"Against the entire Circle? You'd need to defeat seven elder warriors in succession. And they'd pick the battlefield."
"So basically impossible."
"I didn't say impossible. I said inadvisable. There is one other option, though it's... unconventional."
"I'm listening."
"Ritual substitution. If you can prove that your actions serve a greater good for orc-kind, the Circle might accept a ceremonial penance instead of exile."
"What kind of penance?"
"Usually involves public humiliation and a substantial tribute to the clan coffers. But it allows you to maintain your name and standing, technically."
"And the human?"
"That's... more complicated. Tradition doesn't really account for inter-species relationships that aren't conquest-based."
Great. Five thousand years of cultural precedent and nobody thought to cover the "what if the orc actually likes the human" scenario.
I thank Dr. Kellan and hang up, then stare at the ceiling for a while. The hotel room feels smaller suddenly, like the walls are closing in. I need air, space, something that isn't beige carpet and corporate artwork.
The hotel gym is empty at this hour, just me and the early morning maintenance crew. I claim a corner and start working through combat forms, muscle memory taking over while my mind churns.
Ritual substitution. Public penance. It could work, if I can convince the Circle that this whole television spectacle serves some greater purpose. That showing humans an orc can be civilized, protective, even tender, might advance our people's interests more than hiding in the mountains and glowering at tourists.
It's a long shot, but it's something.
My phone went off. Text message from another unknown number.
Korgan! Darling nephew! Your loving Aunt Grenda has the PERFECT solution to your little problem!
I stop mid-punch. Aunt Grenda only texts in all caps when she's drunk or plotting. Sometimes both.
What solution?
I've arranged a meeting with the most eligible orc bachelorette in all of Scotland! Brunhilde Ironthew, daughter of the Ironthew mining fortune! She's VERY interested in meeting you!
A photo appears. A female orc who looks like she could bench press a pickup truck, wearing what appears to be a wedding dress made of chain mail. She's flexing.
Aunt Grenda, I'm on a dating show. With humans.
EXACTLY THE PROBLEM! Brunhilde is flying to America TODAY! She'll be at the studio this afternoon to sweep you off your feet! Isn't that WONDERFUL?
Another message immediately follows:She's very traditional! Loves long walks through battlefields and quiet evenings sharpening weapons! You'll be PERFECT together!
I peer at the phone. Then I start laughing. Deep, helpless laughter that echoes off the gym walls and probably disturbs the maintenance crew. Of course. Of course my family would respond to a potential exile by arranging an ambush marriage with someone who looks like she eats iron filings for breakfast.
The laughter helps, somehow. Puts things in perspective. Whatever ancient rituals and family politics I'm facing, at least I'm not being forced to romance someone who considers armor a formal wear choice.
Another text:She's VERY excited to meet you! I told her all about your strong teeth and excellent posture!
My phone rings. Trinity.
"Did your family just send me a friend request on Instagram from someone named Brunhilde Ironthew?"
"Probably."
"She's... impressive."
