Page 6 of The Orc's Bonded Bride

The ache intensified. She pressed a hand against her chest as if to contain it.

“Stop this,” she whispered to herself. “Be grateful for what you have.”

But gratitude couldn’t fill the emptiness that seemed to expand with the night. Here in her peaceful little cottage, there was nothing to distract her from the truth—she was alone. And she wasn’t sure how much longer she could bear it.

CHAPTER 3

In the foothills below the Sentinel Mountains, Egon knelt by a narrow stream. He’d made good time, covering most of the mountain pass in just a few weeks, each step taking him further from his brothers and the painful reminders of what he could never have. The sun was still high, but his eyelids felt heavy, and his steps had grown sluggish. He’d decided to stop early for the day.

He scooped up a handful of water and splashed his face, enjoying the coolness on his skin. It was crisp and clean, unlike the muddy sludge he’d so often been forced to drink in Kel’Vara, or even the musty water from his waterskin during his mercenary years. Such a simple thing, clean water, and so easily taken for granted.

Refreshed, he glanced around the small clearing and decided to push forward a little further. He’d reached the border between Norhaven and a narrow spur of land that was part of the Old Kingdom, and the forest grew denser as he descended into the ancient land. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in broken shafts, illuminating patches of ground covered in moss andfallen leaves. He moved silently beneath the trees, his warrior’s instincts never fully at rest.

He paused at the base of a massive oak, its trunk wider than three men standing shoulder to shoulder. Something glinted through the foliage ahead—stonework, weathered by time. Curious, he pushed forward.

An overgrown clearing opened before him, dominated by a crumbling stone shrine. Vines embraced the ancient structure, and moss carpeted its base. Despite the decay, he recognized the unmistakable symbols of the Old Gods carved into the weathered stone and sighed.

Wulf’s words echoed in his mind. The Old Gods are working on our behalf.

He snorted. The gods had never seemed to work on his behalf before. Why would they start now?

Despite his skepticism, he circled the shrine, studying the faded carvings. The sacred animals belonged to Wulf, but the small spring that bubbled up from the base of the central stone undoubtedly belonged to Freja.

He dropped his pack and sat heavily on a fallen column, running a calloused hand over the scar on his face. The silence of the clearing pressed in around him.

“I don’t seek what I cannot have,” he muttered to the empty air. “I’m not a fool.”

A breeze stirred the leaves overhead, whispering words he couldn’t hear, and he found his gaze drawn to the shrine again. With a resigned sigh, he approached the altar stone at the center.Clearing away debris, he knelt in front of it, his movements slow and cautious.

“I ask nothing for myself,” he said softly. “But… guide me to be useful. Let me protect what my brothers have found.” He paused, swallowing hard. “Let me be worthy of the clan that took me in when no one else would.”

The words felt strange on his tongue—prayer had never been his way. But as he spoke, something settled in his chest, like the weight of his axe in his hands before battle. Not comfort, exactly, but purpose.

He remained kneeling in front of the shrine until the sun began its descent toward the horizon. The forest had grown quieter, the daytime chorus of birds giving way to the occasional rustle of creatures preparing for evening. His muscles ached from days of travel, but he pushed on, determined to cover more ground before making camp.

The trees thinned gradually, and he slowed his pace as the valley opened before him, bathed in the golden light of late afternoon. Below, nestled against a gentle slope, lay a small village—a cluster of modest dwellings with thatched roofs and gardens.

He frowned. He hadn’t intended to encounter any settlements so soon. Humans were unpredictable—Norhaven had always had an amicable relationship with the Old Kingdom but after years of Lasseran’s propaganda they might reach for their weapons rather than tolerating his presence. Best just to observe and keep moving.

He skirted along the tree line, keeping to the shadows while studying the layout of the village. Smoke rose from chimneys, and figures moved between buildings, their voices carryingfaintly on the breeze. No signs of armament or soldiers. Simple folk living simple lives.

Something about one particular holding caught his eye—a small cottage on the outskirts of the village, surrounded by well-tended gardens and a cluster of fruit trees. Beehives lined the southern edge of the property, and a stone wall, low but sturdy, marked its boundaries. He couldn’t explain the draw he felt towards that particular dwelling—perhaps it was just its isolated position, so similar to that of his own cottage.

A flash of movement caught his eye, and he watched, unexpectedly mesmerized, as a woman moved gracefully between the trees, gathering fallen fruit into a basket.

“Foolishness,” he muttered to himself, yet he didn’t turn away.

The wind shifted, bringing with it the scents of the village—woodsmoke, baking bread, livestock. But underneath those familiar smells was something else—something that made him freeze in his tracks.

His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply. Sweet, like honey and summer flowers, but with an undercurrent that stirred something primal in his chest. The scent seemed to emanate from the very cottage he’d been watching.

His heart pounded suddenly, his body tensing as if preparing for battle, though no threat was visible. He’d never encountered this particular scent before, yet something about it felt achingly familiar, like a half-forgotten memory, a richer, sweeter version of something he’d once known.

His breath caught in his throat as the woman turned, basket balanced against her hip, and the last rays of sunlight illuminated her face. Recognition hit him like a physical blow.

Lyric.

Impossible.

---