Delia looked around the room, at the fire crackling in the hearth, at the soft furs and the massive orc standing before her. She was in the heart of orc territory. Surrounded by creatures she'd been taught to fear. In the private quarters of the most dangerous among them.
"I believe you," she said.
He crossed to her, knelt down so they were eye to eye, and cupped her face in his hands.
"I need to speak with my officers," he said. "Make arrangements. Reports. I may be gone for several hours."
"I understand."
"There will be food brought. A healer to tend your ankle. If you need anything—anything at all—you have only to ask. They will fetch me immediately."
"Ralvar." She covered his hands with her own. "I'll be fine. Go. Do what you need to do. Maybe see a healer for your own wound."
He hesitated. She could see him fighting himself, the desire to stay warring with responsibility, with duty.
"Go," she said again. "I'll be here when you get back."
He pressed his forehead to hers. Drew a breath. Then pulled away, rose, and walked toward the door.
At the threshold, he paused.
"When I return," he said without turning, "I will take my time with you, mykrenna."
The door closed behind him.
Delia sat in the warmth of his quarters, surrounded by his scent, and smiled.
Chapter 18
The healer arrived before the food.
Delia heard the knock and called out permission to enter before remembering she had no idea if that was appropriate here. But the door swung open anyway, revealing an orc woman who was—
Not what she expected.
The healer was tall, like all orcs seemed to be, but leaner than the warriors Delia had seen. Her tusks were smaller, more delicate, curving gently from her lower jaw. Her skin was a softer shade of green, like moss in shadow, and her dark hair was braided with what looked like dried herbs and small bones.
But it was her eyes that caught Delia's attention. Warm amber, like Ralvar's, but filled with open curiosity rather than guarded intensity.
"So," the healer said, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. "You're the human who has our captain tied in knots."
Delia's mouth opened. Closed. "I—"
"Thessaly." The healer crossed to her briskly, setting down a leather satchel that clinked with bottles and implements. "I've been healing warriors at this outpost for twelve years, and I've never seen Ralvar Stonefang look the way he looked when he carried you through those gates." She knelt beside Delia's chair, already reaching for her injured ankle. "May I?"
"Yes, of course." Delia extended her leg, still trying to process the rapid-fire introduction. "He looked... how did he look?"
Thessaly's fingers were gentle as she unwrapped the makeshift binding Ralvar had applied. "Like a man who had finally found something worth more than duty." She examined the swollen joint. "Like a man who would tear down these walls stone by stone if anyone tried to take it from him."
Heat crept up Delia's neck. "We've only known each other for a few days."
"Mmm." Thessaly pressed carefully along the ankle, testing the joint's range of motion. "And yet here you are. In his quarters. Wearing his scent like a second skin." Her eyes flicked up, knowing.
Delia's face went from warm to burning. "I didn't—we—"
"You don't owe me explanations." Thessaly's voice was warm. "Orc women would understand perfectly. When the pull finds you, you don't fight it. You follow it." She returned her attention to the ankle, producing a small jar from her satchel. "This is a poultice for the swelling. I'll bind it fresh, and you should stay off it for several more days. The bone isn't broken, but the injury is severe."
"Ralvar said the same thing."
