Page 42 of His Orc Lady

“Not really.” He pauses, then adds, “It’s best if I don’t think about it too much, though.”

I think of Korr and his issue with being underground for long periods of time. Perhaps my affliction isn’t as different from his as I’d thought. He never told me why he feels that way, but Owen’s explanation is reasonable.

“I like having the earth around me,” I tell him. “It feels safe to be inside.”

Owen tugs me gently toward the kitchens. “And the world outside…?”

“Is dangerous,” I confirm. “Nothing good ever happened to me out there.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “All right, that’s fair. But plenty of people have had so many good experiences outside.”

My chest constricts at the mere thought of going past the threshold of the main gate. “I haven’t told you the rest of my story yet.”

Owen and I enter the kitchens, which are surprisingly empty. There’s dough rising for tomorrow’s baking on the racks, though, each basket carefully covered with a napkin. Carrow must have gotten his work done early in an effort to spend as much time as possible with his new mate.

We raid the pantry and find leftover rabbit stew and some bread rolls from this morning that we toast over the embers,then dunk in the stew. Owen doesn’t press me to speak. Instead, we share a quiet meal, the first where we’re alone, and my heart pangs painfully as I wonder if this will become an everyday habit or if it’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience. When I get up and pick up our bowls to wash them at the kitchen trough, Owen takes them from me with a shake of his head and nudges me to sit back down.

I relinquish the dirty dishes—I spent hours and hours standing right where he is now, scrubbing the many pots, plates, and pans used by the clan each night. But I don’t sit immediately. Instead, I return to the pantry and find the tin box that Earna replenishes every day, each time with a different confection. I take two nut rolls from the box and replace it on the shelf, hiding it behind a stack of kitchen cloths.

When I return to the kitchen, Owen is drying our bowls, the spoons already returned to their basket.

“Is that the secret kitchen cake?” He eyes the rolls with interest.

“Hush.” I sit, holding the sticky pastries gingerly. “We never talk about it out loud, not where people could hear.”

He snorts but obeys my order. He puts the bowls back on the shelf, then takes the place opposite me. “Thank you.”

I take a bite of the delicate yeasted pastry. “Oh, she’s outdone herself this time,” I mumble between mouthfuls. “It’s her way of experimenting with new recipes that she and the other cooks then make for the clan. It’s not always actualcake, we just call it that.”

Owen hums, his mouth too full to answer. I grin at him, and he laughs, ducking his head.

“Thank you for sharing your secret with me,” he whispers, leaning close. “I won’t ever tell a soul.”

I lick the sticky honey off my fingers, and he groans softly as he watches me. His blue eyes darken, and after a moment,he snatches up my hand and licks my little finger by himself, savoring the sweet taste.

My breathing stutters at the sensation of his tongue pressing on my fingertip. It reminds me so much of how he licked me earlier, bringing me to a beautiful climax. My pussy clenches with the memory of the pleasure, and I gasp, then gently pull my hand from Owen’s grasp.

“Earna might love me, but she would cheerfully murder me if we fucked on the table where she makes her pastries,” I tell Owen seriously. “She once told off a pair of youngsters merely for sitting here. I don’t want to get on her naughty list. She could move the secret cake tin, and then what would we do?”

Owen chuckles. He kisses my knuckles but doesn’t drop my hand. Instead, he waits quietly, and in the dim glow of the banked kitchen fire, he’s so handsome, my heart can barely handle it. I know what he wants from me. I owe him the truth, perhaps not the full details of my past, but an explanation of why I’ve been behaving as I have.

“I told you my mother left one winter morning,” I begin. I hold on to his hand, the warmth of his fingers comforting me. “She walked right out the door, wearing nothing but her dress, and the guards at the door didn’t stop her. They claimed afterward that she seemed her usual self, but I don’t believe that for a second.”

“Is that why the guards here question everyone coming or going?” Owen says. “To prevent this from happening?”

“Aye.”

I don’t tell Owen I had a hand in arranging such a system, but from the knowing look he gives me, he must suspect it as least.

I don’t want to tell him the rest of what happened, but if I stop now, I might never get the story out. “I woke up to find her missing. It wasn’t unusual, so it took until the evening for me toworry. Usually, she’d spend most of her day in bed, but I thought perhaps she’d found some other nook to sleep.”

Owen interlaces his fingers with mine as if to show he’s not going anywhere. He moves his chair closer to mine, too, and puts an arm around my shoulders. He doesn’t say anything—and I don’t need him to. I just need him to listen, because I haven’t told this story to anyone, not in its entirety. Gorvor—and perhaps some of the others—knows parts of what happened, but not how those parts have come together to shape me into who I am.

It’s only now that Owen has come here and disrupted my life that all the memories have bubbled up to the surface. I’ve become so skilled at pushing them down, I’ve created habits and behaviors to work around my shortcomings. But my mate’s arrival has forced me to take a good look at myself, and I’m not sure I like what I’m seeing.

“I searched the entire palace for her,” I continue, determined to get through this. “I knew all the secret rooms and the passageways hidden behind tapestries, I knew the layout of the cellars and the dungeons, but I couldn’t find her anywhere.”

I remember how cold those winter days were. The hallways that were carved into sheer rock had been frosty from the drafts blowing through vent holes, so I’d put on my winter cloak and fur hat and scurried around like a little mouse, sniffing around the darkest corners of the palace.

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