"I keep her close," I say, not bothering to phrase it as a question.
"You don't let her out of your sight," he confirms. "But you make it look natural. A devoted potential mate showing off for his bride. Let the clan see you protecting what's yours without making them think she's in immediate danger."
The wordbridestill makes something clench in my chest, but I find myself nodding agreement. Whatever else happens tonight, Saela won't face this alone.
By sundown, the main camp transforms into something resembling ancient festival descriptions from Drogath's carefully preserved human texts. Bonfire blazes cast dancing shadows across hastily erected competition stations, the air thick with smoke and the sound of warriors calling challenges toone another. Targets for spear-throwing stand beside rings for wrestling matches, while strength tests involving massive stone lifting draw crowds of cheering spectators.
I keep Saela pressed close against my side as we move through the festivities, her warmth grounding me even as hypervigilance makes every shadow suspicious. She wears the wolf talisman I carved for her, the sight of it resting against her throat making possessive satisfaction bloom in my chest despite everything else happening around us.
"This is incredible," she says, gray-green eyes wide as she takes in warriors competing with enthusiasm that borders on theatrical display. "I've never seen anything like this."
"Drogath insists it mirrors ancient human traditions," I explain, steering us toward where Ursik attempts to lift stones that probably outweigh most grown men. "Though I suspect his interpretation involves more showing off than historical accuracy demanded."
She laughs at that, the sound cutting through ambient tension like a knife through rope. "Somehow I don't think Valentine's Day originally involved seeing who could throw spears the farthest."
"You'd be shocked by what Drogath claims to know about human courtship rituals." I can't help smiling at her amusement, the way her face transforms when genuine joy replaces the careful guardedness she usually wears. "According to him, Cupid the Warrior demanded displays of strength to prove worthiness."
Just then, Ursik's voice booms across the clearing as he successfully hoists a boulder the size of a grown orc above his head. "Kai! Your turn to show off for the little bird!"
Heat climbs my neck at the obvious challenge, but something about Saela's expectant expression makes pride overrideembarrassment. If she wants to see what I can do, I'm more than willing to oblige.
"Watch this," I murmur against her ear, lips brushing sensitive skin that makes her shiver visibly.
The spear-throwing competition draws me like a lodestone, familiar weight of the weapon settling in my hand with muscle memory from countless hours of practice. The target—a wooden shield painted with concentric circles—stands fifty paces away, a distance that would challenge most warriors but feels almost insultingly easy given current adrenaline levels.
I'm aware of Saela watching as I settle into throwing stance, back straight and feet planted for maximum stability. The spear feels perfect in my grip, balanced steel that responds to intention like extension of my own arm. When I let it fly, the weapon cuts through air with precision that makes satisfaction bloom in my chest.
It strikes dead center with an impact that sends vibrations through the target post, embedded so deeply that the next competitor will need tools to extract it. Cheers erupt from the gathered crowd, but the only reaction I care about is Saela's sharp intake of breath and the way her gray-green eyes widen with something that looks suspiciously like arousal.
"Show off," she accuses when I return to her side, but her voice carries affection that makes warmth spread through my chest.
"You liked it," I counter, pulling her closer with an arm around her waist that probably looks possessive to outside observers. Which is exactly what I want them to see.
"Maybe a little," she admits, cheeks flushed with color that could be attributed to firelight but makes my pulse quicken regardless.
The evening continues with similar displays—wrestling matches that showcase Frostfang strength, archery competitionsthat demonstrate deadly accuracy, tests of endurance that separate true warriors from those who merely look impressive. Through it all, I keep Saela close enough to touch, hyperaware of every person who approaches us and every shadow that might conceal threats.
She seems genuinely entertained by the festivities, laughing at Ursik's increasingly ridiculous commentary and cheering when Falla surprises everyone by winning the knife-throwing contest with precision that speaks to years of surgical training. The sight of her relaxing, actually enjoying herself despite everything that's happened, makes something tight in my chest loosen slightly.
Maybe Bronn was right about maintaining normalcy. Maybe letting her see that life here involves more than just survival and political maneuvering will help her understand what she'd be choosing if she decides to stay.
"I'll get us some ale," I tell her when the current round of competitions pauses for competitors to rest and crowds to mingle. "Stay with Ursik."
She nods, settling beside my best friend with easy familiarity that speaks to growing comfort with clan dynamics. Ursik immediately launches into detailed analysis of the wrestling techniques they've just witnessed, complete with exaggerated gestures that make her laugh again.
The ale station sits only thirty paces away, close enough that I can still see them while I wait in line behind other thirsty spectators. Two wooden cups filled with fermented honey that will help take the edge off hypervigilance that's been riding me all day. Nothing stronger—I need to stay alert—but something to help muscles relax slightly.
When I turn back toward where I left them, cups in hand and ready to rejoin conversation about combat techniques, they're gone.
Cold floods my veins as I scan the immediate area, eyes searching for familiar silhouettes among moving crowds. Ursik's massive frame should be impossible to miss, and Saela's smaller figure never strays far from protective presence. But the space where they stood just moments ago shows only empty ground and scattered straw.
"Looking for someone?"
I spin toward the voice, finding one of the perimeter guards approaching with an expression that makes dread claw at my throat.
"Ursik and Saela," I say, words coming out as a bark as panic begins building in my chest. "They were just here."
"Ursik got called away," the guard explains with a casual tone that suggests he sees nothing alarming about the situation. "Something about checking the eastern watch posts. Saw him heading that direction maybe ten minutes ago."
