Rakthar’s chest puffed with pride. “Built with my own hands and those of my family before me from the bones of the mountain. Far grander than the mud hut Urran would have taken you to.”
“Okay, first of all, ‘bones of the mountain’ is very metal and slightly concerning,” I said. “Second, Urran’s house was described as ‘modest but comfortable,’ not a mud hut. You’re being dramatic.”
“I am being accurate,” Rakthar countered. “I have seen his dwelling. Mud. Hut.”
“And there’s the matter of status,” Counselor Patel continued, clearly trying to regain control of the conversation. “Urran was mid-rank in his clan. Rakthar is...” She paused, seemingly searching for the right words.
“I am war chief,” Rakthar supplied, baring his teeth in what might have been a smile but looked more like a threat display. “Second only to the clan leader, and he is old and failing. Soon, the Iron Fist will be mine to command.”
I stared at him, my brain struggling to process this information while also trying not to notice how the light caught on his tusks. “So instead of being matched with a farmer who growsdecorative gourds, I’m being matched with someone who’s essentially orc nobility? That’s what you’re telling me?”
“Nobility? No,” Rakthar corrected, looking almost offended. “We earn our place through strength and cunning, not birth. I have fought for every scar, every rank, every?—”
“Every bride?” I interrupted sweetly. “Do you fight for those too? Is there a point system? Do you get a rewards card?”
His eyes narrowed. “You mock me.”
“I’m coping through humor,” I shot back. “It’s either that or screaming, and I’m trying to be somewhat professional.”
“The point is,” Counselor Patel interjected, her voice taking on a slightly desperate edge, “your life will differ greatly from what you were preparing for. As mate to a war chief, you’ll have certain responsibilities, privileges, and protections.”
I laughed, a sharp, humorless sound that echoed in the office. “Responsibilities. Right. Let me guess—popping out little orc babies and looking decorative? Maybe learning to braid warrior beards? Is that a thing? Please tell me that’s not a thing.”
To my surprise, Rakthar looked genuinely offended. “You think so little of us? The war chief’s mate is advisor, healer, and judge. Your words will carry weight second only to mine.” He tilted his head, studying me with those unsettling golden eyes. “You have fire in your spirit. My clan will respect that. Or they will answer to me.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. The Monster Matrimony program had prepared me for a quiet life as an orc farmer’s wife—tending gardens, maybe learning to make cheese, definitely not making any important decisions. No one had mentionedthe possibility of becoming something akin to a queen. Or a warlord’s wife. Or whatever the orc equivalent was.
Counselor Patel smiled warmly, sensing an opening. “This is a lot to take in. I know. But the matching algorithm doesn’t make mistakes, Aliana. If you were compatible with Urran, you’re likely even more compatible with Rakthar. The system accounts for personality, values, biological compatibility?—”
“Biological compatibility?” I squeaked. “What does that mean? Are we talking about—” I gestured vaguely, my cheeks heating. “—logistics?”
Rakthar’s smile turned predatory. “I assure you, the logistics will be very satisfying indeed.”
“Okay, we’re not discussing that,” I blurted, my face burning. “We’re absolutely not discussing that. That’s not on the table. The table is closed. The table has gone home for the day.”
“The table will be involved eventually,” Rakthar murmured, and I wanted to die.
Counselor Patel coughed delicately. “Perhaps we should focus on the immediate timeline. Aliana, you have the rest of your acclimation period—approximately sixty-eight hours of the original seventy-two—before the bonding ceremony. That time is yours. To prepare, to ask questions, to get to know your match.”
Sixty-eight hours. I turned the number over in my head. Less than three days to decide whether to go through with a ceremony I hadn’t agreed to with a male who had, by all accounts, beaten my original fiancé senseless and then strolled in here like he owned the place. Which, given Section 47.3, he apparently sort of did.
Rakthar’s low growl filled the room, vibrating through my bones. “I have waited long enough for a worthy mate. I will not wait longer than necessary.”
“The remaining sixty-eight hours stand,” Patel said, with a firmness I hadn’t heard from her before, and something in me appreciated it—that small, careful assertion of rules in his direction. “The acclimation period is Sanctuary law. It exists for the bride’s benefit. It is not negotiable.”
Rakthar held her gaze for a moment, then inclined his head in the barest acknowledgment. Not agreement, exactly. But recognition of a line he wouldn’t cross.
His possessiveness should have angered me further. Should have sent me into another tirade about autonomy and choice and how the patriarchy was alive and well in the monster world.
But instead, it sent an unexpected shiver down my spine that I absolutely did not want to examine too closely. This wasn’t the docile orc farmer I’d resigned myself to. This was something altogether more dangerous, and disturbingly, some traitorous part of me that clearly had terrible judgment found that exciting.
three
ALIANA
After Counselor Patel’s debriefing, I was escorted to my “acclimation suite” by a nervous attendant who couldn’t stop sneaking glances at Rakthar.
I pretended to listen to her explanations about the amenities and schedule, but all I could focus on was the coiling pit of anxiety sprinkled with a healthy dose of quiet indignation in my stomach.
