Page 19 of The Orc's Bonded Bride

“He’s not just any orc,” Lyric replied, her tone clipped. “I’ve known Egon for years.”

He moved closer to the door, careful to keep his footfalls silent. He didn’t want to eavesdrop, but he needed to know what they were saying about him.

“You can’t trust his kind,” Elder Tomas said. “Just last month, the Hollowbrook settlement was?—”

“You said yourself that no one knew what happened there,” Lyric cut him off. “And anyway, he’s from Norhaven.”

“That makes it worse!” Harta hissed. “They’ve turned their backs on civilized ways.”

His jaw tightened, his tusks pressing against his lower lip. The ignorance stung, but he’d heard worse. Far worse.

“He knows all about your so-called civilized ways,” Lyric snapped. “I met him in Kel’Vara, long before I came here. And he helped me when no one else would.”

“Kel’Vara?” Elder Tomas’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You never speak of that place.”

“I don’t have many pleasant memories,” she said firmly. “Bug Egon is one of them. I know him. He poses no threat to this village.”

“The council will want assurances,” Harta insisted. “Especially with Lord Trevain’s men watching our every move.”

“Then I’ll give them assurances,” Lyric said. “But I won’t turn away a friend because of your prejudice.”

He stepped back from the door, something warm unfurling in his chest at her defense.Friend.The word shouldn’t have meant so much, but it did. He had so few of them.

Egon quickly returned to his seat at the table as the door creaked open. Lyric stepped inside, her cheeks flushed with anger. She closed the door with more force than necessary, the wooden frame shuddering against its hinges.

“I apologize,” he said quietly. “I’ve brought trouble to your door.”

Lyric shook her head, lips pressed into a thin line. “You heard?”

“Enough.” He traced a finger along a knot in the wooden table. “Your elders have reason to be cautious. Especially with Lasseran’s influence spreading.”

She dropped into her chair with a sigh. “They’ve never even met you. They have no right to judge.”

Egon’s chest tightened at her defense of him, even as guilt gnawed at his conscience. The last thing he wanted was to cause problems for her in a community she’d worked so hard to build a place in.

“Perhaps it would be best if I left tonight,” he suggested, the words bitter on his tongue. “I can make camp in the forest. Continue my journey tomorrow.”

Her head snapped up, her green eyes flashing. “Absolutely not.”

“But your standing here?—”

“Is my business.” She crossed her arms. “I still have work for you to do. The chicken coop isn’t finished, the north field needs clearing, and the roof leaks when it rains.”

He studied her face, searching for any sign of doubt or hesitation. He found only stubborn determination. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure I need help with those chores,” she said, her tone softening slightly. “And I’m sure I don’t care what the village council thinks about who helps me with them.”

Their eyes met across the table. The firelight caught in her hair, turning the chestnut strands to burnished copper. He swallowed hard, hope flickering dangerously in his chest. Was it possible she wanted him to stay for reasons beyond manual labor?

“Then I’ll stay,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended. “For as long as you need me.”

Her expression softened. She stood and began clearing the dishes. Egon rose to help, their hands brushing as they worked side by side in comfortable silence.

When the kitchen was clean, she paused beside him. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “For understanding. And for staying.”

Before he could respond, she rose on her tiptoes and pressed a quick, gentle kiss to his scarred cheek. His skin burned where her lips had touched.

“Goodnight, Egon,” she whispered, then turned and disappeared into the bedroom.

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