Page 24 of The Orc's Captive Bride
She turned to find Khorrek with his hand on the door, preparing to leave.
No.
She crossed back to him in three quick steps, and caught his arm before he could open the door
“Wait.”
He stopped, looking down at her hand on his forearm and then at her face, his expression so carefully blank that she wanted to shake him.
“Why am I here?” she asked in his language. The grammar felt shaky, but she pushed through. “Why did the High King bring me to this place?”
“Tharak koreth nash.”
“Liar.” The word came out sharper than she intended.
Something flickered across his face. “Lasseran gives me orders, not reasons. He wanted you in Kel’Vara so I brought you.”
“Will I see you again?”
The words came out small and vulnerable. She hated how they sounded but couldn’t change them.
“Tharak koreth nash.” Again. I don’t know.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it is true.” His voice was absolutely flat. “I obey the High King’s commands. If he orders me to guard you, I will guard you. If he sends me away, I will go. I do not question.”
“Why not?”
He didn’t respond, just looked at her with that blank expression that gave away nothing.
Frustration built in her chest, hot and uncomfortable. Five days. Five days of learning to read his moods, of sleeping beside him, of feeling safe in his presence, and now he was retreating behind walls she didn’t know how to breach.
“You’re just going to leave me here.” It wasn’t a question.
“You will be cared for. You will have rooms, food, servants?—”
“It’s a prison,” she interrupted. “A luxurious prison, but still a prison.”
“It’s better than the alternative.”
“Which is what?”
His jaw tightened. “The cells I showed you. The ones with bars.”
Oh.
The implication settled over her like a lead blanket. She should be grateful. She should stay quiet and not cause trouble. Unfortunately, she’d never been good at those things.
But looking up at his carefully controlled face, she realized that pushing right now would get her nowhere. He had already retreated, separating himself from whatever had developed between them over the past days.
She should be practical and let him go. She should focus on survival and figuring out her situation instead of her confusing feelings about him. But she’d never been particularly good at “should,” either.
“Thank you,” she said instead. “For taking care of me. For… everything.”
His expression softened fractionally, and she rose up on her toes and pressed her lips to his.
It was impulsive, reckless, and probably incredibly stupid given everything she didn’t know about this world and its customs and his position in it.
