Page 200 of The Orc's Captive Bride
Because the alternative—letting Kel’Vara fall back into tyranny, letting all the sacrifice and struggle be for nothing—was unthinkable.
“Thea?” Khorrek’s voice was drowsy.
“Mm?”
“Stop thinking so loud. I can practically hear your mind spinning.”
Despite everything, she smiled against his chest.
“Can’t help it. It’s what I do.”
“I know.” His arms tightened fractionally. “But try to rest. Please.”
For him—for the male who’d sacrificed his own life to save hers in the Stone Circle, who’d stood beside her through everything—she would try.
Thea closed her eyes, letting the sound of his heartbeat and the gentle rhythm of his breathing lull her toward sleep.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges. Questions about governance and politics and how to rule a kingdom she’d never asked for.
But tonight, wrapped in Khorrek’s arms, safe in rooms that had once belonged to a queen who’d cared for her people…
Tonight, she let herself simply rest.
The coronation would come soon enough. The weight of the crown would settle on her shoulders whether she felt ready or not.
But for now, for this one precious moment, she was just Thea.
And that was enough.
EPILOGUE
Three months later…
Khorrek’s bootsechoed against the polished stone as he climbed the north tower stairs. Three months had passed since Lasseran’s death, and he still half expected to encounter the High King’s sneering face around every corner.
Instead, he passed a young human maid carrying fresh linens, who smiled and bobbed a quick curtsy before continuing on her way. A far cry from the terrified, head-down scurry that had been standard under Lasseran’s rule.
Things had changed—and were still changing.
He reached the tower’s third level and paused outside a heavy oak door. Light spilled from the gap beneath it, and he could hear the familiar scratch of pen on parchment.
Of course she’s still working.
The sun had set over an hour ago. Most of the Keep’s residents had retreated to their quarters or the great hall for the eveningmeal, but his mate—his queen—would be hunched over her desk, utterly absorbed in whatever document or historical text had captured her attention.
He pushed the door open without knocking.
The room beyond was exactly what he’d expected when Thea had claimed it as her office. Small by noble standards, tucked into the corner of the tower with windows on two walls. But the proximity to the library—literally the next room over, connected by an internal door—had made it irresistible to her.
Shelves lined every available wall space, already overflowing with books and scrolls. A massive desk dominated the center of the room, its surface buried under neat stacks of parchment, ledgers, and what looked like correspondence. The fireplace crackled with a cheerful blaze, and several oil lamps provided additional light.
Thea was bent over a particularly dense-looking document, her auburn hair escaping its practical braid to curl around her face. She didn’t look up at his entrance, scratching notes in the margin of whatever she was reading while her other hand pushed her glasses up her nose in the absent gesture he found so endearing.
“If you’re here to tell me it’s late and I should eat, Mira already tried that an hour ago,” she said without lifting her gaze. “I promised I’d stop after I finished reviewing the grain distribution reports.”
He closed the door and leaned against it, studying her.
Three months.
