Page 12 of Her Orc Blacksmiths

At that, he glares a little at Morg, which I take to mean that the younger orc had something to say about it.

But Morg only shrugs and adds, “Aye, that way you’ll be able to decide which of us is the better fit for you.”

“Decide?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

They both stare at me expectantly, as if I might choose one of them at this very moment. Because they expect me to pick one of them. While I was considering the moral implications of having more than one husband, they were intent on proving their worth so I could make an informed decision. They’re enemies, after all, and likely cannot even fathom the idea of…sharing me.

So why does the thought of keeping them both send a rush of warmth through my body?

I’m only being greedy, like always. I’ve coveted things I couldn’t have my entire life, like my parents’ attention, the bigger room at the inn, or the kind of love that made Ansel elope with his sweetheart.

“I mean, of course,” I hurry to say now. My face grows hot as I add, “How will we arrange this?”

Torren’s nostrils twitch. He takes a deep inhale and steps closer before he can stop himself. Morg immediately closes the distance between us, too, not to be outdone, and he must scent whatever Torren did because his gaze turns sharp, his attention fixed on me. I’m faced with a wall of orc, and though neither of them touches me, their gazes feel hot against my skin.

I’m breathless with a mixture of trepidation and want, my heart beating frantically, my palms sweating. I clutch my blanket closer to my chest.

“What are you thinking, love?” Morg asks, his voice a low rumble that seems to vibrate through the air. “I would like to know what has you smelling like that so I can do it again and again.”

“I—”

My thoughts are a jumble of images and sensations that I’ve certainly never experienced before—and I can’t even imagine trying to express it with words.

“Ah, we’re scaring her,” Torren says and retreats a step, then grabs Morg and pulls him back as well.

He’s frowning again, his dark eyebrows drawn together. I don’t miss how his hand lingers on Morg’s arm, though, before he thinks better of it and crosses his arms over his chest.

“She doesn’t smell scared,” Morg says with a smirk.

That’s likely true. I’m not afraid of them, even though we’re alone in an empty corridor—and not just because Sarrai and Ritta have assured me that they’re good males. It’s likely the mate bond at work, so maybe I should distrust it, but it feels right.

Torren only sighs and draws a large gold coin from his pocket. It’s a gold mark, and I lift my eyebrows at the sight of it. Not many people carry gold in their pockets—most of the guests at my father’s inn pay in silver and copper, even though ours is a very reputable establishment.

“We’ll toss for who will get your company first, if you agree,” he says. “That was Morg’s idea, just so you know.”

Morg shrugs. “It’s the only fair way of deciding.”

I don’t really like the idea of this decision being up to a coin toss but I don’t have a better solution, so I just nod at Torren.

“Heads, Morg gets to spend the morning with you, tails, and it’s me,” he says, showing me the side of the coin with the image of the Duke of Ultrup.

“All right,” I say.

Torren flicks the coin in the air with a practiced move, and we all watch it ascend almost to the ceiling, the gold glinting in the lantern light. Then it falls. Torren catches it into his palm and slaps it on the back of his other hand. He raises his eyebrows at Morg, and the other male nods to confirm that he’s satisfied with the toss.

Torren removes his hand—and the single numeral stares up at us. My stomach does a very complicated flip, because I’m elated to know that I’ll be spending the morning with Torren and at the same time gutted that Morg won’t be there with me.

Morg growls, swivels away from us, and punches his fist on the wall. A small shower of dry earth sprinkles to the floor. He heaves a big sigh, then turns back to us.

“Forgive me,” he says. “The disappointment is bitter, Jasmine, but I’ll get my chance to spend time with you in the afternoon if you’re up for it.”

I nod. “Of course. I’m looking forward to it.”

Then I face Torren, whose grin is wide but also a little bit wary, as if he’s afraid I might have preferred Morg’s company.

“Will you meet me here in the morning?” I ask, and I think my voice betrays my eagerness, because his gaze warms again.

“Aye,” he says. “If that’s all right with you.”

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