Page 61 of The Orc's Bonded Bride

The girl’s mouth fell open. Her eyes lit with excitement before uncertainty clouded them. “I—I don’t know if I could. I’m not sure what I’d need to do with everything. The bees especially…”

She squeezed Lina’s soil-stained hand, her throat tightening as she gave the girl a tremulous smile. “You’ve helped me from time to time. And Samha has learned more than you realize from Egon. He knows how to check the hives safely now, and what each of the plants need.”

“You’ve done a good job here,” she added, glancing around at the tidy rows of vegetables. “And don’t be afraid to ask for help. The village supported me when I first arrived, just as they’ll support you.”

Lina bit her lip, considering. “You’d trust us with your home? With everything you’ve built?”

She nodded, feeling a weight shift inside her chest. It wasn’t loss—it was the passing of something precious to hands that would cherish it.

“I would. I do.”

Lina burst into tears, but her smile was radiant as she thanked Lyric over and over. As she returned to the cottage, she felt lighter, happy with her decision.

Later that morning she was sorting through her herbs, deciding which to take and which to leave for Lina, when a knock sounded on the door, startling her. Egon tensed immediately, his hand moving to the knife at his belt, but she placed a calming hand on his arm.

“It’s just Elder Tomas,” she said, recognizing the distinctive three-tap pattern.

The old man stood on her threshold, his weathered hands clutching a small wooden box. His eyes, normally stern when conducting village business, were soft with something she couldn’t quite name.

“We heard you’re leaving,” he said without preamble. “The council wanted you to have this.”

Inside the box lay a small bronze medallion bearing the village symbol—a tree with roots stretching into flowing water.

“It’s tradition,” Elder Tomas explained, “for those who journey beyond our borders. So you remember your place among us.”

Her throat tightened as she accepted the gift. She’d always thought of herself as separate from the village, an outsider they merely tolerated despite their kindness. Yet here was proof that they considered her one of their own.

By midday, a steady stream of villagers had made their way to her cottage. Widow Merrin brought freshly baked journey bread wrapped in cloth. The blacksmith’s wife pressed a small knife into Lyric’s hands—“For protection,” she whispered. The children came too, led by Samha, presenting wildflower crowns and tearful hugs.

“I didn’t realize…” she murmured to Egon as they watched the baker’s family walk away after delivering a sack of dried fruits.

“What?” he asked, his voice gentle.

“That I belonged here.” She blinked back unexpected tears. “All this time, I thought I was just passing through, that no one would notice if I disappeared.”

Another knock at the door revealed Henna, the midwife who rarely left her home these days. She pressed a small pouch of healing herbs into Lyric’s hands.

“For the road,” she said. “And this—” she added a tiny vial of amber liquid, “—is for when you need courage. My grandmother’s recipe.”

As the sun began its descent, Lyric surveyed the pile of gifts—practical items for travel, tokens of protection, mementos to remember them by. Each one represented a connection she hadn’t fully acknowledged until now.

“I never thought leaving would be so hard,” she admitted, leaning against him, grateful for his steady presence amid theemotional storm of farewells. The cottage that had once felt so spacious now seemed crowded with memories and gifts from villagers—people who cared for her more than she’d ever realized.

“I didn’t think it would hurt this much,” she whispered against his chest. “To leave a place I never truly called home.”

His hand came up to cradle the back of her head, his touch gentle despite his strength. “It became home when you weren’t looking,” he said, his voice rumbling through her.

She tilted her face up to him, finding his amber eyes soft with understanding. Without hesitation, he lowered his mouth to hers in a kiss meant to comfort. His lips were warm, the pressure tender as he sought to ease her sadness.

But something shifted between them—the same electricity that had sparked in the forest, that had ignited when they’d made love beneath the stars. The kiss deepened, Lyric rising onto her toes as Egon’s arms tightened around her. His tusks grazed her cheek, a reminder of his otherness that only made her want him more.

“Lyric,” he breathed against her mouth, the word half question, half plea.

“Please,” she answered, her fingers already working at the buttons of his shirt. She needed this—needed him—to anchor her amid the tumult of change.

He growled softly, lifting her easily and carrying her into the bedroom. The last rays of the sun illuminated the room as he stripped away her clothes, big hands caressing every inch of skin he revealed.

“Tell me if I’m too rough,” he growled, his eyes dark with desire.

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