Page 5 of First Comes Orc, Second Comes Baby
The interfering United Female’s Council, who having assessed the growing anti-Orc sentiment over the last several decades and the impact it had on schools, businesses and politics, decided mass intermarriage was part of the solution. Families were entered into lotteries, and those whose names were pulled were required to offer a single adult up to the altar. There would be more protest, except the council families were also sacrificing their own.
At least Brahnt didn’t have to attend a ball.
It wasn’t so bad. There had always been some interspecies mating here and there, and those children and families did well enough. Orcs didn’t abandon their own, even if Humans did.
Father eyed Regine. “I'm booking an extra session with the therapist this week. Emotional intelligence is as important as—”
“How about we go out to dinner tonight and discuss it?” she purred.
Brahnt averted his gaze from the video call as Regine gave Samesh a smoldering look. Often, that worked. Brahnt didn’t really want to witness the details of why it worked.
“I’ll let you two. . .deal with your issues.”
“Call me when you're done,” Mother said, “so I can debrief you.”
“Good luck, son,” Father said. “And don’t call today. We’ll be busy.”
Brahnt disconnected, stepped into the lobby of the agency, and approached a woman at the front desk.
“I’m Brahnt Stonefist. I have a 8:00 AM appointment.” He checked his watch. “I’m two minutes early, so I would appreciate being seen on time.”
* * *
“My emotional wound?” Brahnt said in his signature slow drawl. The one, that to those who knew him, signaled trouble, usually in the form of a devastatingly polite take down. Minus the polite. “Are you a licensed and experienced psychologist, or a matchmaker?”
Matchmaker smiled, and Brahnt eyed the expression. It wasn't meant to be friendly. He settled down, because one couldn’t really escape a lifetime of conditioning and even if Matchmaker was Human. . .she was still female.
Matchmaker folded her hands across her crossed knee, the casual posture not fooling Brahnt at all. Matchmaker had done this entire room to encourage cosiness. To let one’s guard down.
To remind the supplicant of their subordinate position.
“You came to me because I'm the best, Mr. Stonefist. Did you not?”
Brahnt stiffened. He didn't like Matchmaker's tone. “I came to you because I have a timeline to find a suitable wife and produce a child. My people thoroughly vetted your agency, and I was assured you knew what you were doing.”
“We did vetting of our own, Mr. Stonefist. You might be well aware that if we don't believe a client is a good fit for our methodology, we send them on their way with all due well wishes.”
Wasn't “I wish you well” some kind of new epithet? He’d ask his admin. She was always on the internet.
Matchmaker held his gaze. “Your emotional wound, Mr. Stonefist?”
He was going to have words with said admin when he returned to the office. This was ridiculous.
“I insist my wound is none of your business.” He almost gnashed his tusks at the note of meekness in his own voice. Damnit, just. . .damnit.
Matchmaker picked up her stylus and made a note. “You're defensive.” Brahnt opened his mouth, but Matchmaker continued. “Let's circle back to your goal for love.”
Brahnt laughed, then cut the sound off. “Right. Love. Let me redirect. I require a partner who is calm, low-key energy, and polished in public. They'll have to accompany me to several events each year. They'll need to minimize their social media presence—no one who is obsessed with all of that crap. It's a brain drain. They'll need to be flexible because my life is hectic. Able to travel and meet my emotional and mental and physical needs with minimal arguing.”
He'd never get away with this verbiage in an Orc run agency. The females would laugh him out of the building. . .right into the waiting arms of their sisters to deliver a well-deserved walloping.
“Charming,” Matchmaker said under her breath.
“Excuse me?”
Matchmaker readjusted her glasses. “Your open and transparent expression of your concept of love is charming. A breath of fresh air.”
Somehow Brahnt didn't think that was what Matchmaker meant.
