Page 24 of The Orc's Bride

He offered me his waterskin, and I drank deeply. He then gave me a big, rectangular piece of…

“Orc bread?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. Orcs didn’t share their bread with just anyone. Humans rarely had a chance to taste it. It was a guarded orc secret.

“From my oven,” he said, watching me calmly.

I took it from him, hesitating. It seemed to be all hard crust. I sniffed it and was surprised to smell honey and caraway. Urgan’s eyes were fixed on me, not even blinking. He was giving me far too much attention.

“It’s not poisoned or anything?” I asked, trying to sound joking, but my voice hit a too high pitch at the end of the question. I sounded nervous.

“It’s bread from my oven,” Urgan repeated. He seemed to be waiting for me to realize something.

I looked at the bread again. It looked golden in the warm light of the torch. I really wanted to taste it, but Urgan’s behavior was making me wary.

“And?” I prompted him.

Urgan shook his head. He seemed somehow disappointed but also amused.

“The Tradesman didn’t speak to you about mating rituals?”

I choked on saliva I was about to swallow and dropped the bread into my lap. As I was coughing, Urgan chuckled. Finally, when I could breathe normally again, I looked up at him accusingly.

“Is that… I don’t know, a trick? Will eating the bread make me your wife?”

Urgan laughed quietly, his fangs flashing in the light of the fire. I was fuming. Hunger and the fact that this deliciously smelling bread was right in front of me was irritating.

“When I make you my wife, you will know it without a doubt,” he said with annoying confidence. “No. The bread means that you are family. Only my family can eat bread from my oven.”

Oh.

A lump grew in my throat. I looked down at my hands, suddenly stripped of my ability to face him head on.

Family.

It was a magical word, a word that was tied up with all kinds of suffering and longing inside me. Ever since my parents had died, I was all alone. And even when they had been alive… I hadn’t felt like I had a proper family.

The word conjured a nostalgic image. A fireplace with happily burning logs of wood. Laughter. Food steaming on the table and kids chasing each other around it. Things that I had only seen in my imagination because I had never experienced them in my own life.

And now, the word became tied to something else: the smell of honey and caraway.

I picked up the piece of bread and kept turning it in my hands. It felt warm and comforting. I was surprised when a drop fell on the crust, followed by another one. Was it raining?

Then I realized. I was crying.

“You know,” I said, trying to make light of the suddenly serious mood, “when I thought an orc would make me cry, I didn’t expect it would be by asking about my past… or giving me bread. Are you sure you’re an orc?”

I looked up at him then, and my lips parted in confusion.

He had the most quizzical look on his face. A sort of softening, as if all his hard lines had smoothed. The frown that had been almost a constant fixture on his forehead was gone. His eyes, usually so perceptive and intent, were relaxed.

Not that he looked suddenly like a human. He could never be that, with his wide nostrils, sharp teeth, catlike eyes. But, for the first time, he looked like a person. Someone who could feel a variety of emotions. Someone with a heart.

I wasn’t looking at Urgan the Bloodthirsty, the Imperator’s general, the slayer of his enemies. I was looking at Urgan, the male who was offering me bread.

Something told me not many people or orcs had seen this Urgan.

“I am many things,” he said.

I nodded, speechless. And then, I did the only thing I could think of: I ate the bread baked in Urgan’s oven. I accepted the invitation to become his family.

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