"Yes, it is," I countered, unable to contain the urgency in my voice. "This could mean war. If that’s the case, we’ll be right in the middle of it."
His gaze sharpened, like an invisible blade being drawn, and swept slowly over my face, examining, searching for cracks—something I couldn’t allow him to find.
"Do you fear war?" he questioned, a trace of subtle mockery in his tone.
I straightened my shoulders. Was he testing me?
"Not of fighting, Ruk’hai. I fear what it’ll do to your clan."
His expression closed off, hardening until it assumed something almost threatening.
"No one attacks Oksha without paying the price," he stated coldly. "Don’t worry."
"Take me to the cage," I insisted.
"No. It isn’t safe."
"You taught me to fight so I could protect myself. I won't stand here still while my home’s in danger."
"Is this your home now?" The question, unexpected, disarmed me.
I wasn’t the orc from Oguk that he believed me to be. My true home was Ceilte, with my family. I simply had to remember that more often.
"It’s the only one I have." The words burned as they left my throat, acidic and weighted with the lies I had to keep to stay alive.
I saw the tension settle into his shoulders, the decision already made. He was going to deny me again. So, before he could, and before my courage failed me, I let the first thing that came to mind slip out:
"Please… I’ll do anything."
The words hung between us, their implicit meaning heavy in the air. The effect was immediate. Malek didn't answer, but his eyes darkened even further, and his jaw tightened until the bone seemed ready to snap. He took a deep, slow breath, clearly fighting to keep control. He shifted slightly in the tub and, without looking at me, turned his back on me.
"Wash my back and redo my braids," he commanded. "That is all I want."
I hesitated. I had never had to wash anyone, not even the lovers I once had. The last time I had braided someone’s hair, I was a girl playing with Kristan. In Ceilte, it would have been an absurdity even to suggest such a thing to a Lord's daughter.
Malek’s brown eyes stared at me over his broad shoulder, challenging, fully aware of my inner conflict. My proud princess side bristled, but reality weighted heavier. I took a stepforward and lifted my chin, refusing to lower my gaze. If I was going to do this, it wouldn’t be as a cowering little mouse.
"Don't get used to it," I murmured, more to myself than to him.
The corner of Malek’s mouth curved into a satisfied smile as he shifted his body further, offering me his broad, scar-mapped back and his wet, disheveled hair.
I found the bundle of ingyl leaves beside the tub, along with a small jar of sweet-smelling oil. I soaked the leaves, squeezing the thick, fresh sap into my hands, all the while trying to ignore the nervousness of being so close to the orc.
I felt the heat of his body before I even touched him. For a fraction of a second, I hesitated again. This felt like a path with no return—once I touched him, something fundamental between us would change.
I rested my hands on his shoulders.
Malek reacted immediately. He didn't pull away, but the muscles beneath his skin contracted and then yielded, adjusting to my touch. His skin was warm and smooth, though the flesh underneath was as hard as stone. My fingers slid over his broad shoulders, recognizing the tension left behind by battle, and across his muscular back. The scars became more evident now, raised lines that I delicately traced with my fingertips.
I began to rub the ingyl into his shoulders, my hands moving in slow, circular strokes. As the rhythm settled, my attention shifted to him, tracing every line of his body.
It was strange how this orc—capable of silencing an army with a single look—allowed his guard to lower in my presence, even though I was still little more than a stranger.
Forbidden thoughts crept in—whether his skin would feel as warm beneath my tongue, whether his taste would match the scent that clung to him—earthy and clean, like rain-soaked earth. The spark between us deepened into something fiercer, a steady flame that refused to fade.
My touch drew subtle reactions from him; his breath deepened, his shoulders loosened, and quiet sighs slipped free despite his effort to hold them back. A faint tremor ran down his spine when my fingers lingered a moment too long.
I couldn’t stop the involuntary smile that curved my lips.
