Page 43 of His Orc Lady

“I asked everyone I met if they’d seen her, but people had forgotten about her at that point—or didn’t want to think of what happened after my father passed away.” I swallow thickly, pushing down the sensations that dredging up these memories is bringing up. “It was like chasing a ghost. It wasn’t until I happened upon those same guards who let her out that I found the first trace of her.”

Owen shakes his head in disgust. “They should have reported her missing.”

“It wasn’texactlytheir fault, you know. She went out, then the shift changed, and the new pair of guards wasn’t informed that they should watch for her return.” I shrug. “At least I managed to convince one of the two guards to help me get an audience with the lieutenant in charge of all guards. I think he pitied me, but whatever impulse drove him, he did help me. In the end, they sent out a team of warriors to search for her, but by then, she’d been gone for two days, and it snowed in the mountains, so all trace of her had disappeared.”

He stares at me, horror painting his handsome features. “They never found her?”

My hands shake at the memory of what comes next, but I’ve been brave this far. I need to tell Owen everything, or he’ll only ever see an incomplete picture.

“No, they did,” I rasp. “But not until the spring thaw. A pair of hunters found a body washed up in the stream. Whether she slipped and fell into the narrow riverbed or jumped, we’ll never know. But it was definitely her.” I’d recognized her pretty brown dress, if not her features, which had been rendered indistinguishable by the elements. “After that, I swallowed my pride and asked Gorvor for help. He found me a place?—”

“Mara.” Owen grips my hand tighter and pulls me into his side like he did before. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry for your loss.”

My chin wobbles. I wanted to gloss over the fact that my mother’s departure had left me an orphan, or that I’d been left adrift. It was a painful time, with a slew of doubts forcing themselves into my head. I’d been called useless for far too long to shake those beliefs on my own, and there were days when I wasn’t certain that anyone would miss meif I wandered out of the palace one day and disappeared.

I take Owen’s handkerchief from my pocket and blow my nose, embarrassed by my blubbering. “It’s beenyears. More than a decade, in fact. I’m all right.”

But he shakes his head. “Grief doesn’t have time limits. What you experienced would be enough to scar anyone, let alone a child. And if you were left alone to deal with it…”

“I wasn’t,” I blurt. “Not entirely. Like I said, Gorvor was busy, but he found me a place with the kitchen staff. I started out as a maid, but in time, the older women learned I had a good head for numbers, so they put me in charge of the larders. By the time Gorvor split up our clan and led us to this Hill, I’d taken over most of the kitchen books, tracking the supplies brought in by hunters and traders, and all the clan’s inventory.”

Owen studies me, as if wondering if he should press me some more, then nods. “So it made perfect sense for you to become the steward of this palace once you settled in.”

“Aye. I soon knew it like the back of my hand, too, what with all the combat training I’d skipped out on.” I attempt to smile, but it comes out a tad wobbly. “I made myself useful. Indispensable. And I held on to that role for so long, I’ve been having trouble letting go of even the smallest bits.”

“You’re afraid that you’ll become replaceable?”

He keeps his voice steady, no judgment filtering through—or pity, for which I’m so grateful.

“Aye, in a way,” I agree. “I know my role here and what’s expected of me. Peopleneedme. Perhaps that’s vain to say, but I like it. I like knowing that people search for me when they need me to answer a question.” I pause to swallow, then admit the truth. “I like knowing they’d miss me if I left. Even if it was just because I’m the most adept at running this giant anthill.”

Owen frowns at me. “I might not know your clansmen as well as you do, but from what I’ve seen, they’re yourfriends. Of course they would miss you.”

I remember Poppy’s hurt expression from the linen storage, how upset she’d been when she learned about my doubts. Some small, cold part of me that harbored this fear for more than a decade unclenches. It’s not that I have released all my worries just from one conversation, but telling my story out loud and voicing my fears has thawed me out a little.

Now that I’ve finished my tale, though, weariness descends on me like a wet wool cloak placed around my shoulders. I scrunch up my face to hold back a yawn, then give in and cover my mouth with my hand.

Owen presses a kiss to my forehead, rubbing my back with his warm hand. “It’s been a long day. We should both get some sleep.”

He hasn’t offered me any assurances or empty promises that everything will turn out perfectly for me, that I’ll get over my reservations or that my issues will magically evaporate just because I’d confided in him. All of that would be a lie—but I don’t regret telling him. He needs to knowmeif we have any hope of a future together. He has shared parts of his history as well, though it hasn’t been as turbulent as mine, and now I want to learn more. I can only hope he’s as intrigued by me as I am by him.

But the sleepless nights I’ve suffered since his return to the Hill are catching up with me. “I think you’re right.”

He stands and offers me his hand, then pulls me to my feet. “My lady.”

He executes a perfect bow, softened by a smile, and I know what he’s thinking. Our rooms are on opposite sides of the Hill, and it would make the most sense if we parted here, then took different corridors that would bring us where we want to go.

“Captain.” I hesitate, then curtsy and tug my hand back from his grip—only he doesn’t let go.

“Can I walk you to your room?” he asks, voice low. He steps closer, his smile wry. “I know you said you’d received combat training, but I’d feel better if I saw you safely to your room.”

I don’t point out that I’m perfectly safe, no matter where I go in the Hill. I’ve been walking these halls alone for a decade, after all. But I don’t want to part with him yet either, so I turn on my heels and put myself at his side.

“Of course,” I murmur. “So long as you promise me you know the way from my rooms to yours. I don’t want you wandering around the halls at night, hopelessly lost.”

He rumbles out a laugh. “I think I’ve committed the route to memory. If all else fails, I’ll follow the signposts to the baths and sleep in one of the pools.”

I grin up at him. “Then I’ll visit the baths in the morning. I might even rescue you from drowning.”

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