"Why what?"
"Why aren't you happy about this?" I tilt my head to study his profile in the moonlight. "Your people seem to think I'm some kind of gift from the gods. Shouldn't you be... celebrating?"
His laugh holds no humor whatsoever. "Would you be celebrating if someone handed you a stranger and declared them your destined mate?"
The question stops me cold. Put that way, I can almost understand his frustration. Almost.
"I didn't ask for this any more than you did," I say quietly.
"I know." He glances down at me, and for the first time since we met, his expression is more tired than grim. "For what it's worth, I'll try to make this as bearable as possible. The ritual says we have to share my longhouse, but that doesn't mean..."
He trails off, leaving the sentence unfinished, but I think I understand what he's trying to say. Whatever these Frostfangorcs believe about marriage and divine bonds, he's not planning to force anything on me.
It's a small comfort, but in my current situation, I'll take whatever hope I can find.
The settlement looms ahead of us, carved into the shelter of the cliff like something out of a primitive dream. Longhouses stretch in a rough circle around what looks like a central gathering area, their rooflines stark against the star-filled sky. Smoke rises from several chimneys, carrying the scent of wood fires and cooking meat.
It looks... peaceful. Safe, even, in a way that human settlements never manage anymore. There are no defensive walls or guard towers, no evidence of the constant vigilance that marks every place I've ever lived.
These orcs aren't hiding from anything.
The realization sends a chill through me that has nothing to do with the winter air. What kind of creatures are so confident in their strength that they build homes without fortifications? What kind of enemies do they face that make them this unafraid?
And what does that mean for someone like me, caught in the middle of their strange traditions with no way to escape?
Kai's stride doesn't slow as we approach the largest of the longhouses, its carved doorframe decorated with symbols that match the ones painted on his skin. This must be where he lives—where we're both supposed to live now, according to his people's twisted understanding of divine will.
The door looms ahead like the entrance to a cave, dark and uninviting. Once I'm inside, my chances of escape will drop even further. The smart thing would be to struggle now, to make one last desperate attempt to break free while we're still outside.
But as I tense my muscles to try again, Kai's arms tighten slightly—not threatening, just... aware. Like he's expecting me to bolt and is prepared to prevent it.
"Don't," he says quietly. "Please. This will be easier if you don't fight me in front of my home."
The exhaustion in his voice gives me pause. He sounds as trapped as I feel, caught between duty and desire, between what his people expect and what he actually wants.
Maybe that makes him my enemy. Maybe it makes him my only potential ally.
I'm too tired and too scared to figure out which.
4
KAI
The door of my longhouse feels heavier than usual as I push it open, the familiar creak of old hinges echoing in the silence. The main room stretches before us—carved wooden furniture arranged around a stone hearth, furs draped across chairs and benches, weapons mounted on the walls in precise patterns. Everything exactly as I left it this morning, when my biggest concern was avoiding Ursik's jokes about the Valentine nonsense.
Now there's a human woman in my arms who half my clan believes was delivered by divine intervention.
I set her down carefully, steadying her when she sways slightly on her feet. The painted symbols on both our skins have faded completely, leaving us looking like what we are—two strangers thrown together by circumstances neither of us wanted.
She wraps her arms around herself, those gray-green eyes taking in every detail of the room with the sharp awareness of someone cataloging escape routes. The firelight catches the windburned flush of her cheeks and the way her hair hasescaped its practical tie, making her look younger than she probably is. Fragile, even, though I suspect that's an illusion.
"I should probably know what to call you," I say, settling into the chair closest to the door. Not blocking her path, exactly, but positioned to intercept any sudden movements toward the exit. Because she keeps making this harder.
Her gaze snaps back to mine, wary but direct. "Saela."
"Saela." The name fits her somehow—sharp consonants that match the alertness in her posture. "I'm Kai. Though I suspect you picked that up during Drogath's performance."
A ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth before disappearing. "Hard to miss."
