"Bronn—"
"Get some rest, brother. Tomorrow begins a month of celebration, and the clan will be watching to see how one of their leaders handles his divine blessing."
The door closes behind him with quiet finality, leaving me alone in a room that suddenly feels too small and too quiet. From the hallway comes the soft sound of a door closing—Saela retreating to her assigned room, probably having heard every word of our conversation.
Perfect. Now she knows exactly how trapped we both are.
I sink into my chair by the fire, staring into the flames and trying to figure out how everything went so catastrophically wrong. This morning I was an annoyed younger brother grudgingly participating in what I thought was harmless nonsense. Tonight I'm supposedly chosen by the gods and expected to convince a terrified human that marrying me is somehow in her best interest.
The worst part is that I understand Bronn's position. The clan does need unity. They do need to believe in their traditions and their leaders. And after tonight's display—the glowing paint, the perfect timing, Drogath's fervent proclamations—questioning the divine nature of Saela's arrival would be tantamount to questioning everything they hold sacred.
But understanding doesn't make it easier to accept. And it doesn't change the fact that somewhere down my hallway is a woman who never asked to become part of this complicated mess of politics and faith.
A month. I have a month to find a solution that satisfies my brother's political needs, honors the clan's religious convictions, and doesn't destroy an innocent human's life in the process.
The flames in the hearth crackle and shift, throwing dancing shadows across the walls of my longhouse. Outside, I can still hear distant sounds of celebration—orcs toasting Cupid's blessing and the miracle they witnessed tonight.
None of them know that their miracle feels an awful lot like a curse.
5
SAELA
Sleep refuses to come, despite the exhaustion weighing down my limbs like lead. I lie on the narrow bed in what Kai called the spare room, staring at wooden rafters that creak with the wind and listening to the distant sounds of celebration that show no signs of dying down.
The conversation between the brothers replays in my mind on an endless loop.Tomorrow begins a month of celebration, and the clan will be watching.She won't want to leave once she understands what we can offer.The casual certainty in Bronn's voice makes my skin crawl—as if my choices are just obstacles to be managed rather than decisions that belong to me.
But beneath the anger sits a cold knot of fear. Because what if he's right? Not about wanting to stay, but about having nowhere else to go. The Stonevein are still hunting me, still killing anyone who might have helped me.
And Ressa... I close my eyes against the thought, but it rises anyway. What if she's already dead? What if they caught her, and the only person I have left in this world is lying cold somewhere in the forest?
The mattress beneath me is stuffed with something that smells faintly of pine needles and herbs—probably gathered from these mountain forests. It's more comfortable than I've had in months, which only makes me feel guiltier about wanting to run from it.
Dawn creeps through the single window, gray light filtering through what looks like scraped hide rather than glass. I dress quickly in yesterday's clothes, hyperaware of how rumpled and travel-stained they are compared to the carefully crafted furniture and weapons that decorate this place. Everything here speaks of permanence, of resources and time to create beauty alongside function. It's alien to someone who's spent years grabbing what she can carry and moving on.
The main room is empty when I emerge, but voices drift from somewhere deeper in the longhouse—Kai's rumbling bass mixed with someone else's lighter tones. I hover near the hallway entrance, torn between curiosity and the desire to remain invisible, when a soft knock echoes through the space.
Three deliberate taps, followed by a pause, then two more. It's clearly a pattern, probably some kind of clan signal that means more than simple politeness.
Footsteps approach from the back of the longhouse, and Kai appears, his dark hair still messed from sleep and his expression already settling into lines of resignation. He glances at me briefly—taking in my obvious alertness despite the early hour—then moves to answer the door.
"Morning, Ursik," he says, stepping back to let the visitor enter. "You're up early for someone who was singing Cupid's praises until midnight."
The orc who enters is massive even by their standards, with deep green skin and long black hair tied back in an intricate knot. His gray eyes immediately find me, and his grin reveals tusks that gleam white in the morning light.
"Morning, little bird," he says, his voice carrying a warmth that makes me blink in surprise. "Sleep well in your new nest?"
"I—" I start, then stop, not sure how to respond to the casual nickname or the obvious affection in his tone.
"Ursik," Kai warns, but there's no real heat in it. "Give her time to wake up before you start with the questions."
"Just being friendly." Ursik's grin widens as he hefts a leather satchel from his shoulder. "Besides, I brought gifts. Traditional Valentine tokens for Cupid's chosen bride. According to Drogath."
My stomach drops. "Gifts?"
"Oh, you're going to love these." He opens the satchel with the enthusiasm of a child showing off a collection of interesting rocks. "Carved arrows blessed by Drogath himself—see how the points are dulled so they can't draw blood? That represents Cupid's gentle guidance toward true love."
He holds up what looks like a child's toy arrow, carved from dark wood and decorated with tiny symbols that probably mean something significant to them and nothing at all to me. The craftsmanship is beautiful, intricate work that someone spent hours creating, but the sight of it makes my chest tighten with panic.
