Page 53 of The Orc's Captive Bride
Every bit of training he possessed told him to refuse, but the vulnerability in her voice shattered his resolve.
“Just until you sleep,” he heard himself say.
She smiled and scooted over, making room for him.
This is a mistake.
But he laid down next to her anyway, stiff and awkward. She immediately curled into his side, her head finding his shoulder like it belonged there.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For taking care of me.”
“It’s my duty.”
“It’s more than that.”
Yes.
But he couldn’t admit it. He couldn’t acknowledge what was happening between them, because acknowledging it meant accepting that he would eventually lose her to whatever fate the High King had in store. And he wasn’t strong enough to face that yet.
So he lay there in silence, feeling her warmth against his side, and listening to her breathing slow and even out.
He felt more like a person than he ever had before, but he hated himself for it because people had choices. He did not. He was a weapon, and weapons didn’t get happy endings.
When her breathing indicated she was sound asleep, he carefully extracted himself and made sure she was properly covered. Despite every screaming instinct, he didn’t kiss her. Couldn’t. Because if he started, he wouldn’t stop.
And she deserved better than a stolen kiss from someone who could offer her nothing but pain.
So he left her sleeping and resumed his post outside her door. Where he belonged. Alone.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The summons arrived during breakfast.
Not the usual polite knock from Mira, who’d become something close to a friend over the past week. This was a sharp rap—harsh and impatient—followed by a guard’s hard voice.
“Dr. Monroe. The High King requires your presence. Immediately.”
Thea’s stomach dropped. She set down her tea with hands that trembled only slightly. Across from her, Khorrek had already risen, his entire body tense and alert.
“Tell him I’ll be there shortly,” she said, pleased her voice remained steady.
“Now, Dr. Monroe. Not shortly.”
Damn.
She stood, smoothing down her skirts with deliberate care, assuming the armor of civility and the pretense of calm even though panic clawed at her throat.
“I’m ready,” she said.
Khorrek immediately moved to her side. Not touching, but close enough that she could feel his heat. Anchoring her with his presence.
The guard who’d summoned her—a lean man with cold eyes and a permanent sneer—looked between them with poorly concealed disdain.
“The High King wishes to speak with the translator. Alone.”
“I am her guard,” Khorrek said flatly. “Where she goes, I go.”
“The High King?—”
