Page 94 of The Orc's Captive Bride
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“Look.” She pointed. “This phrase here in the main text. It says ‘the gift of the Beast.’ Standard translation.”
“And?”
“And in the commentary, the same phrase appears, but with an additional mark. See? This character here. It looks like a scribal flourish. But what if it’s not?”
He leaned closer. “What would it be?”
“A reference marker. Telling the reader to look deeper. To find the hidden meaning.”
She scanned the commentary, looking for more of the marked phrases, and found dozens of them scattered throughout the text.
“I need to map these,” she said, already reaching for fresh parchment. “Every marked phrase. In order.”
She worked fast, writing out each phrase and numbering them while he watched patiently and the lamp burned lower. Finally, she had them all. Seventeen phrases, all of them seemingly random philosophical statements. Except they weren’t random.
“Look at the structure,” she said. “These aren’t complete thoughts. They’re fragments.”
“Can you piece them together?”
“I think so. If I…” She rearranged them, testing different orders, and suddenly, it clicked.
The fragments aligned and formed complete sentences. A hidden text within the commentary. A secret preserved for centuries.
“Read it to me,” he said quietly.
Her hands trembled as she began. “The Beast is not curse but covenant. A gift freely given. Strength for protection. Instinct for survival. Balance between man and wild.”
She paused, swallowed.
“But gifts can be corrupted. Power stolen. Balance broken. The bloodline of kings learned to draw upon the covenant. To take without giving. To consume the very essence that sustained it.”
Her voice cracked. “With each generation, the theft grew greater. The covenant weakened. The orcs, bound to the stolen power, paid the price in blood and barrenness.”
“Keep going,” he said, his voice rough.
“The final theft approaches. The last king seeks to claim all that remains. To bind the covenant completely to his will. To make the gift a chain and the blessed into slaves.”
She looked up and met his eyes.
“When the final theft is complete, the covenant will shatter. No more children will be born. The line will die. And the king will stand alone, crowned in stolen power, ruling over silence and ash.”
The words hung between them.
No more children. Ever.
“The Beast curse,” she said slowly. “It was never a curse at all. It was a blessing. A symbiotic relationship between the orc people and… something else. Some kind of primal force.”
“A covenant,” he said.
“Yes. And Lasseran’s ancestors have been parasitizing it. Drawing power from it, and throwing off the balance. Probably almost from the beginning.”
“Which is why there are fewer orc children every generation.”
“Exactly. The covenant is dying. Starved by centuries of theft.” She grabbed another scroll and started scanning. “And if this is right, Lasseran isn’t trying to break the curse. He’s trying to complete the theft. To take the last of the power for himself.”
