Page 23 of The Orc's Captive Bride
Oh.
“Slaves?” The word came out in English, but his jaw tightened as if he understood. “Yes.”
They rode on. She forced herself to keep looking, even though every observation made her stomach twist tighter.
Much of the city was beautiful, but it was beautiful in a way that made her think the people cared more for aesthetics than ethics.
They climbed through districts that grew progressively wealthier with larger homes and cleaner streets. The people were better-dressed but that undercurrent of fear remained constant, visible in the way people’s eyes tracked their passage, in the speed with which they cleared the road when Khorrek approached.
They were afraid. Of him or what he represented? Or perhaps both.
The thought sent an uncomfortable chill through her. She’d spent five days learning to see him as… what? A protector. A teacher. Someone who made her feel safer than she’d had any right to feel in this situation.
But to these people, he was something else—something threatening.
Which is he really?
The question felt dangerous so she pushed it aside, focusing instead on the massive structure looming ahead.
Up close, the Obsidian Keep was even more imposing than from a distance. Black stone that seemed to swallow light rather than reflect it rose in sharp angles that had more in common with weapons than architecture. There were no decorative elements or softening touches. It was pure, brutal dominance made manifest—the physical embodiment of power. Whoever built this wanted everyone to know exactly where they stood in the hierarchy.
They entered through another gate, this one guarded by even more soldiers, but once again they simply stepped aside to let Khorrek pass. The gate opened into a courtyard with cobblestones so perfectly fitted she couldn’t see the seams, flowering trees in massive planters, and a fountain featuring what looked like a victory scene carved in marble.
It was beautiful, elegant, and undoubtedly built on the backs of those slaves she’d seen.
Khorrek dismounted. As always, he reached for her, lifting her down with that casual strength that still startled her. For a moment they were close together with her hands on his shoulders for balance and his grip on her waist steady and warm.
Then he stepped back and… changed. He turned into the cold, controlled warrior she’d first met at the stone circle.
No,she thought immediately.That’s not who you are, not really.
But maybe it was. Maybe the man who’d taught her words by firelight and let her sleep against him in the dark was the facade, and this was the truth.
She didn’t like that possibility at all.
A servant appeared—a human male wearing a tailored uniform that probably cost more than anything she had owned in her previous life. He spoke in rapid-fire sentences that her still-developing language skills couldn’t follow, but she caught the gist. The High King had been informed of arrival, and would send for her. Rooms had been prepared.
Khorrek nodded, and gestured for her to follow him.
They entered the inner keep through doors that required two men to open. The interior was exactly what she had expected—soaring ceilings, expensive tapestries, and floors so polished she could see her reflection. This was opulence as intimidation, and wealth as weapon.
How many people could be fed with what these decorations cost? How many children pulled from gutters?
The questions were pointless. This wasn’t a place that cared about such things.
They climbed several sets of stairs and walked along corridors that seemed designed to confuse and disorient, each one identical to the last. More servants appeared and disappeared, all expensively dressed and wearing the same bland expression of professional invisibility.
Finally, Khorrek stopped before a door and opened it.
The rooms beyond made her breath catch despite herself. She’d been sleeping on the ground for five days, washing in streams, and eating dried meat and porridge from a shared pot.
This was something else entirely.
The main room was larger than her entire apartment in Cambridge had been. The furniture was carved from dark wood, upholstered in deep blue velvet. A fireplace dominated one wall, cold now but ready to be lit. Fresh flowers—fresh flowers—sat in a crystal vase on a side table. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the city as lights began to appear in the dusk.
Through an open doorway, she could see a massive bed with more pillows than any reasonable person needed. It was beautiful, luxurious, and expensive, but she’d already noted theelegant ironwork barring the windows and the ornate lock on the heavy door.
It was a cage, wrapped in silk perhaps, but a cage nonetheless.
