“I already told you that,” he reminds me.
“I know, but deep down… I guess I was still hoping. I wasn’t thinking about children,” I admit.
I guess my feelings are changing. I’m getting more attached to him. So much that I’m allowing myself to be vulnerable enough to admit it aloud.
“Humans may be able to carry orc offspring, but your kind has weak wombs,” he says. “If my wife couldn’t carry a child to term, there’s no way you can. You probably wouldn’t even survive it. Lady Frax’mo knows that. She just doesn’t care if it kills you.”
“Damn,” I exclaim, blinking a few times in surprise. “I guess I wouldn’t have had a say in it anyway, if that’s what you wanted.”
“No, you wouldn’t have had a say in it at all,” he states roughly. “It wasn’t supposed to be that way, but that’s how things ended up.”
“What do you mean? Why wasn’t it supposed to be that way?” I ask curiously.
“When we offered to buy human women so our species could survive, we wanted volunteers. Women who weren’t so scared of orcs they screamed when they were touched,” he explains bitterly. “Humans turned our only hope for survival into something ugly. We made it uglier. We’re good at that, even when we shouldn’t be.”
“I’m sure there were plenty of orcs who were glad it was ugly. Especially if they hated humans as much as you do,” I say. “The women who were infertile because of the virus probably hated us even more.”
“Now, I’m paying the price for all that hatred,” he growls, standing up. “In more ways than one.”
He must have lost his appetite like I did, because he leaves the table without finishing his breakfast. He’s never done that before. He didn’t even finish his coffee.
I gather everything up, dispose of the food, and load the dishwasher. My domestic duties for the day are finished until lunch.
I never disturb him when he’s in his throne room or office because I know he’s busy. He doesn’t seem annoyed by my presence or frustrated by my existence anymore. I’d like to keep it that way.
But after our breakfast conversation, I find it hard to distract myself like I usually do. My thoughts are in disarray. I knew there was a reason we hadn’t gone further than we have, but I didn’t realize it was because it could literally kill me. Partially, at least. If he really wanted a baby, I’m not sure the risk to me would stop him.
I believe him when he says he won’t. That almost makes it worse, because now I know exactly what everyone else hoped he would do.
Lady Frax’mo wasn’t honest with me at all. I’m not here to keep his brilliant mind active. I’m not here because orcs are concerned about their king being lonely in his final days.
I was never a gift.
I was asacrifice.
CHAPTER 23
Lix’tuk
I’m sitting on my throne, dressed in formal armor, waiting for Lord Frax’mo to arrive.
It’s the second meeting I’ve had with him this week. The last one accomplished nothing, and I’m not sure if this one will either, but I have to try. I’ve met with enough Lords and Ladies to know that Lord Frax’mo and his wife are the loudest when the prophecy is brought up.
I get the notification that Lord Frax’mo’s ship is approaching. As expected, he brought his wife. She came to the last meeting too. I could have insisted he came alone, but she has his ear, and a lot of the others listen to her. Politics always becomes overly complicated when orcs listen to nonsense like prophecies.
I don’t greet them when the door opens. I’m not in the mood to greet them today. I just sit on my throne and glare, which is sometimes even more effective than words.
“Your Majesty,” Lord Frax’mo says, lowering his head respectfully. His wife does the same. “Thank you for meeting with us again.”
“When Lord Bruz first informed me of this mess with the Lords and Ladies, I told him I didn’t want to have this conversation multiple times,” I growl. “Doesn’t seem like I have much choice. Did you do as I asked?”
I turn my attention to Lady Frax’mo. She takes a deep breath. “Yes, Your Majesty. I did as you asked. I reviewed every prophecy, even the ones that were just stories and never officially recorded.”
“Good, then you should no longer give a fuck about prophecies,” I shout. “You’ve seen how many of them never came true.”
“Respectfully, Your Majesty, I was already aware of that. I don’t believe every prophecy is divine. I know some of them are nonsense,” she replies. “But it’s hard to argue a prophecy isn’t divine when the king it’s written about has lived for centuries.”
“It was written about my bloodline, not me specifically,” I retort. “Uzrirgard isn’t going to fall after I’m gone unless the Lords and Ladies tear it apart.”
