Page 26 of The Orc's Wife

Oriana was looking at me, her arms crossed, her foot tapping with impatience. I huffed and pulled the shirt over my head and threw it on the bed. I resisted the urge to cover myself, hoping fervently that Oriana wouldn’t criticize my looks. That would be humiliating, and I didn’t need any more unpleasantness after the events of the morning.

But Oriana said nothing after looking me shamelessly up and down. Dilba busied herself around me, measuring my body parts with string and cutting off the pieces that corresponded to the size of my waist, the length of my arm, and so on.

Mina was standing in the corner with her head cast down, her face flaming red. I could tell Oriana’s words had hit her in a tender spot. But I couldn’t very well comfort her now with Oriana here. It would just lead to another fight.

“Mina, I’d like breakfast,” I said.

She scurried off as fast as she could, relieved to escape the room. The door clanged shut behind her, and I was now left alone at the mercy of my grandmother-in-law.

I was tired and my emotions were churning unpleasantly in my stomach. All I wanted was to be left alone. Would Oriana go away after Dilba measured me?

“You’re not such a weakling as everyone says, you know,” Oriana said suddenly. “I can see you’re well-built. Did you work in the fields?”

“Yes. Not every day, but often enough.”

She nodded and pinched my arm without a warning. I hissed at her, and she just gave me a disconcerting grin.

“You have a good base. We’ll build on top of this to turn you into a mate worth of my grandson.”

I only glared at her. So I wasn’t worthy of him, was I? Suddenly, it became clear why Urgan hadn’t mated despite being almost forty. It was because no female could meet his grandmother’s high standards.

But I shook my head at that mean thought. No, Urgan wasn’t like that. He wouldn’t allow Oriana or anyone else to dictate what he did and with whom he mated.

“Are Urgan’s parents dead?” I blurted out while Dilba was measuring the size of my feet, carefully comparing one to the other.

Oriana nodded once.

“His father died on the battlefield when Urgan was growing up. And my daughter… died in childbirth.”

I froze. Oh no.

“When she had… Urgan?” I asked. My voice was nearing a hysterically high pitch. I was too strung out to take the news calmly.

“Yes,” Oriana said, nodding sadly. “He was a very big boy. And she hadn’t listened to me.”

I gulped, suddenly nauseous. Urgan had never said this had happened! His mother was half-orc, half-human, and she died in childbirth because he was a big, three-quarter orc baby. I saw it in my mind’s eye: her pale-green body torn apart, a dark orc baby lying by her side and bawling because he couldn’t reach her cold tit…

“Breathe,” Oriana said, her voice sharp like a whip. “Breathe, girl. I said she hadn’t listened to me, didn’t I? Well, you’ll be smarter than my daughter and you’ll listen. And then, you’ll have a lot of fat healthy babies and live through it all in good health. Do you understand me?”

I nodded dumbly, but now a recent memory was prickling me like a thorn. We had talked about this with Urgan, I realized. He had told me our races were compatible to mate and breed. He promised I would be safe.

How could he have promised me that when his own mother had died giving birth to him?

Chapter 8

Urgan

It had been a long night. He met with Oriana first, letting her know she was needed. Then, he talked strategy with Grikh, who was just as tired as Urgan, and just as determined. They had to tough it out. Sleep wasn’t an option now that their plans hadn’t even been put into motion.

Everything had to be ready before his army arrived.

And then, Urgan paid four late-night visits. He met with Ragan, a retired orc whose life Urgan had saved on the battlefield once. That kind of debt went a long way, and Urgan was certain Ragan could be trusted.

The old warrior was still strong despite his age, and an internal fire was burning within him. He was eager for a fight. As soon as Urgan laid down his plan, Ragan sat up prouder, triumphant, as if they had already won.

“I can smell victory,” Ragan had said, baring his fangs. Urgan grinned back and left soon after. He had others to visit.

He met with Vilga, a widow whose mate’s body he had brought to her after he had been killed. She believed in the old religion from their home world, which required the fallen to be buried in the earth. When Vilga’s mate had been killed, Urgan remembered that.

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