Page 22 of Scoring the Orc

I lean down, my voice a low, dangerous whisper. “What’s the matter, Emilia? Too afraid to speak?”

Her scrubbing slows, and for a moment, I think she might finally break. But instead, she takes a deep breath and continues her work in silence. The orcs, growing bored, eventually wander off, leaving us alone.

As soon as the orcs are out of sight, Emilia stops scrubbing and looks up at me. Her eyes are fierce, a quiet but piercing glare that sends a shiver through me. Her bold stare catches me off guard, and for a moment, I’m at a loss.

Why do I feel such a compulsion to dominate and humiliate this defiant human who has stirred these unfamiliar feelings in me? She’s just a girl, yet she gets under my skin like no one else ever has.

I expect her to flinch, to cower under my gaze, but she stands slowly, wiping her hands on her apron. She never breaks eye contact, her defiance clear in every movement. My fists clench at my sides as I try to mask the tumult of emotions swirling within me.

The silence between us is charged, every second stretching out painfully. I can see the anger simmering just beneath the surface, mirrored by the fire in her eyes. It’s the same fire I saw in the kitchen, the same fire that both infuriates and fascinates me.

I take a step closer, towering over her, trying to regain my composure. My mouth opens, but no words come out. Instead, I find myself studying her, the determination etched into her features, the stubborn set of her jaw.

Her glare sharpens, and she takes a step closer, defiance radiating from her. She’s daring me to act, daring me to break the silence. But I can’t. I’m caught in the intensity of her gaze, conflicted and confused.

Why does she affect me this way? Why do I feel this intense need to provoke her, to see that spark of defiance in her eyes? It’s more than just a desire to break her. It’s something deeper, something I can’t quite grasp.

Troubled, I finally break eye contact and turn to leave, my mind a whirlwind of confusion and frustration. This game we’re playing—it’s dangerous, intoxicating. And more than anything, it’s a challenge. One that I’m determined to win.

But as I walk away, her audacious spirit continues to intrigue and confound me in equal measure. I struggle to understand my own actions toward this girl. Every instinct tells me to dominate, to conquer, yet there’s something else, something deeper that I can’t quite comprehend.

As I make my way back to my quarters, her image remains burned into my mind. Her fire, her defiance—it’s like a drug, and I can’t get enough. But with each encounter, I find myself more troubled, more consumed by thoughts of her.

I struggle to understand my own actions. I could just take her. I could force her beneath me at any time. But I want the resistance and the submission, and I only want to take her when I know she’ll give me both. Emilia has become an enigma, a puzzle I’m determined to solve. And as much as it unsettles me, I can’t deny the thrill it brings.

This game we’re playing—it’s dangerous, intoxicating. But more than anything, it’s a challenge. One that I’m determined to win, even if it means losing myself in the process.

15

EMILIA

“At least you don’t berate me,” I murmur to the gorgeous deep violet and red flowers as I pluck the stems from the ground.

It’s a brilliantly sunny day, as it normally is on the desert island, but it’s not blistering hot today. The rays feel warm and comforting on my skin and the light breeze fills my lungs with a much needed refreshing breath.

But that peace is short-lived. A prickle of unease trickles down my spine, and I get the distinct feeling of being watched. I lift my gaze and look around the courtyard, my eyes scanning the area until they land on Jurto. He stands at the edge, his eyes fixed on me, a curious intensity in his gaze.

My shoulders tense, but I force myself to keep trimming the stems. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me flustered. The flowers are delicate, and I focus on them, their vibrant colors a welcome distraction.

Jurto starts toward me, his strides long and deliberate. I can feel the weight of his presence growing as he approaches, but I keep my head down, refusing to acknowledge him until he speaks.

“What are you doing?” His voice is demanding, almost accusatory.

I lift my chin, meeting his gaze evenly. “I was instructed to gather flowers,” I reply, my tone steady.

He narrows his eyes, clearly not satisfied with my answer. “And who gave you that instruction?”

“Marielle,” I say, my voice unwavering even though I doubt he knows his servant’s names. “She wants to make perfect centerpieces.”

He regards me for a moment, his eyes searching mine for any sign of deceit. Finding none, he steps closer, his shadow falling over me and the flowers.

Scoffing, Jurto looms over me, his figure casting a long shadow that swallows the sunlight. "You only take orders from me now," he declares, his voice a low, threatening growl.

I fight to stay calm under his imposing presence, my fingers tightening around the stems of the flowers. I lift my chin slightly, meeting his stern gaze with as much composure as I can muster. "I apologize, Jurto," I say, forcing the words out, each one a bitter pill to swallow. "I wasn't aware of the change."

His eyes narrow, searching my face for any sign of rebellion. Holding his gaze, I do my best to maintain an appearance of meek submission. Inside, however, my defiant spirit simmers, threatening to boil over.

"See that it doesn't happen again," he warns, leaning in closer. His breath is hot against my skin, and I can feel the intensity of his scrutiny. "You belong to me, Emilia. Every command, every task—it comes from me."

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