He carried her like she weighed nothing.
Delia's mind went briefly, completely blank.
This wasn't—he couldn't—she was too heavy for this—
But he was already walking. Moving through the forest with long strides that barely jostled her, navigating roots and rocks and fallen branches like they weren't even obstacles. And his arms didn't tremble. His breath didn't catch. His expression, when she dared to glance up at his face, showed no strain at all.
Something cracked open in Delia's chest.
She didn't know what it was. Couldn't name it. It felt raw and painful and dangerous, like a wound she hadn't known she had suddenly exposed to air. All those years of being told she was too much, all those comments about her size, all those looks of pity and disgust from human men who saw her curves and her softness and decided she was worth less for them—
And this orc was carrying her through a forest like the weight of her didn't matter at all.
It doesn't mean anything, she told herself frantically.He's an orc. He's probably stronger than any human man. This isn't—it doesn't—
But her body wasn't listening to logic. Her body was responding to sensation. To the solid wall of muscle beneath her cheek, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her palm, the arms wrapped around her holding hersafe. She hadn't been held like this since—
Since ever.
No one had ever held her like this.
Not her mother, who had always kept a careful distance. Not her father, whose affection had come in words and gestures, never embrace. Not any of the boys she'd watched dance with other girls at village festivals, never once asking her.
Twenty-three years of not being held, and now—
Now an orc was cradling her against his chest like her weight and her curves and all the things humans had taught her to hate about herself were simplyirrelevant.
Stop.Stop thinking like this. He's a monster. He's probably just—
Just what?
She couldn't finish the thought. Couldn't come up with a sinister motive that fit what was happening. He hadn't hurt her. Hadn't even touched her without asking. Was carrying her to shelter with the kind of care she'd never experienced from anyone in her life.
"What's your name?"
The question startled her. She looked up and found him looking straight ahead, navigating the darkness with apparent ease.
"Delia," she heard herself say. "Delia Harrowmere."
"Delia."
The way he said it made her stomach flip. The orcish accent turned the syllables rougher, giving them a weight they didn't have when humans said them. Like her name meant something in his mouth.
"I'm Ralvar." He glanced down at her briefly before returning his attention to the forest. "Ralvar Stonefang. Captain of the Northwatch Patrol."
Captain.
So he wasn't just some random monster. He had a rank. A position. He wassomeone.
It shouldn't have mattered. Didn't matter. He was still an orc. Still terrifying. Still covered in blood that probably wasn't his, still tusked and massive and everything she'd been taught to fear.
But he'd given her his name.
The crack in her chest widened.
Delia pressed her face against his shoulder and focused on breathing.
The watchtower emerged from the darkness like a broken tooth.
