Page 24 of Her Orc Blacksmiths

“You two live so close together?” I ask, surprised.

From what I’ve learned about the Hill so far, there are some communal spaces inside the underground palace, large caverns like the baths, the great hall, and so on. In between are corridors with residential rooms, like Ritta’s, and there are several of those in various locations around the Hill. Surely two males who claim to be at each other’s throats all the time would have chosen to live in different areas to avoid each other? Especially since they have to spend all their working hours shut in the same room.

Before Morg can answer, the door in front of us swings open, and there’s Torren, staring at us with wide eyes. He’s shirtless, and I can’t drag my gaze away from him. His chest is broad and muscular, the dark hair in the center continuing down in a narrow strip right to the waistband of his leather pants. When I reach that, I suddenly remember what I’m doing and snap my gaze back up.

Torren gives me a crooked grin. “Hello, Jasmine. What has this one done to bring you to my door so soon?”

Morg grumbles, “What makes you think I’ve done something?”

I lift my hand to prevent this from devolving into a real quarrel. “We were talking, and Morg wants to talk to you about something. Would you mind if we came in?”

Torren lifts his eyebrows but steps back, allowing us to enter. To my dismay, he unearths a fresh shirt from his wooden storage chest and pulls it over his head. My eyes are drawn to the large bed through an arched doorway—it’s neatly made and seems big enough for…

I wrench my thoughts and gaze away and focus on the living space instead. It’s sparsely furnished but cozy, with a writing desk and chair on one side, and a leather armchair and a low table on the other. The table is piled with books, so I walk over and pick one up, intrigued.

“The Minerals of Southern Styria?” I ask, glancing at Torren.

He smiles slightly. “I was at the library last night, researching our issue, so I borrowed it in the hopes that it would put me to sleep.”

I laugh and replace the book on the table. “You have a lovely set of rooms.”

“They’re bigger than mine,” Morg says, not offended exactly but still grumpy.

Torren eyes him warily. “Did you really want to ask me something or was that an excuse to snoop in my rooms?”

I turn and perch on the edge of the chair by the desk. I’ve brought Morg this far—he’ll have to take it from here and discuss his issue with Torren on his own. He casts me a look that tells me how uncomfortable he is, but then he focuses back on Torren.

“Why won’t you make weapons?” he blurts out.

Torren flinches and takes a half-step back. From his surprise, I know he did not expect this.

He flicks his gaze from Morg to me and back, then growls, “That’s none of your concern. And you had to bring her here, too? Did you tell her I was less of a blacksmith than you because I don’t make tools for killing?”

“No!” Morg spreads his hands to the side, exasperation plain on his face. “We just got to talking at the forge, and she noticed my side was full of weapons and yours wasn’t. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Torren glares at him, his fists clenched tight. “Then why bring it up?”

I bite my lip, telling myself not to interfere. But there’s something Torren said just now that’s bothering me.

“Um,” I say, my voice a little higher than normal. “Torren, we really didn’t come here to upset you. But you said—you said weapons were tools for killing, yes? Is that why you won’t make them anymore?”

A muscle jumps in Torren’s jaw. Then he seems to deflate, his shoulders hunching in. He sits heavily into the leather armchair and passes his palm over his face.

Morg glances at me, eyebrows raised as if to ask, ‘What now?’

I stand and walk closer to Torren, then gather my courage and reach out for his hand. “Will you tell us what happened?” I ask quietly.

He looks up then, despair and shame warring on his face. “So you’ll think the worst of me?” He shakes his head and focuses on the younger orc. “I knew you’d play to win, Morg, but I didn’t think you’d dig this deep.”

The corners of Morg’s mouth pull down, and his voice is low as he says, “I didn’t mean to. Jasmine and I were only talking about how I get bored making all those knives and daggers the hunters and warriors always seem to be losing on their trips.” He scrubs his fingers through his short hair. “I swear, this wasn’t something I planned.”

Torren closes his eyes and leans his head back. His fingers are tight around mine, his body taut with tension.

I glance up at Morg for some help on what to do. He shrugs helplessly, then motions from me to Torren.

I understand immediately, and a rush of affection for the younger orc sweeps through me. He wants me for himself, I know that, but he recognizes Torren needs me more right now.

Slowly, so as not to startle Torren, I move between his legs, then sit on one of his powerful thighs. His eyes fly open, and he studies me for a long moment, want and longing plain on his face. I scoot closer to him and place my hands on his shoulders, waiting for him to show me what he wants.

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