Page 4 of The Orc's Bonded Bride

“But—”

“And once I’m gone, they’ll be no one to protect you from him.” She nodded towards the front of the caravan where the caravan master rode. “This is mine to give and it would have been lost if I hadn’t met you. Take it, child. Take it and build the life you deserve.”

A week later and Serena was gone, passing away peacefully in her sleep. Lyric had covered her face with a mourning veil and said the ritual prayers before slipping away in the night, the document carefully packed with her meager belongings. It had taken her two weeks to reach her destination and she’d walked through the village, tired and dusty but hopeful. As she’d set to work on the cottage and gardens, she kept expecting someone to challenge her, to tell her she didn’t belong and send her away.

Instead the villagers had been cautious, but not unfriendly. As she’d continued to work on the property, they’d start to drop by with offers of help, although she’d been reluctant to accept. Inher experience, nothing was ever offered for free. Despite her reticence she’d found a place here.

Sometimes the reality of that still struck her as impossible.

She’d been sent away from Kel’Vara when she was eighteen, but the memory of its slums still clung to her like a shadow—the narrow, filthy streets where she’d spent her childhood dodging trouble and scrounging for survival. The stench of too many bodies pressed together in crumbling tenements. The constant vigilance required to avoid the Dusk Guard’s attention. But at least she hadn’t been alone then. She’d found a family of sorts with a gang of street kids until their leader, the recipient of her childish affections, had deserted them and she’d found herself working in the kitchens of a wealthy noble.

In many ways it had been a better life—enough to eat, a safe place to sleep, and even an education of sorts—but it hadn’t been enough to ease her sense of betrayal. Even now the thought of him made her chest ache, a bruise that never quite healed.

She shook off the memories and turned back to the hives. From slum rat to beekeeper. The journey between those two lives contained enough pain to last several lifetimes, but standing here now, she couldn’t bring herself to regret a single step. In Kel’Vara, she’d been nothing—less than nothing. Another hungry mouth in the lower quarter, easily forgotten, easily discarded. She had a new life now, a new purpose, and the past belonged where she’d left it—in the dust of that brooding city, far from the simple beauty of her home.

She closed up the last of the hives, careful not to disturb the diligent workers. A bee landed on her wrist, its tiny feet tickling her skin. She remained still, watching as it explored before taking flight again.

“Go on then,” she said with a small smile. “The lavender’s blooming by the eastern wall.”

The sun climbed higher, promising a warm day ahead. Perfect weather for the beans she needed to stake and the new row of cauliflower waiting to be sown. She’d just finished storing her beekeeping tools when she spotted a familiar figure making her way up the narrow dirt path from the village to the cottage. Marla Tanner, plump and perpetually cheerful, waved enthusiastically as she approached, a basket swinging from the crook of her arm.

“Morning, Lyric! Glorious day, isn’t it?” Marla called out, slightly breathless from the uphill walk.

She wiped her hands on her apron and offered a small smile. “Morning, Marla. What brings you by so early?”

“Early? Sun’s been up for hours, dear!” Marla chuckled, setting her basket down on the wooden table outside the cottage. “Brought some fresh bread and that cheese you liked last time. Thought we might trade for some of your honey, if you’ve got any to spare. And maybe those lovely snap peas I see climbing your trellis?”

“I can spare a small jar. Let me fetch it for you.”

Inside, she selected a jar of amber honey from her shelf and gathered a basket of the ripest peas. Marla’s trades were always fair, and the woman had been kind to her ever since she’d settled here. Still, she kept their interactions brief, preferring to remain cordial but distant.

When she returned, Marla was admiring the beehives with obvious appreciation.

“Such clever little creatures,” Marla remarked. “Much like their keeper.”

She smiled as she handed over the honey and vegetables. “The bread smells wonderful.”

“My mother’s recipe.” Marla beamed, then her expression brightened further. “Oh! Nearly forgot why I really came. The harvest festival starts next week in the village. Three days of music and dancing and more food than anyone can eat. You should come this year.”

Turning away, she busied herself arranging Marla’s offerings in her own basket. “I appreciate the invitation, but?—”

“But nothing! You missed it last year, and the year before.” Marla’s eyes twinkled. “Besides, Harlin the cooper has been asking about you specifically.”

Harlin was a nice man, simple and honest—and far too innocent for someone with her past. Even if she had been interested in him, she wouldn’t have encouraged him.

“I’m not much for crowds,” she said softly. “Or dancing.”

“Nonsense. Everyone enjoys a good festival.”

Not everyone, she thought. Not those who’d seen how quickly celebration could turn to violence in Kel’Vara’s crowded quarters. Not those who’d learned that drawing attention meant drawing danger.

“I’ll think about it,” she offered, knowing she wouldn’t.

Marla sighed. “That’s what you said last year, dear. Whatever happened before you came here—it doesn’t matter to us.”

If only that were true.

She watched Marla disappear down the path, the woman’s invitation still hanging in the air between them. The harvest festival. Another opportunity to pretend she belonged here, among these simple, honest people who had never witnessed the darkness of Kel’Vara.

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