Page 19 of The Orc Chief's Baker
“So, hurry up! I need Govek’s favorite bread. What’s his favorite bread?”
She’d been with the surly orc for the better part of three seasons and she didn’t know what he liked to eat? Gathering her courage, Trinia tried again. “Perhaps if you gave me back the pans you’ve taken, I’d be able to bake better and would have something good enough to turn Govek’s head.”
“We aren’tbargaininghere, Trinia.” Yerina’s voice was so cold it sent a little shiver down Trinia’s spine. “And I didn’t steal anything. Half of everything in this bakery ismine, or did you forget?”
Of course she hadn’t forgotten. Yerina would neverlether forget that their drunkard of a father, in all his great wisdom, had made sure to leave theentiretyof their family home to Yerina but mentioned nothing about the bakery. As such, by village law, it was owned by both of them equally.
Yerina snapped her fingers. “So, the bread. Hurry up!”
“He doesn’t like my bread, Yerina. He makes his own,” Trinia said with a heavy sigh. “He makes his owneverything.”
Yerina chuckled and rose her nose into the air. “That’s only because he’s so loyal to me that he doesn’t even want toglancein another woman’s direction. Not even to broker trades.”
Trinia could not believe how delusional her sister was, but she wasn’t about to comment. She’d learned long ago that even a sliver of snark Yerina’s way would result in an onslaught of petty, manipulative, and cruel retribution that would last for days, sometimes moons.
It was far better to swallow her tongue and pride, even though it took every scrap of will she had to do so.
“What about these?” Yerina picked up one of the cream buns, and Trinia’s breath caught.
“Not those. He wouldn’t like those,” she said too quickly.
“And why not? You think he’s not good enough for them?” Yerina took a big bite and then scowled before picking up a cotton cloth and spitting it out. “How muchsugardid you put in these? It’s no wonder you’re so fat.”
Trinia’s throat tightened, but getting angry would only give Yerina more ammunition, so she hid the fury as best she could behind a mask of indifference.
It must have worked because Yerina’s eyes scanned the room instead, looking around in a way that was far too scrutinizing before her attention landed on a stack of cutting boards.
She needed to get her sister out of herenow.
Trinia hurried over to one of the cheese breads that were still cooling and hurriedly wrapped it up. They were technically part of another orc’s order, and she hoped he wouldn’t mind too much she was missing one. “Here. Take this.”
“What is it?”
“My best cheese roll. Govek will love it,” Trinia lied through her teeth. Govek would probablyhateit. Or at least she hopedhe would. She hoped he wouldn’t take Yerina back. No good had come from their relationship, only chaos.
Yerina snatched it out of her hand with a haughty smirk. “There. Was that really so hard?” She moved off toward the door and Trinia breathed a sigh of relief. “Maybe if you wagged your tongue around someone’s cock as often as you wagged it at me, you’d have a man by now.”
Trinia’s anger rose in the back of her throat and made her eyes sting, but she kept the hurt off her face as her sister turned back and looked her up and down.
“Though I suppose he would also have to beblind.” With that, Yerina burst into cackles and slammed the door behind her.
Trinia clenched her fists hard enough that the bite of her nails distracted her from her anger. Yerina might have been theprettysister, but her vindictive personality hadn’t won her any friends. Only men who were desperate to win her favor. Men who often tripped over themselves to give heranythingand all because she was beautiful.
Would... looking nice help win over the orc?
On a hard exhale, she moved off toward her clothes trunk and began digging toward the bottom to find her best dress. The one she saved for weddings and funerals.
It was tighter than she remembered, hugging her curves and stretching around the buttons. She wasn’t the least bit surprised she’d gained some weight. She hadn’t been able to trade for anything but bread supplies since her pans had been stolen. She wasalwaysin the bakery, constantly kneading and mixing and baking.
The moment she felt like she had time to herself, she’d look over and see dishes that needed scrubbing or a counter that needed to be wiped or bread that needed to be shaped andscored. She opened her eyes in the morning and herworkwas the first thing that greeted her.
She couldn’t escape.
Her throat felt tight. She shouldn’t want to escape. This was her legacy. Her mother and grandmother and great-grandmother’s life’s work. It was an honor to carry out that tradition.
She got up and brushed off her skirts, going back to work.
Readying for the trade was always a hassle. There was so much todo. So many orders to arrange and pack, to say nothing of the goods she’d use to decorate her table. Today was especially difficult because she had the added task of evaluating each loaf and deciding whether the black at the edges was too bad to be traded.
