The silence stretches between us, filled with the crackle of logs settling in the hearth and the distant sounds of celebration still echoing from the ritual ground. I should probably explain what happens next, lay out the expectations and traditions that now supposedly bind us together. Instead, I find myself studying the way she holds herself—like she's ready to run or fight at a moment's notice.
"There's a spare room through there." I nod toward the hallway that leads to the back of the longhouse. "It's not much, but it has its own hearth and a decent bed. You'll have privacy."
Her eyebrows lift slightly, as if privacy wasn't something she'd expected to be offered. "For how long?"
The question I've been dreading. I lean back in my chair, the wood creaking under my weight as I try to find words that won't send her into another panic.
"The Valentine festivities run from one full moon to the next. According to tradition, that gives couples time to... bond properly before any formal ceremony." The words taste like ash in my mouth. Especially since I thought the rite would last until sunrise, no bride would come, and we’d be able to move on. "My brother won't push for an actual binding until then."
"A month?" Her voice cracks slightly on the words. "You expect me to stay here for a month?"
"I expect you to stay here for however long it takes me to convince my clan that this is a mistake." The admission comes out harsher than it should, frustration bleeding through despite my attempts at control. "Trust me, this isn't any more appealing to me than it is to you."
She flinches as if I've struck her, and I immediately regret the phrasing. Whatever else is happening here, she didn't choose to stumble into our ritual any more than I chose to participate in it.
"Look," I try again, gentling my tone. "I know this is insane. I know you didn't ask for any of this. But the fact remains that you're here, my people think the gods sent you, and defying that belief in front of the entire clan would cause problems I'm not prepared to deal with."
"So I'm supposed to just... accept being held prisoner because it's convenient for your politics?"
The accusation hits closer to home than I care to admit. "You're not a prisoner. You're?—"
"What? A guest? A divine gift?" Her laugh holds no humor. "I'm a human woman who can't leave because your brother decided I was delivered by some ancient god of love."
"Cupid the Warrior," I correct automatically, then immediately want to take it back when her expression turns incredulous.
"Cupid the what now?"
Heat crawls up the back of my neck. "It's... complicated. Drogath found some old human texts about a magic being called Valentine that brings love and... interpreted them. I presume creatively."
"You built an entire religious festival around some random texts?" She stares at me like I've grown a second head. "Do youknow the crazy shit people used to do? And now you think you can use them to find brides?"
My admission seems to have her spiraling. The brief moment of shared absurdity vanishes, replaced by the desperate urgency that's been driving her since she fell into my arms.
"I can't stay here," she says, moving toward the door with sudden purpose. "You don't understand—I'm being hunted. The Stonevein clan, they're tracking me, and if they find me here?—"
"They won't." The certainty in my voice stops her mid-step. "This is Frostfang territory. No Stonevein hunter is foolish enough to cross our borders, especially not during a religious festival."
"You don't know what they're capable of?—"
"I know exactly what they're capable of." Old anger stirs in my chest, memories of border skirmishes and broken truces. "I also know that Stonevein raiders are cowards who prey on the weak and isolated. You're neither of those things now."
She turns to face me fully, desperation making her voice sharp. "They killed people looking for me. They'll kill more if they think you're harboring me."
"Let them try."
The words come out rough, carrying echoes of every conflict I've fought against Stonevein incursions. Saela's eyes widen slightly, and I realize I've probably just reinforced whatever terrifying ideas she has about orc brutality.
"Look," I say, forcing my voice back to something resembling calm. "You're safer here than you would be anywhere else in these territories. Whatever the Stonevein wanted with you, they'll have to go through the entire Frostfang clan to get it. Most hunters aren't that determined."
"But—"
A sharp knock at the door cuts off whatever argument she was preparing to make. The sound echoes through the mainroom with the deliberate weight of someone who doesn't intend to be ignored.
I know that knock.
"Go," I tell Saela, nodding toward the hallway. "Get some rest. We can figure this out tomorrow."
For a moment I think she might argue, might demand to know who's at the door and why I'm suddenly eager to get rid of her. Then survival instincts seem to kick in, reminding her that being invisible is often the smartest choice when you're outnumbered and outgunned.
