Page 41 of The Orc's Captive Bride
His eyes met hers for a heartbeat before sliding away. But she saw it—the hunger. The want.
He feels it too.
The knowledge should have helped. It didn’t. Because if he wanted her but was choosing to stay away, that meant he’d decided they couldn’t have this.Whatever this is.
The knowledge should have helped. It didn’t.
If he wanted her and still chose distance, that meant he’d decided they couldn’t have this—whatever this was. And she was supposed to agree.
“Thank you,” she said, keeping her voice neutral. “For standing guard. I hope you got some rest.”
“I don’t need much sleep.”
Clipped. Professional.
She wanted to scream.
“Right. Well.” She pushed her glasses up, a nervous habit she couldn’t break. “I’m looking forward to getting back to work. The text is fascinating. Even from what little I saw, the complexity is?—”
“The High King expects results,” he interrupted. “Not academic enthusiasm.”
The words were like a slap, and she couldn’t quite hide her flinch before she assumed the cool, professional mask she’d perfected during years of dealing with dismissive colleagues and condescending academics.
“Of course. Results. I’ll do my best to decode the crude, simple script.” She couldn’t quite keep the bite from her voice. “Assuming I can overcome my tendency toward useless enthusiasm.”
His jaw tightened. “That’s not what I?—”
“It’s fine.” She gave him a brittle smile. “You’re my guard, not my colleague. I’ll try to remember my place.”
“Thea—”
“Dr. Monroe,” she corrected deliberately. “Since we’re maintaining professional distance.”
Something flickered in his eyes—hurt, frustration—but he swallowed it back.
Good.
Because she was hurting too. Aching from a dream that would never be real and kisses that had meant nothing to him.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway. A human servant appeared, clutching a tray with shaking hands.
“For the scholar,” the girl whispered, eyes down.
“Thank you,” she said gently, taking the tray. “What’s your name?”
The girl blinked, startled. “M-Mira, my lady.”
“Thank you, Mira. This looks wonderful.”
Mira fled as if kindness were dangerous. What kind of place is this?
She carried the tray to the window table, acutely aware of Khorrek behind her.
Bread, cheese, a citrus-scented fruit. All of it was probably delicious, but her appetite had deserted her.
“You should eat,” he said from too close.
“I’m not hungry.”
