I only interrupted him when hunger finally stole my concentration.
"Ek kur’bek," I said, using what he had taught me to say I was hungry. As if to reinforce the request, my stomach growled loud enough for him to hear.
I held my breath, expecting an impatient huff, an eye roll, or an order to keep going. But, to my shock, something unexpected happened.
Malek laughed.
It wasn’t a loud laugh, only a low, quiet sound that seemed unfamiliar to him. The corner of his mouth turned up, and his broad chest vibrated with amusement. I stared at him, my mouth hanging open.
That simple sound, strange coming from an orc like him, was more disturbing than any threat. Because for the first time since I had arrived at that village, Malek stopped looking like just the leader of an enemy clan who hated my family.
His eyes still shone with delight, and his nose crinkled slightly, drawing my attention to the ring in his septum. Without his usual guarded expression, his face softened, the hard lines easing to reveal someone—against all logic—almost... handsome.
Realizing that I found Malek handsome caught me off guard. I choked on my own saliva and began to cough, gasping for air as I tried to regain my breath in a way that was anything but elegant. I brought my hands to my chest by reflex, my face burning, struggling to contain the sudden fit.
Malek’s smile vanished. In an instant, he was beside me, landing a hard slap against my back. The impact forced a startled sound from me, but the air rushed back into my lungs all at once.
"Why did you do that?" I asked, turning my face to glare at him, my voice still raspy from the coughing fit.
"You were choking," he replied, as if he had simply followed a simple instinct.
"I know, but I nearly spat my lungs out with that slap!"
Malek stared at me as if the idea were completely absurd. "It worked," he said. "You’re weak. You need strength."
I rolled my eyes, tired of being called weak all the time, and rose from the chair, brushing my hands over my frayed skirt in a useless attempt to reclaim my dignity.
"Next time, warn me before you slap me," I snapped, still trying to control my ragged breathing.
Every trace of amusement vanished from his face, replaced by a seriousness that made the air between us grow cold. His gaze dipped just enough to make me acutely aware of our proximity before returning to my face.
"I protect," he said, his tone simple and final. "No matter how."
Then, he stood and led me out of the hut, his large hand heavy on the small of my back. The contact was brief, but enough to make my body react before my mind could. Irritation came first, quickly followed by an unsettling awareness of the place where he touched me, a feeling that infuriated me even more.
What was I thinking? A handsome orc? I pressed my lips together, annoyed with myself. Whatever herbs they used at breakfast must have been hallucinogenic.
???
The village was in full swing when we reached the bonfire. The rhythmic sound of axes, guttural voices, and the easy laughter of children had replaced the morning silence.
Kalisha sat by the fire, sharpening a knife against a whetstone. She watched me with an expression that was impossible to read.
“Kuran’k,” she said, pointing toward the pot of stew. Lunch. I felt a small spark of relief that I still remembered the word.
Malek sat on his usual log and gestured to the one beside it. This time, the meal wasn’t stew. On the rustic surface of the table lay portions of roasted fish, their golden skin releasing an irresistible scent, accompanied by soft, steamed tubers and a dense, salty dough still steaming.
My stomach growled immediately, approving the choice before I even took the first bite.
If there was one thing I was beginning to love here, it was the food.
With Malek sitting so close, it was hard not to notice his mannerisms. He ate quickly and without waste, using his hands to tear chunks of fish and tuck them into the dough. There were no forks or knives, none of the rigid etiquette of Ceilte.
He chewed in silence, which was a relief. Leone always made a point of chewing loudly enough to be heard from the other side of the dining hall, all because I had told him once that it bothered me. That had been enough for him to provoke me whenever he could. The memory of my brother came with a sharp pang of longing. He was the only one I hadn't been able to say goodbye to. I hoped he was alright.
"Why do you eat so slowly?" Malek asked, breaking the silence.
I looked up, offended. "I’m not eating slowly, I’m savoring it. In Ceilte, meal time is a moment for appreciation, not a race."
