"Whoa. Touched a nerve there."
I force my arm down, fingers still curled into a weapon. The thought of Rytha as my wife by festival's end makes my stomach turn to acid. Of binding myself to her…
"Just tired of the whole spectacle."
"Right." Tarnuk's voice carries new wariness. "Maybe lay off the ale then. Don't want you stumbling through tomorrow's?—"
Horn calls echo across the valley, deep and resonant. The crowd begins moving toward the longhouse like a slow river, voices rising in anticipation.
"Ritual rites," Tarnuk explains unnecessarily. "Time for the traditional sacrifice to the goddess. First hunt offering."
I drain the rest of my mug and slam it down on a nearby table hard enough to crack the wood. The longhouse looms ahead, its peaked roof stark against the star-scattered sky. Everyone files through the massive doors—elders, warriors, servants. Even the humans shuffle inside to witness the ceremonies that bind their fates to ours.
Inside, the air thick with incense and expectation. I take my place among the Thorran delegation, scanning the packed interior until I find her. Thalia stands pressed against the far wall, nearly invisible in the dancing shadows cast by oil lamps.Her marked arm remains carefully hidden, but I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way she holds herself apart from the other humans.
The shaman's voice booms through the space, calling on the Harvest Goddess to accept our offerings and bless the coming season. A young buck is brought forward, its throat opened with ceremonial precision. Blood pools in carved bowls, steam rising in the cool night air.
When the rites conclude and the crowd begins dispersing, I hang back near the rear entrance. Most orcs push toward the main doors, eager to return to their drinking and boasting. But Thalia slips out through the smaller exit, moving like smoke through the shadows.
I follow.
The corridor beyond the longhouse stretches narrow and dim, lit only by scattered torches. My footsteps echo off stone walls as I close the distance between us. She must hear me coming—her pace quickens, shoulders hunching defensively.
"Thalia."
She stops but doesn't turn. I reach her in three long strides, my hand closing around her wrist before rational thought can intervene. She spins to face me, golden eyes wide with something between fear and longing.
And then I'm kissing her, crushing my mouth against hers like a drowning man gasping for air.
13
THALIA
Galthan's mouth crashes against mine with desperate hunger, and for one heartbeat I freeze completely—caught between terror and something far more dangerous. The corridor spins around us, moonlight streaming through carved stone windows to paint silver patterns across the walls.
Then I'm kissing him back, my hands fisting in his leather vest as if I could anchor myself to something solid in this madness. His tusks graze my lips, foreign and sharp, but his mouth moves against mine with surprising gentleness. Like he's afraid I might shatter.
We break apart gasping, our foreheads nearly touching in the narrow space. His breath mingles with mine, warm and unsteady. The torchlight flickers across his dark green skin, casting shadows that make his eyes look almost black.
"I hate you." The words tear from my throat before I can stop them, my heart hammering so hard I'm certain he can hear it. "You just sat there."
His jaw tightens, those intelligent eyes searching my face. "Thalia?—"
"You sat there and watched me kneel in the dirt." My voice cracks despite my efforts to keep it steady. "Watched me call myself nothing while hundreds of them laughed."
"I had no choice." The words sound like they're being dragged from somewhere deep in his chest. "The council, the alliance—if I'd spoken against them?—"
"There's always a choice." I step back until the cold stone wall presses against my shoulders. "You just chose your precious duty over?—"
"Over what?" His voice drops to a growl. "Over you? A human servant I barely know?"
The words slice through me like a blade, even though I know he's right. What am I to him? A moment of weakness. A complication he can't afford.
"Exactly." I lift my chin, summoning every scrap of dignity I have left. "So why are you here?"
He stares at me for a long moment, conflict warring across his features. The moonlight catches the small scars that mark his hands, evidence of countless battles fought for his clan's honor.
"This can't happen," I whisper, hating how my voice wavers.
