Page 38 of His Orc Lady

He squints toward the door as if trying to call up the memory. “Er, a middle-aged lady? The weapons master?”

“That’s her,” I confirm. “She is a formidable warrior, as are other women in our clan. Sarrai, Ritta, even Hazel, who is Vark’s human mate. They’re all allowed to train and are better at certain techniques than male warriors are, and at times even more cunning.”

Owen purses his lips. “But you’re not, correct? A formidable warrior, that is. I have no doubt that you can be cunning.”

I can’t help but smile, even though the memories are weighing heavily on me. “No, as I told you before. But in the old kingdom, under King Trak’s rule—that’s Gorvor’s father and my uncle, if you don’t know—women weren’t allowed to become warriors, no matter how good they would have been.”

He pulls back from me, his blue eyes widening. “You’re-you’re the king’s cousin? How did I not… Gods, Mara, and you insisted I stop calling you a lady?”

“This is exactly why I didn’t tell you,” I quip. “You would have behaved differently toward me, as if who my father was should afford me some higher status than your own.”

Owen opens his mouth as if to argue, but whatever he sees in my expression has him swallowing his words. He knows I’m right, and if I could do it all over again, I would have kept my relation to Gorvor a secret once more.

“All right,” he rumbles. “So, your father was the old king’s brother?”

“Aye, younger by three years. And the king had Gorvor, his heir, then Charan, before I was ever born. They were both strong, warriors to the bone, trained from an early age in the art of war.” I pause at this, thinking of how grueling those early years must have been for them. “Of course, King Trak is a madman and a tyrant, so they didn’t have a happy childhood.”

Owen’s arm tightens around my shoulders. “But neither did you.”

“It wasn’t as bad as theirs,” I counter. “I had a mother who cared for me, while theirs was…absent.”

I remember Gorvor’s mother only vaguely, even though she traveled with us to this new home. She’d been so ill and unresponsive by the end that she didn’t interact with anybody, least of all the daughter of her brother-in-law. I must have reminded her of her husband, and that was enough for her to ignore me completely.

But that’s not the part of our clan’s history that Owen must learn.

“My father sent me to training with the boys,” I continue before he can ask any further questions about the king, “but the training master said he’d only accept me if I was indistinguishable from the others. So my father cropped my hair short and had me dressed in boys’ clothes. He told me I was to become the best warrior out there and make him proud.” I tugon my braid, then add, “I think it’s why I’m quite vain about my hair. I like wearing it long, and I take good care of it.”

“And you always wear lovely gowns.” Owen has drawn me closer to his side, though I’m not sure if he’s aware of it. “How old were you?”

“Seven,” I say. “Or maybe eight. It’s hard to remember because of how far removed that life is now.”

“Did you…want to be a warrior?” he asks slowly.

“No.” I let out a bark of laughter that sounds too harsh in the quiet of the room. “But that didn’t matter. I had to report to the fighting ring every morning, and so I did. For years.”

Owen gapes at me. “Years? They didn’t see you weren’t suited for it?”

My lips twist up in a bitter smile. “I wasn’t bad, you know. Definitely not the worst of the bunch.”

I remember Carrow, a year younger than me, weeping as we ran through knee-deep snow, freezing and hungry, during our endurance training. He got so sick after it, the teacher kicked him out of our class and sent him to work in the kitchens, which was the best thing to have happened to my friend.

“How did you get out of it?” Owen asks, still clearly horrified. “Was it only after you left for this new kingdom?”

“No, I got out on my own.” I grimace, knowing in advance he’ll dislike the way the story will unfold. “I realized that I would never be one of the best—and that I didn’t want to be. So I became the worst. I came last in running races. Let others land blows in hand-to-hand training that I could have blocked. Missed the target at archery practice more often than not. After a few months of this, the trainer hauled me in front of my father and told him I would never amount to anything. That I wasuseless.”

Owen pulls me all the way into his lap and bands his arms around me. My head fits perfectly under his chin, so I curlinto his chest, my cheek over his heart. I listen to his thudding heartbeat, both strangely pleased and saddened that he’s upset. He doesn’t say anything for a long while, even though he’s tense. But I have a feeling that he’s simply choosing his words, so I remain silent, basking in the glow of his affection for as long as he’ll let me.

“Is that why…?” he asks at last, his voice hoarse. “I mean, is that the reason why you can’t go outside?”

I expected the question, but it’s still difficult to talk about. I tilt my head from side to side, wondering how to explain it.

“I think the issues started there,” I hedge finally. “The mountains surrounding that palace are beautiful, but a tough place to live, though most orcs thrive in such an environment. That’s why we were drawn to this land right here. It was similar enough that we felt comfortable. But it’s a completely different experience to ride peacefully through the forest than to be forced to climb a sheer rock wall in the middle of the winter tobuild endurance. I hated it, and I wanted it to stop.”

“But that’s not all it was?” he prompts, his voice rumbling under my ear.

“No, things got much worse later,” I admit. “My father never got over the fact that Ifailed. Every day, he called me useless, and my mother didn’t do much to stop him—she’d come from a long line of warriors, too. From that day on, in their eyes, my sole purpose was to grow up and come of age so they could find me a mate and I could pop out a new generation of orcs, hopefully boys who would restore our family’s reputation after I’d tarnished it so badly.”

I bite my tongue as I realize I mentionedmates, but Owen doesn’t seem to notice—perhaps he thinks the term is close to a husband, which would be true if it wasn’t for the impossible, feral attraction between fated mates.

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