Page 22 of The Orc's Captive Bride
“You’re worried,” she said softly in his language.
Yes. I’m worried that you’ll say something you shouldn’t. I’m worried that you’ll draw the wrong attention. I’m worried that Lasseran will see in you what I see—that quick mind, that stubborn courage—and decide to break it.
I’m worried that I won’t be able to stop him.
But he couldn’t say any of that. He couldn’t acknowledge that the thought of handing her over to Lasseran made him want to turn the horse around and ride until they hit the edge of the world.
“Stay close to me,” he said instead. “In the city. Don’t wander. Don’t speak to anyone unless I say.”
“Why?”
“Because Kel’Vara eats the unwary,” he said bluntly. “And you are very unwary.”
Her eyes narrowed behind her glasses. “I’m not stupid.”
“No,” he agreed. “You’re smart. But that’s the problem—smart people ask questions, and questions get you killed in Lasseran’s court.”
“Then why is he bringing me here?”
“Tharak koreth nash,” he said once more.
Based on her expression she didn’t believe him, but she didn’t push. Instead she turned back to face the city, her hands tightening on the saddle.
They rode down the ridge in silence and with each step, he felt the weight settling back over his shoulders. The careful control, and the constant awareness that in Lasseran’s court, survival meant reading every interaction, every glance, and every word for hidden threats.
He’d been good at it. But that was before she had looked at him like he was something more than a weapon, before she’d pressed against him in sleep as if she trusted him completely, and before she’d made him remember what it felt like to be something other than the High King’s instrument.
The city gates loomed ahead. Massive wooden doors reinforced with iron, flanked by guards in the black and silver of Lasseran’s personal army. They recognized him immediately and the gates opened without challenge.
He rode through them, carrying Thea towards whatever fate awaited her in Lasseran’s court, knowing he should feel nothing but satisfaction at a mission accomplished.
Instead, all he felt was dread.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The smell hit Thea first.
Not the pleasant scent of cooking fires or horses or even the bitter tang of the tea she’d grown accustomed to over the past five days. This was different—a complex assault of fish and salt water and human waste, overlaid with expensive perfume and incense that failed to mask the rot underneath.
The city stank of contradiction.
She pressed closer to Khorrek’s chest as they rode through the gates, trying to process everything at once with the methodical observation that had served her well in archaeological digs. She needed to categorize and analyze so she could understand.
The gates themselves were a statement of power—massive wooden doors reinforced with iron bands, each one easily twenty feet tall. Defensive architecture designed to intimidate as much as protect. The guards wore matching armor, black and silver, their formation precise enough to make her think of honor guards at state functions.
Was Lasseran responsible for that strict military discipline?
Beyond the gates, the city sprawled in terraced levels climbing toward that dark tower complex that Khorrek called the Obsidian Keep. Dark stone buildings crowded together, a mixture of elegant archways and thick stone fortifications, from which balconies jutted like broken bones. A few windows glittered with actual glass—no doubt rare and expensive—while others gaped dark and empty.
People filled the streets—more humans than she had seen since arriving in this world. Their presence was both comforting and disturbing. They moved with purpose, but she caught the careful glances, the awareness of their surroundings, and the speed with which they moved through certain areas. They were afraid.
A woman in silk robes stepped out of a shop. Jewelry glinted at her throat and wrists—gold, rubies, and emeralds the size of Thea’s thumbnail. Behind her, a servant carried packages wrapped in expensive fabric.
Twenty feet away, a child sat in the gutter, barefoot and hollow-eyed. The child watched the wealthy woman pass with the flat expression of someone who’d already learned that wanting was pointless.
The obscene contrast made her shudder.
“Look,” Khorrek said quietly, pointing at a building they were passing. It was large and imposing, with barred windows and guards at the entrance. Through those bars, she caught glimpses of faces—dirty, desperate faces. Chained faces.
