Page 20 of Her Orc Blacksmiths

Both orcs stand. Morg’s father shakes my hand enthusiastically, his craggy face splitting in a grin. His mother steps away from the table and wraps me in a tight hug.

“I’m so happy he has finally found you, my dear,” she says. “Welcome to the family.”

“Er,” I say. “Lovely to meet you.”

I squint up at Morg, wondering what he has told his parents. Has he mentioned Torren at all or is he so certain I will pick him in the end that he has all but announced our union?

Before I can become truly irritated by that thought, one of the younger women says, “Don’t worry, we know all about Torren.”

I glance at her to find her smiling at me—though there’s a devious glint in her dark eyes.

The other young woman, seated to her right, adds, “Aye, Morg hasn’t shut up about him in months. It’s always Torren this and Torren that.”

“Hush, you two,” Keera says, admonishing.

“My younger sisters,” Morg grumbles, “and the bane of my existence.”

I bite my lip to hide my smile because Morg is flushing a deep green and shuffling his feet. No one can embarrass a grown man quite like his sister, that fact seems to be true for orcs as much as humans.

But what the two have revealed is very intriguing—Morg has been talking to them about Torren long before I arrived at the Hill.

“I hope we’ll be seeing more of each other,” I offer when he starts pushing me away.

His mother waves at us cheerfully. “I’m looking forward to having you three over for a visit soon!”

Morg mutters as we make our way toward the nearest tunnel that leads away from the great hall. “…don’t know what I expected, bloody meddling…”

When we round a corner and the noise of the crowd diminishes behind us, I tug on his hand. “Morg, slow down.”

He frowns at me. “I’m sorry you had to witness that.”

I slip my hand up his arm and squeeze his shoulder. “They’re lovely. It’s clear that they care about you very much.”

He groans and swipes a palm over his face. “Aye, but they love to tease.”

“I didn’t mind,” I tell him. “I wish my family teased each other more.”

He pauses at that, shoulders straightening. “What are they like? Your parents?”

I hook my arm through his again and allow him to lead me onward. “They’re nice enough. I had a perfectly lovely childhood.”

“I sense a but coming,” Morg rumbles in his low voice.

I shrug, trying to chase away the childish feeling of having missed out on something. “No, nothing like that. It’s just that for a long time, I was an only child. I must have gotten quite spoiled by my parents’ attention. I was nine years old when my brother was born, and suddenly, I had to share Mother and Father with him, and of course, with him being a boy and the heir to my father’s inn and all the holdings, they afforded him more care than me.” I attempt a light tone as I add, “Besides, I wasn’t a small girl anymore by then and could entertain myself most days.”

I want to change the conversation now because it doesn’t feel good to wallow in old resentments. I’ve mostly overcome them anyway, pushing down the hurt. That’s just how things are done in our village.

But Morg stops in the corridor and gazes down at me, his expression serious. “I’m sorry your parents didn’t care for you how you wanted.”

I draw back in surprise. “Oh, no, you don’t understand, I never wanted for anything. I had a roof over my head, nice clothes, and?—”

“You wanted them, didn’t you?”

His dark gaze is piercing, and I have to look away.

“Well, my brother was just a baby. They couldn’t care for me the way they had,” I protest weakly.

But the truth is, their inattention never ended, not even when my brother grew up and was old enough to be sent to school in the next town over and only came home for the weekends. I was never allowed to go to that school either. Father always said it was too expensive. Yet he never mentioned that to Luca. He’d said the boy needed to learn his letters because he was going to take over the family business.

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