickering shadows across her face. She is flushed with emotion, eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Ghorzag,” Drahn prompts, stepping aside to yield the dais to us. “Speak your vow.”

A hush envelops the courtyard, the clan collectively holding its breath. My throat constricts—I have led warriors into battle, faced monstrous ambushes, and defied illusions, but this is an entirely different vulnerability. I draw a steadying breath, focusing on Lirienne’s wide brown eyes. She offers the faintest nod, and in that moment, I find the words I’ve held in my heart since the War God’s temple.

I lift my voice, letting it carry: “Lirienne, from the day you arrived as a peace offering to protect your village, we have walked a treacherous road. I saw your courage in the face of hatred, your compassion in healing orcish wounds, your unrelenting will when illusions and sabotage threatened to break us. When others called you a curse, you never faltered in wanting to help. And when I cast aside my weapon to defend you in the temple, you stood fearless by my side.”

A slight tremor runs through me—to speak so openly in front of the entire clan feels as exposing as any battle, yet I press on. “I vow before the War God and all Stormborn orcs: I will shield you from any threat, share your burdens, and trust in your wisdom. No illusions shall ever sway me from your side. We are bound by our own hearts, the clan’s acceptance, and the War God’s sign. Together, we guide this clan toward unity, bridging orc and human in the spirit of hope.”

A murmur ripples among the crowd—some orcs dabbing at their eyes, others nodding in approval. My gaze drifts to Lirienne, who stands transfixed, lips parted. I offer her a faint, reassuring smile, letting her see the unspoken love behind my vow. I mean every word.

She inhales deeply, turning to address me, voice quivering at the start. “Ghorzag,” she says, cheeks coloring in the torchlight. “From the moment I was forced to step through these gates, I feared orcs would despise me as an invader. But you showed me honor, letting me see the clan’s heart. You fought illusions, faced betrayals, and offered your own life if the War God demanded it—all to protect me, a human bride. I once believed we were too different, but your strength and compassion taught me that hearts speak a common language.”

She pauses, voice thick with emotion. Tears glisten in her eyes, though she keeps them from falling with sheer will. “Now, standing here under the War God’s blessing, I pledge myself to you and to Stormborn. I vow to stand at your side in battles yet to come, to heal your wounds as you’ve healed my heart, to share in your triumphs and burdens. No illusions or sabotage can force me away. My choice is freely given, born of the love we forged in adversity. I believe in our future, orc and human, united by hope.”

A wave of warmth surges through me at her words. My throat tightens, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. I hear the courtyard erupt in a low, approving rumble— orcs acknowledging the sincerity of her vow. She’s truly one of us now.

Drahn steps forward again, staff scraping the dais. “Hear these vows, Stormborn clan,” he proclaims, voice carrying in the torchlit gloom. “Ghorzag and Lirienne vow unity under the War God’s watch. May we, as their witnesses, commit to supporting their bond, forging a future free of illusions, guided by truth and strength.”

A roar of agreement swells. Some orcs clash swords on shields in an almost musical cadence. Others lift cups of orcish brew, shouting words of blessing. Nagra leads a small band of younger orcs in a chant, the syllables echoing with fervor. Iglimpse old warriors with tears shining in their eyes—relief that the clan has found solid ground at last.

One of the priests, a middle-aged orc with an elaborate headdress of feathers, approaches carrying a carved wooden emblem—the War God’s sword set in stylized flames. He places it at the center of the dais, a symbol for all to see. “The War God’s sign stands among us,” he declares. “No illusions remain, no sabotage corrupts. We walk forward as a clan restored.”

With the vows completed, the courtyard erupts into cheers, drums pounding a triumphant rhythm. Orcs press closer, eager to congratulate us both—some offering hearty slaps on my back, others hugging Lirienne in a swirl of excitement. Lirienne’s cheeks glow with happiness, laughter bubbling over as she embraces orcs who once scorned her. The transition from fear to acceptance feels almost magical, buoyed by the War God’s sign.

We circulate among the revelers for a time, exchanging words with elders who apologized for their earlier hostility. They press tokens of goodwill into our hands—small carved orcish charms, bits of cloth embroidered with protective runes. Lirienne touches each item with gratitude. My heart soars, seeing the clan rally around her.

Finally, as the night deepens, Karzug and Harzug take over hosting duties, encouraging orcs to feast and dance. Recognizing the final stage of orcish weddings, they guide us from the dais with sly grins. “Go,” Harzug teases, clapping me on the shoulder. “The War God’s flame brought you two together. Let this be your night to seal it.”

Lirienne and I share a knowing look. Among orcs, it is customary for newly mated pairs to slip away from the public eye once the vows conclude, leaving the clan to continue festivities. With the clan chanting blessings and the heavy thrum of drums at our backs, we slip through the corridors of the fortress, hearts pounding at what lies ahead.

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