Page 166 of Halfling
Fulk came to shake Lord Darrow’s hand one more time and to thank Orek once again.
“I’m pleased for you,” said the older male. “Keep your clan safe and your female satisfied.”
“Always.”
Orek clasped Fulk’s arm and then the surviving orcs turned south for the mountains.
“What did he say?” asked his curious mate.
He tucked her against his side. “Just reminding me how lucky I am.”
Orek kissed the blush on her cheeks, then the pleased grin at her lips.
He let her pull him forward, joining the column of knights headed for the Darrowlands. She walked alongside him, one hand folded in his and leading a bandaged Fiora by the reins with the other.
The group eventually outpaced them as the winter sun peeked through the clouds, but Orek didn’t mind. He enjoyed the crisp winter air, the scent of the forest, and most of all, his mate standing beside him.
He tugged her to a stop so he could swoop down to claim her lips in a kiss that resonated down to his bones. It didn’t take long for that teasing tongue of hers to coax his own into a delicate dance of heat and promise.
Fates, this female.
“I love you,” she murmured.
“My mate.” He held her hand over his chest, where the heart that was entirely, irrevocably hers lay. “You are everything.”
Epilogue
One Year Later
Orek had seen his mate in dresses before—in winter she often chose heavy wool skirts to keep her legs warm, and she had a handful of colorful, diaphanous gowns for festivals and summer gatherings. And there was the one nightgown she’d bought in Dundúran, all thin cotton and satin ribbons, that was meant to drive a male mad with its near transparency and graceful drapes that revealed yet teased. Helovedthat nightgown—even if she was rarely in it for long.
But it was nothing to Sorcha’s dress today. Her wedding gown.
A pale green, it floated around her like the calm waters of a pond, silver threads embroidered at the hems and cuffs to catch the light like rippling sunlight across the surface. The billowing sleeves draped and bounced with her unbound curls, which hung long to her waist. The neckline dipped low on her chest, revealing swathes of creamy, freckled flesh that deserved kisses between whispered praise.
Her green eyes glittered as she made her way to him across the glen, a bouquet of late season blooms in her hands and strings of sweet jasmine and cornflowers braided around her head.
She was a queen, a goddess, blessing him with the sight of her.
Orek’s heart lurched in his chest, as if it wanted to get to her that much quicker. As she drew near, his palms itched to haul her close so he could bury his face in her sweet-smelling curls.
But he’d behave himself—for now.
Sorcha had made good on her promises to make a new life for them, giving up some of her responsibilities at the house and stables to take on new opportunities and challenges, but for weeks now, she and her mother and sisters had been working themselves ragged to host this ceremony and the feast that would follow—he knew better than to ruin it by throwing her over his shoulder to have his way with her in the forest.
Many had come to celebrate and congratulate them today—Lord Darrow and Aislinn and their retinue, many of Sir Ciaran’s knightly friends, grooms and workers from the stables, extended family from the vast Brádaigh clan, and friends from Granach. And those were just the humans.
Fulk and a small party of orc-kin had arrived the night before. And given the peculiar but so far successful cordiality between the Stone-Skin clan and the Darrowlands, more nonhuman folk had begun trickling into the region to see about a life in the peaceful demesne.
Several halflings now called the Darrowlands their home, including a blacksmith who worked for Darrow in Dundúran Castle. The others had taken up farming in the countryside. All had paid him and Sorcha visits, and finding out there were more like him had soothed an ache inside Orek he hadn’t realized was there until it’d begun to heal. He counted all the males as friends, and they looked on now with pleased, hopeful faces. Perhaps they too would find human females as fierce and beautiful as his.
That was certainly what the pack of manticores had in mind. They’d arrived in early summer, giving Darrow and Ciaran some concern, but they came only asking to stay in the region a while and hunt. Based on the stories coming out of the taverns of Granach and Dundúran, they weren’t just hunting game but mates, as they were often found flirting with shepherdesses and barmaids.
Orek suspected the same thoughts ran through the minds of the two dragons who had arrived, in their two-legged forms, in summer, as well as the mysterious fae male who came in spring. All asked permission to settle in the Darrowlands, which was granted.
For the past year, with the arrival of so many different folk, Orek and Sorcha had begun helping Aislinn build connections and relationships with those outside the human kingdoms. The experiences of Sorcha, as well as her father and Lord Darrow’s quest to end the slave trade, had proved that humans were themselves safer when they offered peace to nonhumans.
He and his mate had traveled much of the summer, visiting other orc clans Orek thought may be open to hearing Lord Darrow’s terms. Many had been amenable, and some had sent delegations north. They had visited the southern villages like Birrin to begin building rapport with the guarded townsfolk. They’d gone to Cara and Anghus’s farm to deliver the dray Aoife promised, glad to see their friends again. They’d traveled north, to the rocky coasts where the sea went on to meet the horizon, and Sorcha found a kind mermaid to chat with. They even spent a few days in the capital with Lord Darrow as he explained his mission to the king. Sorcha had been flustered and almost giddy to meet the king—Orek had thought the male a little too assured of his own intellect. But he’d agreed to Darrow’s plans, and that was all that mattered.
