And she couldn’t even blame him for walking out like that, because he’d repeatedly been very clear about what this was, hadn’t he? And he’d even paid her extra for her efforts — or more likely, as a cover for her mortification. He’d been kind, he’d been a good employer, and damn it, he’d absolutely been the better person — the winner, even — in this entire horrible scenario.
So when she finally heard Rathgarr entering the room again, the wooden floor creaking beneath his steps, she couldn’t seem to move, let alone look at him, or speak. Not even when she heard him halt beside the bed, heard the sound of something hard setting against the nightstand. The drink he’d promised to bring, perhaps.
And thankfully, he didn’t push it, or try to speak. Instead, there was only the sound of shifting fabric, and then the feel of the bed sinking under his weight. And then his big bulky warmth, easing under the blanket, his broad back shifting close against hers.
It took far too long to fall asleep, and Geva again resorted to silently telling herself tales, dragging her thoughts from one to the next. The tale of the falcon and the chicks. The mosquito and the ear. The disobedient daughter who married a skull…
She must have fallen asleep at some point, but when morning came, it felt as though she hadn’t rested at all. And unlike the day before — she wrenched around — there was no Rathgarr in bed, no warm arm around her waist. And instead, he was already up and dressed, his face freshly shaven, his hair smooth and gleaming.
Geva’s stomach inexplicably plunged — gods, as if she’d wanted him to wait for her help? — and she shoved up in bed, rubbing at her bleary eyes. “So sorry,” she said thickly. “I didn’t mean to oversleep.”
But Rathgarr waved it away, his eyes not quite meeting hers. “No matter,” he said. “I have already packed, and readied us to go. And I hope you shall not take offense, but I have…”
He trailed off, and gave another too-dismissive wave, this time toward the end of the bed. Toward where there were… clothes, carefully laid out upon it.Herclothes.
And blinking down toward them, Geva realized that they were the best, finest clothes she’d brought. A slim shift, in silk so thin it was almost transparent. A deep blue dress, with a plunging neckline. And a light wool black cloak, far too costly for actual daily use.
And as she glanced back toward Rathgarr, she noticed that he was dressed in surprising finery, too. In a new-looking white tunic, also cut far lower than usual, showing off the strength of his chest. And below that were very tight trousers, fitted so close that she could easily make out the telltale bulge beneath. And rather than the simple cord he usually wore on his cloak, he’d put on a gleaming, braided gold chain, with large, beautifully carved clasps at each end.
Oh. Of course. Because — today was the day. The day they would reach Orc Mountain. And now that Geva was fully… scented of him, he wanted her to dress for him, too. To join him in putting on the show, in presenting the best possible face. For his kin, and his long-lost brother, and his enemies.
And yes, this was what she had agreed to, so she jerked a nod, and quickly washed and dressed. Desperately fighting to ignore the feel of Rathgarr’s eyes on her bare body as she changed, and the temptation to wonder if he was looking at her arse. On where it was still slightly tender, but not nearly as much as she would have expected, and she squeezed her eyes shut at the flash of memory, and the accompanying surge of nausea in her gut. Just a job. The next thing. One month, and then the sea.
“There,” she said, as she turned to face him again, smoothing out the front of her dress. “Does this look all right?”
Rathgarr’s eyes had, unnervingly, been lingering in the vicinity of her arse, but they instantly flicked up, briefly meeting her gaze, before sliding down again. Holding for perhaps too long on the ample cleavage displayed by the blue fabric, and then down to how the dress curved over her waist and hips, before glancing back up, and giving a curt little nod.
“This is — good,” he said, before glancing away again. “And also” — he winced — “your hair. If you should wear this unbound today, I should be — grateful.”
Oh. Because, damn it, he liked her hair. He thought the other orcs would like her hair. And while a distant part of Geva wanted to take offense again, she felt herself exhaling, nodding, as she reached up to the headscarf she’d slept in, and untied it.
Rathgarr kept intently looking away as she shook it out, and then carefully separated the curls that had become tangled overnight. And once she’d finished, she stood there, waiting, her chin held high, until he looked back again. His eyes sweeping down and up, lingering for only a very hurried instant on her hair, before glancing down again. And then holding, oddly, on her hand.
“One last thing,” he said, with a twisting grimace, as he knelt beside his pack. And when he rose again, he was holding out something small, and red, and… glittering?
Geva stepped forward, blinking toward it — and then froze all over, her breath locked in her throat. It was a ring. A fine gold ring, with a huge, sparkling, square-cut red gem attached. A ruby, perhaps.
“What?” Geva gulped, her eyes wide, maybe even aghast, on Rathgarr’s blank face. “You’re not —givingthis to me? Not as — aspayment?!”
And as stunningly beautiful as the ring was, the nausea was once again rising, churning in her stomach. He couldn’t give her this, not as payment, oh gods, ohgods—
“It is only — a loan,” Rathgarr said hurriedly, with another grimace. “Only — some women expect this from a mate, ach? My own mother never forgave my father for not gifting her a wedding-ring, and I should not wish — anyone — to think me remiss, in this.”
Oh. He meant… his brother would notice.Kesstwould notice. Of course. So Geva swallowed hard, and jerked a nod, and thrust out her hand toward him.
But wait, wait, that was clearly the wrong way to go about this, as if she wanted him to put the ring on himself, like some sort ofbridegroom— but before she could yank her hand away again, Rathgarr had caught it lightly in his warm, strong fingers. And then, keeping his eyes very intently on what he was doing, he slid the ring onto her finger.
Geva stood stock-still as he did it, feeling the cool circle of the gold, the strange weight of the gem, the surprisingly perfect fit. It had been so long since she’d worn any jewelry, and she couldn’t seem to look away from it, from the way it sparkled, the way it looked against her hand, beneath the careful touch of Rathgarr’s black claws.
“Is it — a ruby?” she asked, foolishly — but Rathgarr nodded, his claws again adjusting it on her finger.
“A good, proper Ash-Kai stone,” he said, a little hushed. “I thought it should look well, against your skin.”
Right. Well. He wasn’t wrong, Geva could admit, because it did look beautiful, almost painfully so. And it took almost all her willpower to draw her eyes back up to his face again, to attempt some semblance of a smile.
“Well, I’m sure they’ll be impressed,” she said, though her voice wavered. “It’s very lovely.”
Rathgarr twitched another nod, and then jerked away, and snatched up his pack. “Ready, then?” he said stiffly. “We shall reach Orc Mountain by afternoon, I ken.”
