Page 41 of The Orc's Bonded Bride

“—slipped six buns into your skirt pockets,” he finished. “We ate like royalty that night.”

“Until we both got sick from eating too many.”

They shared a look, and suddenly they were laughing—his deep rumble mixing with her lighter tones. The sound of their shared mirth echoed through the trees, startling birds into flight.

It struck him then, how easily they’d fallen back into this rhythm. As if the years between had been nothing more than a brief separation. The realization both comforted and terrified him. He’d spent so long convincing himself he was better off alone, that bonds were weaknesses to be avoided.

Yet here she was beside him, matching him step for step, sharing memories he’d buried deep. And despite everything—the danger behind them, the uncertainty ahead—he felt strangely whole.

Since they no longer had to make the trip in a single day, he didn’t try to hurry their journey. Instead he watched her obviouspleasure in their surroundings. She gave an excited murmur when she discovered a cluster of wild berries growing along the path. She sorted through them quickly and efficiently, adding the ripe ones to the small pouch at her waist. The afternoon sun filtered through the canopy above, casting dappled light across her face. She looked different here than she had in the village—more alert, less guarded.

“It’s strange,” she said, straightening up. “I should be terrified, but I’m not.”

“The wilderness isn’t as dangerous as people think,” he agreed, although he remained alert to their surroundings. “Not if you know how to read it.”

She brushed her hands on her skirt and fell back into step beside him. “It’s not just that. I thought leaving would feel like…” She searched for the word. “Like losing everything again.”

He glanced down at her, surprised by her candor. “And it doesn’t?”

“Parts of it do.” She gestured back toward the way they’d come, though the village was long out of sight. “I’ll miss my garden, my bees. The rhythm of the seasons there.” A small smile played on her lips. “But there’s something freeing about this too. I haven’t traveled since I found that place.”

They climbed over a fallen log, Egon automatically extending his hand to help her. She took it without hesitation, her grip firm and sure.

“I never thought I’d say this,” she continued, not letting go of his hand even after they’d passed the obstacle, “but I’m glad you’re here. With me.”

“Even after everything?”

“Especially after everything.” She squeezed his hand once before releasing it. “You’re not the boy I knew in Kel’Vara anymore, Egon. You’re… more.”

“More?”

“Stronger. Steadier.” Her gaze was direct, unflinching. “The boy I knew was kind to me but angry at the world. Quick to fight, quick to run. You’re neither of those things now.”

He looked away, uncomfortable with her assessment. “I still fight.”

“Yes, but not because you’re angry. Because you’re protecting something.” She touched his arm lightly. “There’s a difference.”

Perhaps she was right. Perhaps the time he’d spent with his brothers had healed him more than he’d realized.

He watched her from the corner of his eye as she moved along the trail ahead of him. He caught himself studying the curve of her neck, the way her hair fell across her shoulders when she bent to examine plants along the path. Each time their hands brushed during meal preparations, a jolt passed through him that had nothing to do with danger or survival.

“We should reach the foothills by nightfall,” he said, clearing his throat. “The old woman’s cottage is supposed to be near the waterfall beyond. We’ll reach it tomorrow.”

She nodded, falling back into step beside him. “Do you think she’ll help us?”

“I don’t know.” He stepped over a fallen branch, automatically reaching back to steady her as she followed. His hand lingeredon her waist longer than necessary. “The old magics are… unpredictable.”

“Like you,” she said softly, not pulling away from his touch.

His breath caught. Her scent—honey and flowers and something uniquely Lyric—filled his senses. His Beast stirred, not with rage but with a different kind of hunger.

“I’m not—” he began, but she turned to face him, so close he could see the flecks of gold in her green eyes.

“You are,” she insisted. “Unpredictable. Fierce. Gentle when I least expect it.”

Her hand came up to touch his face, fingers tracing the scar that ran from his temple to his jaw. He should step back. He should maintain distance. He should remember all the reasons why this was impossible.

Instead, he leaned into her touch, his eyes closing briefly as her thumb brushed across his cheekbone.

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