Page 84 of The Orc Warrioress and the Elf Lord

Ah, shouldn’t keep doing that, thinking of her as his.

She was never going to belong to anyone.

And he wasn’t worthy of her.

The second night, it rained, and they were miserable, unable to make a fire, and they got drenched, even though they tried to take shelter under some trees and used a blanket to make a little roof. Neither of them slept well, and there was no attempt to do anything together. They didn’t even kiss much.

The rain continued through the next day, and they trudged through it.

Early the following afternoon, he suggested they find an inn for the night. He had an idea of their location now, and he was fairly certain that if they cut across the road here, they could be back in the Vale in an hour, at one of the inns right on the border between the northern and southern parts of the country. He had stayed there before.

She agreed, but it didn’t take much convincing. Another night in the wet sounded horrific.

But, of course, when he arrived at the inn, the elf at the desk looked Gathren over with a sneer. He said that there were servants’ quarters, but that an orc servant would have to sleep in the barn, and Iahir countered that she would be serving him intimately and that separate quarters wouldn’t be necessary.

The elf gave Iahir a look that was pure disgust. “Have you come from the north?” he said. “Do you not know what has been done in the capital city?”

Iahir swallowed. “No, I know.”

“You know that they have raped our women to death, burned down our chapels, stabbed infants in the street? You know that, and you bring that thing into your bed?”

Iahir glanced at her and she was staring at the floor.

“So, the… the armies of the Vale have not put down this invasion?” said Iahir.

“No,” snapped the elf. “You do as you will behind closed doors, but do not think to bring her into the taproom or the dining areas. You will cause a riot, and I won’t have that.”

Iahir understood. They would kill her. His heart was in his throat as he brought her through the hallways, and she kept her head down and stayed close to him.

In the room, there was an explosion of chatter between them, both going over topics they’d talked of before, both expressing guilt for what had occurred, both taking personal responsibility. They both assured the other that they weren’t to blame, and it rang hollow to both of them, and then they were quiet.

They lit a fire in the fireplace, because even though it was mild weather, the rain had chilled them both to the bone.

He thought of the last time they’d been in an inn together, the way he had bantered and shamelessly tried to cajole her onto his cock, and now, just two nights ago, it had happened, and he’d been inside her, and it had been the most anti-climatic of experiences.

He fingered the stitches in his shoulder. She’d done such a good job stitching him up, he’d barely noticed the wound in some time. Maybe he’d simply become accustomed to the dull ache of it as it healed.

“Sorry about the inn,” he muttered.

“Better than the rain,” she said.

“As long as no one gets wind of your being here and comes after you, that is,” he said.

“I can take care of myself,” she said.

She could, of course.

“Our clothes are wet,” she said, looking into the fire.

“They are,” he agreed.

She took off her tunic. His mouth was dry as he gazed at the binding strip wrapping her breasts.

She began to unlace her breeches.

“Your, um, your…” He gestured to his own chest. “Is it not uncomfortable?”

She looked down at her chest. “Much more uncomfortable having them free and flopping around, I assure you. They get sweaty underneath, and the skin chafes, and then there are times during the month when they are sore whenever they’re jostled, and it’s much less trouble like this, all told.”