Page 53 of His Orc Lady

I gasp, imagining it. Theneveryonewould know. For once, the thought doesn’t fill me with dread but anticipation, so I hide my hand behind my skirt and nudge him in the thigh. “One.”

His gaze turns molten, and he opens his mouth to speak, but Gorvor calls for our attention once more.

“Ozork and Willow have requested that I marry them,” he booms, a big grin splitting his face. “Please, join me in celebrating with the happy couple.”

Moments after his announcement, a heated argument explodes between Steagor and Vark. I squint at them, surprised, then realize they’re fighting about which one of them will be Ozork’s witness, so I step away from them to nudge Orsha. Ozork’s sister takes one look at them, gives me a curt nod, and pulls them apart, saying it will beherand no one else standing at Ozork’s side, since she’s the undisputed champion of the fighting ringandthe groom’s sister.

After the two males quiet down, she sends me a quick smile and a wink.

Willow turns to Owen, looking up at him. Before she can even utter her question, he nods.

“It would be my honor,” he rasps, grinning.

I pluck several small branches of holly from the centerpieces on the tables and tie them together with a piece of string Dawn supplies, making a little bouquet for Willow, who accepts it gratefully, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

As Gorvor leads the couple through a rather improvised wedding ceremony, I can’t keep my gaze off Owen. He standsso proud beside Willow, his chin raised, his eyes bright. When the time comes for the groom to kiss his bride, I can’t hold back the tears, both because I love this for Ozork and Willow and because I can now imagine myself in a similar position. I have no idea if Owen will want to get married like humans do, all I know is I wouldn’t be opposed to it. Orcs don’t often put up a big ceremony since a mating bond is stronger even than marriage vows, but if Owen wants this, I will make it happen for us.

Then the toasts begin, each one louder than the last as the guests drink more and more mead. I take tiny sips only—I’ll need a clear head for the talk that Owen and I are about to have—and I see him switching out his mead for apple cider when no one is watching. It warms me from the inside that he’s thinking of me, too, and when he meets my gaze over the rim of his goblet, I grin at him, feeling so light I could float away on a breeze.

Orsha disappears for long minutes and returns with her brother’s fiddle, and Ozork obliges the guests’ request to play a quick dancing tune. Vark grabs Hazel by the waist and swings her in a circle, and Gorvor joins in with his queen.

When Owen appears by my side, though, I grasp his hand and lead him toward the door. “Come, no one will miss us now.”

He follows me quickly out the door, casting a glance over his shoulder. “You’re certain? I thought you might like to dance first.”

I bite my lip, tempted despite my plan. “Another time. First, I want…”

Owen tugs me to a stop and kisses me, right there in the corridor, where anyone might walk by. It’s a deep, carnal kiss that shows me he needs me just as much as I need him, and I cling to him desperately, returning every lick, every nibble.

But I pull back, panting. “Wait. Owen—ah!—wait.”

He kisses the side of my neck, then hums and lifts his head. “Whose rooms are closer?”

“Mine.” I grab the sleeve of his tunic. “This way.”

I lead him through the corridors, and he keeps his arm around my shoulders, as if he doesn’t want to relinquish even that simple contact. My core heats, my heartbeat coming faster, and every touch, every whisper of his breath serves to wind my need tighter.

“Here.”

I take the last corner and stop in front of my door. My hands are shaking, so I fumble with the keys—mostly because Owen wraps himself around me from behind and kisses my shoulder, drawing down the neckline of my gown.

“Gods, you’re not helping!” I try to fit the key in the lock and fail, then try again. “Owen!”

He chuckles and releases me, but he kisses me before the door is even open all the way. We stumble into the empty room, and I shove the door shut behind us, plunging us into darkness.

“Ow!” Owen jerks beside me, then curses under his breath.

I snort with laughter. “Are you all right?”

“I can’t see in the dark,” he grumbles. “Do you have a lantern?”

“Aye, give me a moment.”

I let go of his jacket with a sigh and walk deeper into the room, avoiding my desk and chair. I find the lantern on a shelf, the flint beside it, and quickly spark a flame that casts a yellow glow.

Owen squints at me from the other side of my living space. “You’re suddenly so far away.”

“I’m sorry.” I walk back to him and press my palms to his broad chest. “Did you hurt yourself?”

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