Page 12 of The Orc's Bonded Bride

“It’s mostly vegetables,” she explained, not meeting his eyes. “And the rabbit that tried to steal them.”

The normalcy of it all—this quiet domestic scene—felt surreal after years of blood and battle. His hands, scarred and calloused from wielding weapons, looked out of place against the worn wooden table.

“Thank you,” he said as she placed a bowl before him. The stew smelled rich with herbs and root vegetables. Simple fare, but his stomach growled appreciatively.

They ate in silence for several minutes, and he tried to remember the last time he’d shared a meal like this. He’d come close a few times—eating around the campfire with his brothers, or dining in Wulf’s private quarters with his brothers and their mates—but he’d always felt just a little bit on the outside. He’d never had just a quiet supper across from someone who knew him… or had known him, once.

“So,” she finally broke the silence, gazing at him across the table, “you disappeared.”

He swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“I heard you became a fighter.”

Her voice was absolutely neutral but he flinched nonetheless. How could he explain how that had happened, let alone explain the years that followed? The blood, the pain, the things he’d done to survive.

“At first,” he said cautiously.

“And after?”

“A lot of places, but eventually I headed north.” He hesitated again. “I found my brothers.”

Her neutral expression was replaced by shock.

“You have a family? How did you find them?”

“Accidentally. After I left my… job, I went to Norhaven to find out how other orcs lived. Wulf recognized my pendant.” It was the one thing he’d held onto since he was a child. “Both he and Lothar had a similar one.”

“Two brothers?” She shook her head. “I always assumed you were as alone as I was.”

“I was. Then.” It had been a shock to discover otherwise. Sometimes he still found it hard to believe, especially as most orcs were lucky to father one child, let alone three. “They said my father—our father—hadn’t known about me.”

She gave him a skeptical look. “And you believed them?”

“Yes.” Wulf and Lothar were good males. He chose to believe that his father had been as well. “My mother told me the same thing, even though she never gave me any details about him.”

“And you?” he asked, desperate to shift the focus. “How did you come to be here, with…” He gestured around the cottage. “All this?”

“I left Kel’Vara after…” She hesitated. “When I was eighteen. I ended up here and I wandered for a while. I met someone on the road—she bequeathed this place to me when she’d died. She’d been gone a long time. It needed a lot of work.”

He nodded, imagining her rebuilding, piece by piece. Creating something from ruins. He understood that, at least.

She broke off a piece of bread and he found himself studying her hands. They were strong hands, marked with the evidence of hard work—calluses from garden tools, a small burn scar on one thumb, fingernails kept practical and short. Not the soft handsof the noble ladies in Kel’Vara, but capable hands that had built this life for herself. Not perhaps what he had hoped for but she seemed content.

“It’s remarkable what you’ve created here,” he said, meaning it. “This whole village seems… peaceful.”

Something in her expression shifted, and she set down her spoon.

“It looks that way, doesn’t it? Peaceful. Simple. But things are never entirely what they seem.”

He frowned at her across the table, alert to the change in her tone. “What do you mean?”

“Lord Trevain,” she said, lowering her voice even though they were alone. “He controls these lands. At first, he seemed fair enough—collected reasonable taxes, kept bandits away. But lately…” She glanced toward the window, as if checking for eavesdroppers. “Things have changed.”

“How so?”

“New taxes. Stricter rules. Men in armor we’ve never seen before, coming and going from his keep.” Her fingers traced a pattern on the wooden table. “And there are rumors that he’s pledged allegiance to Lasseran, not King Aldran.”

He felt a cold weight settle in his stomach. This was exactly what he’d feared—Lasseran’s influence spreading beyond Velmora’s borders, into the Old Kingdom and perhaps elsewhere.

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