Page 187 of The Orc's Captive Bride
The priests formed a solemn procession, filing out through a grand doorway opposite from where they’d entered.
Thea followed, and he stayed at her side, acutely aware of Egon, Lyric, and the others behind them.
They emerged onto a wide stone balcony overlooking the harbor. Below, the dark waters of the bay reflected the rising moon—huge now, and deep crimson, like freshly spilled blood.
And directly ahead…
The altar.
It stood at the center of the balcony—a massive block of pure white stone, carved with runes that glowed faintly blue in the moonlight. Four tall silver pillars surrounded it, connected by chains of what looked like liquid darkness.
Lasseran’s work, Khorrek thought with sudden certainty. His corruption of something that should be sacred.
And beyond the altar, at the very edge of the balcony…
Lasseran himself.
The High King stood with his back to them, arms raised to the Blood Moon, chanting words in a language Khorrek didn’t recognize. Six orc warriors knelt before him, heads bowed—awaiting sacrifice.
He recognized all of them. Had trained with them. Fought beside them.
Brothers. My brothers.
Rage flared hot and bright within him.
But as they approached, as the priests spread out around the balcony, as Thea stepped forward with that golden light shining from within her…
Lasseran turned.
And smiled.
“Ah,” he said, his silken voice carrying easily across the space between them. “You’ve arrived just in time for the ceremony.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Thea drifted through mist and moonlight, her consciousness wrapped in something ancient and vast. Each step felt weightless, as though her feet barely touched the ground. She could see everything—the moonlit balcony, the altar with its ominous chains, the orc warriors kneeling in submission before Lasseran—yet it all came to her through a filter of golden light.
Like watching through honey-colored glass while wrapped in the world’s most comforting blanket.
Is this what possession feels like?The thought floated through her mind, distant and academic. She should have been terrified. Instead, she felt…protected. Held. Guided by something that radiated reassurance even as it borrowed her voice and moved her limbs.
Words fell from her lips—ancient words, powerful words—but they weren’t hers. She was merely the vessel, the conduit for something far greater than herself.
I agreed to this, she reminded herself as her body glided forward.I promised I would do whatever it takes.
The presence around her seemed to acknowledge this, warming slightly, like a gentle squeeze of gratitude.
Around her, the Veilborn priests moved in a solemn procession, their white robes glowing silver in the crimson moonlight. Vorlag’s ancient face was transformed—no longer merely old but somehow timeless, his eyes reflecting the same knowing wisdom that now flowed through her veins.
She heard Khorrek moving behind her, his footfalls heavy and certain. Even without seeing him, she felt his presence—solid, protective, and radiating barely contained fury. Her anchor in this sea of divine power.
The procession slowed as they approached the altar. Through the golden haze of her vision, she saw Lasseran standing at the balcony’s edge, his back to them, arms raised to the Blood Moon. Six kneeling orcs waited before him, heads bowed in apparent submission.
Sacrifices, the knowledge came to her, but not from her own mind. As you nearly were.
Memories flickered through her—the Stone Circle, the mist, Khorrek’s desperate journey to reach her. How close they had both come to paying the ultimate price.
Lasseran must have sensed their approach. He turned, his perfect face a study in cruel amusement that quickly shifted to calculation as his gaze found her.
