Page 106 of The Orc's Captive Bride
“Maybe not. But there’s something he knows. Something about the ritual that wasn’t in the texts. I can feel it.”
He was quiet for a long moment. She could practically hear him thinking, weighing risks against benefits.
“Your instinct?” he finally asked.
“Yes.”
“The same instinct that told you to kiss me?”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “That was different.”
“Was it?”
“Khorrek—”
“I’m asking seriously. Is this the same kind of certainty? The same kind of knowing that you can’t explain but can’t ignore?”
She thought about it, really thought.
Yes. It was exactly that same certainty. That same pull toward something her conscious mind couldn’t quite articulate but her deeper understanding recognized as important.
“Yes,” she said. “It’s the same.”
He sighed. “I’m going to regret this.”
“Probably.”
“You’re not making a compelling argument.”
“I don’t need to. You already decided to trust me.”
Another pause. Then a low growl that might have been frustration or amusement or both.
“This way. The temple is closer if we cut through the eastern passages.”
Relief crashed through her. “Thank you.”
“Thank me if we survive this.”
They changed direction, and the passages grew wider and better maintained. The air was less stale. They were getting closer to the public areas of the palace.
Khorrek moved with an astonishingly predatory grace. He checked corners before rounding them and listened at doorways before passing. He guided her with touches instead of words—a hand on her shoulder to stop, pressure on her lower back to move forward, fingers closing around her wrist to pull her into an alcove when footsteps echoed too close.
They passed servants. Guards. A pair of nobles arguing in heated whispers about some court scandal involving someone’s wife and someone else’s stables.
No one looked at them twice.
Because we look like we belong here. Like we have every right to be walking these halls.
Confidence mattered. Act like you belong and most people won’t question it.
The Temple of the Veil rose ahead. Massive doors carved with intricate symbols that probably had deep theological meaning she’d never have time to study properly.
Add it to the list of things to research. Right after “how to survive fleeing from a murderous tyrant” and “reversing ancient magical theft.”
The doors stood open despite the late hour and warm light spilled into the corridor along with low, rhythmic chanting that seemed to vibrate through the stone itself.
“They’re still active,” she whispered.
