GALTHAN
Iwatch Thalia limp away, each uneven step twisting something sharp in my chest. Her shoulders curve inward like she's trying to make herself smaller, and the bloodied cloth wrapped around her hands catches the afternoon light. She moves like someone who's learned to carry pain without complaint.
My jaw aches from grinding my teeth.
"Pathetic servants and their weak bodies." Rytha's sigh drips with theatrical disappointment. "I swear, humans break if you look at them wrong. No wonder they need constant supervision."
The casual cruelty in her voice makes my hands curl into fists. I force them to relax before she notices.
Rytha shifts in her chair, the movement calculated to draw my attention. When I don't immediately respond, she reaches over and trails her fingers along my forearm. Her touch feels cold despite the afternoon heat.
"But enough about tedious household matters." Her voice drops to what she clearly believes is a seductive purr. "We should discuss more pleasant topics. Our mating ceremony, perhaps. I have such plans for our first night together."
Her amber eyes glitter with anticipation as her hand slides higher, fingers tracing the scars along my bicep. The touch that should ignite desire instead makes my skin crawl.
"I've been thinking about the traditions we'll blend. Vaskyr ceremonies are so much more... elaborate than Thorran customs. More opportunities for creativity." She leans closer, her breath warm against my ear. "I want our union to be memorable. Something the clans will speak of for generations."
Everything about this feels wrong. Her hands, her voice, the way she speaks of our mating like a political performance. Three nights ago, I would have accepted this as inevitable. Expected, even. Now the thought of her touch makes me want to tear my own skin off.
I stand abruptly, cutting off whatever else she planned to whisper. "I'm exhausted from the day's events."
Rytha blinks, clearly not expecting the interruption. Her hand drops to her lap, fingers curling with obvious frustration.
"I'll see you tomorrow." I force my voice to remain level, polite. "Goodnight, Rytha."
I turn and walk away before she can protest, leaving her sitting alone at the council table. I don't look back, though I can feel her stare burning between my shoulder blades.
My feet carry me away from the training grounds, away from the main festival area. Away from Thalia's tent, though every instinct screams at me to follow her. To check her wounds, to hold her until that haunted look leaves her eyes.
Instead, I head toward the kitchen tents where the evening meal preparations should be winding down. The familiar sounds of cleanup—metal clanging against metal, voices calling out orders—provide a welcome distraction from the chaos in my head.
The cooking fires cast dancing shadows between the canvas walls. Steam rises from washing basins where servants scrub theday's accumulation of pots and platters. The air smells of roasted meat and woodsmoke, tinged with the sharp bite of soap.
I'm almost past the main preparation area when voices from behind the largest tent stop me cold.
"The pyre still burns," Koreth's gravelly voice carries clearly through the night air. The old warrior's been with Thorran longer than anyone except my father's generation. His words carry weight.
"Three days now," another voice agrees. "Bright as ever, no matter how much water we throw at it."
I step closer to the canvas wall, keeping to the shadows. Through a gap in the tent flaps, I can see four figures huddled around a small fire. All older orcs, all council members or former warriors whose opinions matter.
"Maybe if we sacrifice the girl, the flame will go out." Koreth spits into the dirt. "A symbol to show we won't be manipulated by fake prophecy."
My blood turns to ice.
I step from the shadows, my voice cutting through the night like a blade. "Say that again."
The four orcs scramble to their feet, eyes wide with shock. Koreth's weathered face goes pale beneath his green skin, his mouth opening and closing like a fish yanked from water.
"Galthan." His voice cracks. "We didn't know you were?—"
"Go on. Say it again." I move closer, letting my full height cast a shadow over their pathetic huddle.
Silence stretches between us, thick with fear and the acrid smell of their panic sweat. The cooking fire pops, sending sparks spiraling into the darkness.
"Do you think the goddess is wrong?" I let the question hang in the air, watching them squirm. "The eternal flame burns for three days now. Three days of divine fire that your bucketsof water can't touch. And you think she's made a mistake in choosing me, an honored warrior?"
"It's just..." One of the younger orcs stammers, his tusks clicking together nervously. "The girl... How can?—"
