"You're thinking too loudly," he murmurs, his lips brushing against my temple.
I huff a laugh, tilting my head to look at him. "Just wondering about all these," I say, tracing a particularly vicious scar across his ribs.
His expression darkens slightly, but he doesn't pull away. "Training accident," he says shortly.
I wait, knowing there's more to the story. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet, almost reluctant.
"First winter after my exile. Thought I could prove myself by taking on a frost-beast alone." His fingers brush over the scar absently. "Almost died. Would have, if not for Brakka finding me."
I press a kiss to the scar, feeling him shudder beneath me. "I'm glad he did," I whisper.
His hand cups my face, tilting it up so he can look at me. There's something vulnerable in his gaze, something he doesn't often show. "Me too," he murmurs, and when he kisses me, it's with a depth of feeling that steals my breath.
We stay like that for a long time, wrapped in each other, the fire burning low between us. The wind outside has died down, leaving the world feeling hushed and expectant. Like we're the only two people left, the only two who matter.
His fingers brush the locket at my throat, the one with my aunt's portrait inside. "This is important to you," he observes.
I nod, my own fingers covering his. "It's all I have left of her. She was the one who encouraged me to run, to find my own path." My throat tightens slightly. "She would have liked you."
He makes a noncommittal sound, but his fingers tighten slightly around mine. "She raised you to be strong."
I think of all the lessons she taught me, the stories she told. Of the way she always encouraged me to question, to seek. "She raised me to be free," I correct softly.
His gaze meets mine, something flickering in their amber depths. "Then she would be proud of you now," he says, and I believe him.
The fire has burned down to embers, the lodge growing chill. But I don't want to move, don't want to break this fragile moment between us. There's a peace here, a rightness that I've never felt before.
His hand slides down to cover my stomach, his fingers splaying wide. There's something possessive in the gesture, something that makes my heart pound. When he speaks, his voice is quiet, almost hesitant.
"I never wanted this," he admits. "A mate, a family. Thought it was for others, not for me." His thumb traces idle patterns on my skin. "But now..."
I wait, holding my breath. When he looks at me, his eyes are warm, his expression open in a way I've rarely seen.
"Now I can't imagine not having it. Not having you."
The words wrap around my heart, settling deep. I cover his hand with my own, pressing it closer. "I never wanted the life I had," I admit. "The duties, the expectations. I wanted more. Something real."
His fingers tighten slightly around mine. "This is real," he murmurs, and when he kisses me, it's with a promise of forever.
Outside, the first light of dawn is beginning to touch the sky, painting it in hues of pink and gold. It feels like a new beginning, a new world. One where we're not noble and orc, not duty-bound and exile. Just two people, finding their way together.
12
VORRAK
The elders' voices crash against each other like ice breaking on stone. I stand near the ceremonial circle, watching Cyra's spine straighten as another wave of accusations hits.
"Abomination," Elder Thyssa spits, her weathered face twisted with disgust. "The spirits weep at this defilement."
Cyra doesn't flinch. She tilts her chin higher, every inch the noble she was born to be.Mynoble. The thought sends heat through my veins despite the bitter cold.
"Elder Thyssa speaks truth," rumbles Korthak, his massive frame blocking out the firelight. "The ancient ways forbid soul-bonds with the soft-blood. The elements themselves will reject such union."
The Moot circle erupts again. Forty-three elders, representing every clan from the Frozen Reach to the Bone Fields. All here because word spread faster than wildfire through winter grass. Cyra isn't just some lost human I dragged home. She's something else entirely.
She's mine.
Brakka shifts beside me, hand resting on his axe hilt. "Should've kept this quiet," he mutters.
