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Well, that’s not true. He sounded exactly like Grak when he addressed the crowd and told them I was going to give him an f-ton of ogre babies.

“At least not to me,” I add.

“I have been advised that many other races find our Orc language… off-putting. So I am speaking the Common Tongue with you.”

The crowd hisses behind me, obviously not agreeing with that concession, but he must give them a look or make a hand motion or something. In an instant, it stops.

Then it’s only his voice again, asking, “Your dress—it appears much like what we here in the Middle Realm would call a towel. Does it hold some Lower Realm significance?”

“No, not really.” My voice comes out shaky. “A couple of hours ago, I was taking a bath when I got portaled here.”

“I see.”

He sounds more bemused than annoyed that I showed up for our wedding in a towel, which gives me enough courage to put in a request. “If you have a bridal dress, I would really love to wear it.”

I inwardly cross my fingers, praying that he’ll say yes. Running away from my monster wedding will be a lot easier dressed in anything but one thin towel.

“Or even a robe?” I add hopefully. “And maybe some shoes?”

“Oh, there is no reason for that.” His voice takes on an amused note. “Soon you will not have any need of clothes.”

Barks of laughter go up behind me, the crowd falling out as if he’s hilarious.

Someone even shouts, “Kriki sometimes forgets how funny Emperor can be!”

Okay, not good.… I’m going to have to just make a dash for the door and hope the Orcs, who are always lumbering in Clara Quinn books, are too slow to catch me.

I mean, it worked in Winter of the Fae, when the Summer Fae King teamed up with a group of Hobgoblins to evade them.

A sweat breaks out across my forehead, and a weird sensation rises in my stomach. Sort of like the severe anxiety cramps I used to get when I first became a civilian. But a little lower.

“Would you like to join me up here on my throne, Little Bride?” the Emperor suddenly asks. “Sit on my lap?”

Okay, I’m 5’9” in bare feet, and that was before I packed on the pounds after separating from the Army. I have never been called little in my life.

But I guess when you’re a freaking giant, everyone from my species looks little. And I can’t say I hate the label.

My breath quickens, and another anxiety cramp rolls through my lower belly. It’s not exactly painful, more like… powerful in a way I can’t quite put a finger on, maybe because my head is swimming. Even though I’m kneeling on stone, it feels like I’m drowning in an invisible ocean.

But there’s no time for that. Yes, this situation is scary as hell, but I’ve got to manage my fear if I want out of here.

“Is that an order or a request?” I choke out from my forced kneel.

A beat of amused silence. “Let us call it a request.”

“Then…” I pant as another cramp hits. “No! I don’t want to join you!”

A gasp goes up from the crowd behind me, followed by quiet murmurs. Apparently, what I said set off the Orc Bridgerton version of a scandal.

Enough small talk. I need to run.…

I try to rise to my feet, but my legs wobble like jelly. And I collapse right back down to my knees when another of those strange cramps rolls over me.

This one is so powerful, I lose complete control of my bladder. I shudder as warm jets of liquid spill down my thighs.

So far this month, I’ve been dream-killed by a publishing house, fired, cruelly dumped, evicted in favor of an AI catfish boyfriend, and whisked to another dimension with nothing to cover myself but a towel.

But peeing myself in front of hundreds of Orcs and their terrifying Emperor has got to be the most embarrassing thing that’s happened to me yet. Maybe in my entire life.