Page 74 of Bound to the Orc Warlord

It seems I was wrong. I thought our pub brawl from a week ago solved everything, but it was nothing more than a temporary bandage slapped over an unhealing wound.

“Krivoth…”

“No.” He smacks my hand away and bares his tusks. “Thelastthing I need is your pity.”

Not for the first time, I wish for Rovann’s facility with words. I have no idea what to say.

He gives a humph and stalks off, tension sculpting every line of his big body. He throws one last rejoinder over his shoulder. “Fix it, you big fool.”

His words sink into me as he stomps away. If Krivoth, who can barely stand me, thinks I’m failing my bride…

No. I refuse to fail.

The perfect time hasn’t materialized, but Midnight’s right—it probably never will. What does the “perfect time” even look like? I still don’t have an answer.

So I’ll have to do this the hard way.

I head back to the village green, looking for my bride. Ashley deserves to know the truth.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Ashley

While Dravarr spends the morning busy with warlord duties, I’m happily ambushed by the village children. They heard the pixies got a ride last night and want one, too. I try to take one of the teens, but we never make it into the air. I only seem able to take someone who weighs less than I do, and orcs run big for their age. Still, that leaves me lots of the younger ones to play with.

I spend several hours in the air, with one squealing child after another held in my arms, their laughter infectious. They’re so trusting and open, with their strong little arms clutching my neck, their little green faces split into huge, tusky grins. I’m happy to discover orc kids are a lot like human ones, and I know how to relate to them.

My final ride is Reta, named after her grandmother, the village weaver. She presses a messy kiss to my cheek and hops down to run over to her father, who tosses her up into the air, making her squeal with joy. He catches her and cradles her to his wide chest. “Did you have fun?”

“Yes, Papa! I want to be a witch!”

He laughs and bops her on the nose. “We’ll see what powers you grow into.” He gives me a nod of thanks and turns to head back to their cottage. Reta chatters in his pointed ear the whole while, her busy little fingers playing with his warrior braid.

My heart pinches in my chest. I want to see Dravarr like that with our child. He’d be such a doting papa, that grumpy exterior melting for a tiny tot.

I grip my crystal and whisper my wish to stay, really letting myself feel it, and my magic subsides to a whisper of a hum, buried in my heart. My feet touch the ground, and I pull the broom from between my thighs. Instead of going all the way back to the cottage for a drink, I walk over to the well, the round lip of it guarded by a circular wall of stones a good four feet high. I grab the dipper from the already full bucket and take a drink, but as I tip it up, trying to get the last swallow, I drop it. Then I drop my broom as my other hand reflexively reaches out.

“Whoops,” I murmur and sit down on the moss. I’m more tired than I realized. I slept well last night, but the night spent in the saddle must be having a lingering effect.

The village green bustled with activity earlier in the morning, but now everyone’s busy with work, and it’s grown peaceful. The sun warms my hair, and the breeze feels nice. I lean my head back against the well and sit for a bit.

Deep voices tease the edge of my hearing, growing steadily louder, and I try not to eavesdrop. Then I hear Dravarr’s name, and my eyes snap open.

“—there’s got to be some reason why he told us not to talk about it around her,” a male voice says.

Oh, god. Is that “her”me?

“Don’t know,” another answers him. “Seems strange.”

“Yeah, I know if I had a moon bound bride I’d be crowing it from the rooftops.”

Wait? Moon bound bride? Isn’t that what Olivia is?

“Maybe Dravarr doesn’t want the human.”

“Doesn’t matter what he wants,” the first man says. “The Moon Goddess matched and bound them. They’ve been married since before they met, and no one can gainsay it.”

My brain spins and whirls, working over their words. Dravarr’s myhusband? I’m hisbride? We’ve been married this whole freaking time?

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