Page 13 of Faeling
The thought was unwelcome, but it stuck to his mind like a burr to a boot.
In truth, he hadn’t much considered marriage or mating. There had been far too many things to do to secure the safety of Balmirra and the orcish territories. Like most orcs, he hoped that his mate, the one who stirred the inner beast all orcs had—a base set of instincts they feared and revered, one that goaded them to fight and to fuck—would find her way to him someday.
A mate would certainly ease the sticky business of marriage. However she came to him, finding her and feeling his beast clamor for her would settle the matter—orcs respected the mate-bond above all things. There was little more fearsome or feared in this world than a bonded orc defending their mate.
Having his own would put to rest any ambitions others might have of gaining a throne through his bed—others like, say, Lady Silvia. It would also ensure that he could trust his queen. She wouldn’t be a princess from another territory, loyal first to her city and people—she would behismate, loyal tohim. Because they were mates.
Vallek liked the simplicity of it. He also liked the idea that fucking one’s mate was the highest pleasure any orc could hope to achieve.
The smallest purr rattled in his chest at the thought. Yes, he liked the idea of fucking his own mate, of spreading her out onhis big, magnificent bed and mussing the sheets. His bed was plenty big for two.
He’d indulged in a few discreet liaisons through the years, of course. There was nothing like returning home triumphant, high on victory, and sinking his cock into a warm, welcoming cunt as the orcess screamed his name. And there had been plenty of other nights when he was merely lonely, his arms restless to hold another against him as he slept.
A mate would be all of those things and more.
Sighing, Vallek slumped back in his seat, swirling the mead in his cup. All these thoughts of mates…perhaps he was getting lonely again. He hadn’t taken a lover in…gods, it’d been years now. Perhaps that, with the delegation’s proposal of a bride, had him wanting.
Marrying a daughter of Kaldebrak or Innrinhom would present possible…complications if he ever did find his mate. Or, perhaps, could the gods bless him one last time, could he dare to hope that one of them might stir his beast?
Now there was a thought.
As the golden liquid swirled, Vallek seriously considered it. What if he had all the daughters of Kennum and Hrothgar brought before him? Surely neither chieftain would protest his choosing the daughter who stirred his beast. If none did, well then, they could resume their negotiations.
But if one did…
“It’s your turn, my king.”
Vallek looked up from his ruminations. His soothsayer sat patiently as she always did, her face open and neutral.
He could…
But did he dare?
Catching the nail of his thumb on the rim of his cup, he considered it.
“I wonder,kone…”
Her brows lifted with interest. “Yes, my king?”
“Have any of your visions been of my bride? Of who I will take as queen?”
A choked sound erupted from her throat, although he hadn’t seen her drink. She clapped her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide in horror.
Shaking her head, she dropped her hands and his gaze.
Intrigued by the sudden shift, Vallek leaned forward in his seat, folding his arms on the table before him.
“Well?”
Her head rose suddenly, her cowl falling backwards in her haste. A mysterious fire burned in her eyes, and through pursed lips she told him succinctly, “No.”
“No, what?”
“No, I don’t see your bride.” She almost spat the last word, as though it were an insult.
“You didn’t even look.” He didn’t know much about her power or how it worked, but he knew what she looked like while she had a vision. It only took a few moments, but in that short span, she was gone entirely. Eyes distant, face relaxed. Her expression had been nothing but pinched since he’d asked.
Her little nostrils flared in a huff. “I haven’t seen any bride in my visions of you,” she amended.
