Page 13 of The Orc's Bonded Bride

“Has anyone from Kel’Vara visited? Officials, soldiers?”

She nodded. “Twice in the past month. They came with sealed documents for Lord Trevain. No one knows what was in them,but after each visit, things got worse. More restrictions, more demands. The harvest festival next week—it used to be a celebration. Now a quarter of everything must go to the lord’s keep.”

“And no one resists?” he asked automatically, then winced. These people were not soldiers.

“With what? Pitchforks against trained soldiers?” she asked, confirming his assumption. “These are good people who simply want to live their lives.”

The familiar weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders. This was why he’d left Norhaven—to find evidence of Lasseran’s plans. He hadn’t expected to find it here, in this small village, with her.

She abruptly pushed back from the table and started picking up the dishes, gesturing at him to remain in place when he started to rise. After placing them in the sink, she pulled down a clay jug and two pottery mugs and brought them to the table. The cider caught the firelight, glowing like liquid gold as she poured it onto the mugs.

“From my own trees,” she said with a hint of pride. “Last autumn’s batch.”

The cider tasted of sunlight and crisp fall days—sweet with a tart finish that lingered pleasantly. So different from the harsh spirits warriors drank to forget battles. This was a drink meant to be savored, to celebrate life’s small victories.

“It’s excellent,” he said, surprised by how much he meant it.

She smiled, the first real smile he’d seen since their reunion. It transformed her face, softening the wariness that had settledthere. For a heartbeat, he glimpsed the girl he’d known in Kel’Vara—before everything had changed.

“The orchard takes work,” she said, her smile fading as she gazed into her cup. “Everything does, really. The bees, the garden, keeping the cottage from falling apart again…” She sighed, rolling her shoulders as if to ease an ache. “Not that I mind. It’s mine. All of it.”

She said it with such fierce pride that he felt something stir within him—admiration, and something else he couldn’t name.

“You’ve done all this alone?” he asked.

“Who else would help me?” The question wasn’t bitter, just matter-of-fact.

He stared into his cup, his thoughts racing. He needed to learn more about Lasseran’s activities in the region. The village’s location—close enough to gather intelligence, far enough to avoid immediate detection—was ideal. And Lyric clearly knew the local situation.

But beneath these tactical considerations lay something deeper, something he was reluctant to examine too closely.

“I could help,” he said abruptly, surprising himself. “With your holding. Just for a while.”

Her eyebrows rose. “You?”

“I’m stronger than I look,” he said, trying to strike a humorous note.

“You look plenty strong,” she countered, studying him. “But why would you stay?”

“I would like to learn more about Lord Trevain’s connection to Lasseran. And…” He hesitated, then decided on honesty. “And I owe you. For leaving.”

She held his gaze for a long moment, her expression unreadable.

“Just for a short time,” he added quickly. “In exchange for shelter.”

He watched her face as she considered his offer, noting the small furrow that appeared between her brows. Her eyes—those green eyes he remembered so clearly—searched his face. He did his best to keep his expression open, willing her to see the truth, even though he wasn’t entirely sure what that truth was anymore.

“Two weeks,” she finally said. “You can stay and help for two weeks. Then we’ll see.”

Relief flooded through him, although he couldn’t explain why it mattered so much that she’d agreed.

“Two weeks,” he echoed with a nod.

She rose from the table and moved to a small chest in the corner, pulling out a couple of folded blankets and what looked like a threadbare quilt.

“I don’t have a proper bed for you,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “But I can make a pallet here by the hearth. It should be comfortable enough, and you’ll stay warm.”

What am I doing here, he wondered again as he watched her create the pallet. This peaceful place, this woman with her garden and her bees—they belonged to a world he’d never known. A world he had no right to disturb.

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