Page 85 of Bound to the Orc Renegade

Why have I never seen how broken he is? And how much that brokenness needs to break me, too, so that he can feel vindicated in living as he has.

But he will not break me. The cracks in my soul have been filled in and made strong again by Taylor and her belief in me. I will never stop loving her, never stop putting her first, never stop trying to be a better man for her.

“You will go to the king!” he yells. “You will become a guard and bring pride to my name!”

This is taking too long. What if Taylor wakes and finds me gone?

“No, I will not. It’s not my duty to bring pride to your name. And I have a higher mandate than that given by the king.” I pointto the cottage. “I have a moon bound bride, gifted to me by the goddess. Taylor is my priority.”

Father’s hands ball into fists.

In all these years, he’s never struck me, but this is also the first time I’ve defied him. If I fight back, he wins—he’ll have made me the same as him, all twisted up inside by anger and fear. I won’t do it. I won’t become him. I stand unflinching, but I do not raise a hand to him.

He pulls an arm back—

Branikk steps forward and hooks his elbow through my father’s, stopping the punch. In a flash, he twists my father’s arm up behind his back in a controlling lock. My friend shares a look with me, a gleam of satisfaction filling his eyes. He’s the only person outside the family who’s known how my father treats me, and I get the feeling he’s wanted to do something like this for years.

Dravarr strides from the crowd. “Take him to his cottage and make sure he stays.”

“Yes, Warlord,” Branikk says.

The warlord’s arrival finally snaps Father into an awareness of the crowd around us. His head swivels, taking in all of their disapproving looks. A look of horror crosses his face. This is his worst nightmare and more punishment than I could ever give him—people judging him, thinking poorly of him. And he has no one to blame but himself.

“No, wait! Dravarr, you don’t understand! Krivoth’s always been difficult. I do this to make him better! I do this to—”

“Oh, I think I understandperfectly,” Dravarr’s deep voice slices through the air like a moon steel blade, cutting off my father. “Now go and wait for my arrival.”

As Branikk marches him away, Father throws one last desperate look back at all of us, but his eyes skip right over me, his son, to land on Dravarr.

It should hurt, and yet it doesn’t, because it simply confirms something I never wanted to realize before. It doesn’t matter what I achieve—I’ll never be enough for my father. I could labor all my life under the lash of his expectations and never make him proud.

Which is the exact opposite of Taylor, who offered me her respect within hours of meeting her.

Dravarr’s serious eyes meet mine. “I swear to you I did not know. My mother didn’t know.” She’d been clan warlord before him.

“I didn’t want you to.” Molded by my father’s twisted expectations of my greatness, I couldn’t allow myself to see Dravarr as anything but a rival. Showing him any weakness had been unthinkable.

Gerna steps up to my side, her hand finding mine just like when we were little. “Father’s been careful to keep it hidden.”

Dravarr’s sharp gaze lands on her, and his frown deepens. “He does this to you, too?”

“No,” she says. “Not as bad.”

And that simple statement sends a ripple of shock through me. I always thought my sister the favored one, the loved one. Around me, Father did nothing but sing her praises. But how did he treat her when I wasn’t around? The tense line of her shoulders says it wasn’t good. By the goddess, why had I never realized?

Because I’d been too caught up dancing to my father’s tune to think of anything but finally winning his approval. It’s the same trap I fell into that led to Taylor getting hurt.

As Dravarr moves away to give us some privacy, I wrap Gerna in a hug. For years, I let my envy of how Father treated her put up walls between us, and I tear them down now. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize he was also hurting you.”

“I’m sorry, too.” Tears fill her voice, and she clings to me for several long moments. When she finally pulls away, it’s to offer me a soft smile. “I love you, you big goober.”

A bark of laughter escapes me. It’s the childhood nickname she used to call me when we were young and happy and Mother was still alive. The one I called her leaps to mind, her love of plants having begun young. “I love you, too, moss girl.”

As happy as all of this makes me, a deeper discontent still twangs across my nerves. Moon Goddess, I whisper in my mind. Please. Please give me the chance to make things up to my moon bound bride, too.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Taylor

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