"But we've never—in peace—"
"Then we will learn each other in peace." His voice was fierce. "Every day, for the rest of our lives. I will discover what makes you laugh, what foodsyou love, what dreams you have when the world isn't trying to break you. And you will learn me the same way. But the foundation—" He pressed her palm flat against his chest, over his heart. "The foundation is already here. Can you feel it?"
She could. Gods help her, she could. His heart pounding against her palm, steady and sure, and something in her chest beating in an answering rhythm.
"Yes," she breathed. "I feel it."
He pulled her closer, carefully avoiding his wounded side, until their foreheads touched.
"In my tongue," he said, "there is a word.Krenna.It means 'joined in intent.' Not yet bonded—that comes later, with ritual, with the full blessing of the clan. Butkrennameans two people have recognized each other. Have chosen each other. Have declared that they will pursue the bond, whatever comes."
Delia's breath caught. The word felt sacred in her ears, weighted with meaning that transcended language. But a familiar doubt crept in.
"Can humans..." She hesitated, her fingers curling slightly against his chest. "Can humans bekrenna? With orcs?"
Ralvar pulled back just enough to look at her, his brow furrowing. "Why would they not be?"
"I just—" She swallowed. "In Valdara, there are stories. That orcs and humans don't... that we're too different. That any union would be—" She couldn'tfinish. The words felt poisonous on her tongue, echoes of market gossip and her father’s warnings about the monsters beyond the border.
"Ah." Understanding softened his features. "Orcs and humans have joined since before the first war. Children have been born. Families have thrived. The clans do not care what shape a woman takes, only that she is chosen, and that she chooses in return."
"Truly?"
"Truly." His voice dropped lower. "My own grandmother's grandmother was human. A healer from the river settlements who wandered too far and found a warrior who would not let her go." A ghost of a smile. "The Stonefang line carries her blood still. Her courage. Her stubbornness."
The tightness in Delia's chest began to loosen. "And you want me to be yourkrenna?"
"That is what I am asking." His voice dropped lower. "Not marriage—not yet. Not forever, if you decide that isn't what you want. But a promise. A direction. A statement that we are walking toward the same horizon."
She pulled back enough to look at him properly. This massive warrior, wounded and bloody, declaring his intentions like a formal proposal. Like she was worth proposing to.
"What does it look like?" she asked. "If I say yes. If we'rekrenna. What does that future look like for you?"
The question seemed to surprise him. His brow furrowed slightly, as if he was looking at something far away. At a life he'd never let himself want before..
"You," he said finally. "Safe. Fed. Warm. Never afraid of being sold again, or used, or discarded."
"That's just... that's just safety. That's what you already promised."
"Let me finish." He cupped her face, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheek. "I want you at my side when I wake. I want to learn what you look like in the morning light ofmyhome, not just the forest. I want to bring you food and watch your face when you taste something you've never tried."
His voice had gone rough. Reverent.
"I want to show you the high passes when the snow melts and the flowers cover the mountainside. I want to teach you my language. I want—" He stopped. Started again. "I want to see you grow into the woman you were supposed to become. The one the human world tried to crush out of you. I want to be there when you realize you are strong, and beautiful, and worthy of everything I mean to give you."
She was crying. She hadn't realized until the tears spilled down her cheeks, warm against her cold skin.
"I want you to bear my name," he continued, quieter now. "To stand beside me in front of my clan and know that you belong there. I want children, if you want them. Little ones with your softness and my stubbornness, who will grow up knowing they are loved. And if you don't want children, I want you still. I wantyou, Delia. However you come. Whatever you choose. For as long as you'll have me."
"That's—" Her voice came out broken. She tried again. "That's a lot of wanting."
"I have spent thirty years wanting nothing." His thumb traced the track of her tears. "And then you fell into my life, and suddenly I want everything. Is that too much? Too fast? If you need me to slow down—"
"No." The word surprised her with its certainty. "No, I don't want you to slow down. I just—" She laughed, a wet and overwhelmed sound. "I've never had anyone want a future with me. I don't know what to do."
"You don't have to do anything." His forehead pressed against hers again. "Just let me want. Let me plan. Let me build something for you, and when you're ready, you can step into it. Or not. The choice will always be yours."
She thought about the wagon. The contract. The life she'd been sold into without anyone asking what she wanted.
