Page 93 of Bound to the Orc Warlord

Ashley sucks in a sharp hiss between closed teeth. Does it bother her? I can understand why. It’s one thing to defeat an attacking foe in the heat of battle. It’s another to finish them when they’re not fighting back.

“It might seem cruel, but it’s a release for their victims,” Sheevora says. “Every single bird of the flock but one is a soul lost from its rightful place in the weft of life and death. Their souls will be freed, instead of imprisoned in a vile half life.”

“Oh, I agree,” Ashley says. “I want them to find peace and for the sluagh to not hurt anyone else.”

“Humans and dragons agree. What say the orcs and unicorns?”

Hurtle and Midnight share a look, and my friend says, “We agree.”

“The orcs as well,” King Aldronn steps forward and bows his head, a great sign of respect from one of his station. “And I thank you, Sheevora the Magnificent.”

The last of the tension fades from the air.

Drakonisrevener presses his head against his mother’s leg for a few moments, then turns and walks up to Ashley. “I’m still in my wander years, and I hoped to spend them with you.”

“Yes!” She falls to her knees and wraps her arms around his neck. His wings rise to cradle her sides in a hug, and he rests his head on her shoulder.

“So youngling, you’re going to stay here with us inferior beings,” Midnight says, laughter in her voice.

“Yes.” He pulls back from my moon bound to circle his head in amusement. “You clearly need a superior being like a dragon around to save you.”

My bride’s laugh rings through the clearing, and she smiles up at me, brighter than the sun.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

Ashley

The next few days are busy as we bundle up all of the captured sluagh in a large enough sack for Sheevora to carry on her return flight. Once we do that, the combined flocks of all the sluagh really do hang like a storm cloud over one side of the standing stone’s clearing.

The king calls for every spare crystal from the neighboring villages, and messengers ride in on unicorns with saddlebags stuffed full.

Sheevora has to do them one at a time. I work with her, laying the crystals out on the mossy ground. Then I practice a tricky flying move under her direction while she works her way through the crystals, tapping each with a claw. She doesn’t have a necklace like Olivia and I do. Instead, there’s a faint glow fromwithin her neck each time I feel the shiver of magic in the air. She sees me looking and strokes a talon over the area. “I swallowed my crystal that first day, so that it would always be with me. You should do the same.”

“I don’t think humans can do that.” I hang in midair in front of her, my fingers brushing over my mother’s glowing necklace,mynecklace. “And I need to be able to give this to my daughter someday.”

It’s a happy thought, broken only when Krivoth stalks out of the trees, a pack on his back. He points to a pile of crystals. “Have these been imbued?”

“Yes, why?” I concentrate and lower back to the ground, happy I’m able to do it more quickly each day.

He snatches up an enspelled crystal and shoves in into the pocket of his pants, a bitter laugh escaping him. “Yeah, why would an orc like me need one, huh?”

“That’s not what I—”

“The king ordered that every orc who leaves a village has to carry one of these, so I’m going to do it. Though fuck knowsI’llnever get the chance to use it.” With that, he spins on the ball of his foot and marches off, disappearing into the trees opposite the direction of the village.

“That young man carries a great deal of anger,” Sheevora says.

I don’t say anything, but I disagree.

I think Krivoth carries a great deal of hurt.

The next evening, Dravarr and Midnight return from having escorted the king to the edge of Moon Blade lands, and I meet them in the village green. Dusk is falling, and we’ve set upa party. Sheevora took off the day before, removing the last lingering worry over the sluagh escaping to attack again. And now with the king gone, we can finally relax and celebrate our win.

Every orc with an affinity for plants worked hard the last couple of days to repair the moss of the village green, wiping away all signs of battle. Now, tables and benches from the pub sit under the open sky, and golden glow stones hang around the clearing, pixies darting between and adding their own blue light.

Orcs fill every table with laughter and loud conversations as the strong ale disappears even faster than Olivia’s pizzas.

I lean against Dravarr, full and laughing as Rovann tells a story of Hurtle fending off water nymphs. My husband’s deep chuckle thrills me, setting my heart soaring with love. He laughs so much easier these days, and it’sperfect.

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