Page 4 of Bound to the Orc Warrior

He staggers backward with a grunt, his green face darkening with anger.

A growl rumbles from my chest, a feral glee filling me as my hands ball into fists. This? This old familiar anger is what I need.

“No blades drawn,” I grit out, unbuckling my sword belt. They’re ancient orc words, brought from our home realm of Avalon. We are a fractious people, prone to brawling. Instead of suppressing our nature, we agree to keep fights to fists. “No harm done.”

Grugg gives a sharp nod and repeats the words, tossing his sword to a friend.

The others leap to their feet and surround us, hemming us into a fighting ring. I hand my sword to Brokk, one of the friendlier guards, and he offers me an excited grin and tips his head toward my opponent. Grugg’s not as popular as he likes to think he is.

We’ve sparred in the past—all of the guard practice against each other in order that we may know everyone’s strengths and weaknesses, the better to fight side by side—so I know Grugg is cocky.

Just as he knows I have too much temper if properly riled.

His first swing is overconfident, a showy roundhouse that leaves his front wide open.

I step inside the arc of his strike and plow a sharp punch into his gut before dancing back out of the way, my feet a whisper on the grass.

He snaps his tusks at me and jabs a fist toward my face. When I dodge, he drops down and lashes out with his foot, raking my calves in a leg sweep.

I topple backward, turning the fall into a roll. But the underhanded move boils my blood, doing just what he hoped. The world washes red, my vision tunneling until I see nothing but Grugg’s taunting face.

With a roar, I leap forward, fist plowing straight into his smirking mouth in a flash of pain as his tusks slice my knuckles. It’s quickly followed by red-hot agony as he slams a punch into my ribs.

We close quarters then, arms a blur as we exchange a volley of blows. Rage fills my chest, pushing the pain far away. I will fight and fight and not stop until he’s a bloody pulp at my feet. I will—

“Enough!” King Aldronn’s voice rings with command, cutting through my blood lust like the slice of a moon steel blade.

We turn toward where he stands backlit by the fire, an orc in his prime. He’s emerged from his tent, his close advisors by his side. About a decade older than me, he’s got the muscle mass of a warrior, and the sword at his hip is definitely not for show. He exudes an air of easy command, a person who knows their exact place in the world.

Unlike me.

The enigma. The orphan. The only orc in this entire realm who doesn’t know who his parents are or where he truly belongs.

“My King.” My back straightens as I dip my head, Grugg mirroring my actions.

“Wranth, come walk with me.”

What can he want? I’ve been a member of his guard for years yet never one of his advisors.

Grugg shoots me a gleeful look, obviously thinking the worst. But we guards brawl all the time. I hardly think this newest altercation is enough to sway the king’s opinion.

I retrieve my sword from Brokk and strap the belt around my waist, ignoring the flare of pain from my side. Grugg might have landed a solid blow, but I did even better, his face already swollen and bruised.

Aldronn heads off across the meadow, and I pace by his side. With the campfire at our backs, my eyes adjust quickly to the dark. Stars dot the deep-purple sky overhead, the night unbroken by any moon. Our goddess hides her face.

“Did you discover anything during your stay in Moon Blade Village?” King Aldronn asks. “Anything that points as to why the Moon Goddess keeps gifting moon bound brides to only the orcs of that one village?”

“Nothing,” I say. “Dravarr is a strong warlord, as his mother Leyva was before him, but other villages have equally strong leaders. The people are happy and productive, but again, it’s not noticeably different from the other villages.” I’d know. As one of the king’s guard, I travel with him for most of the year from one village to the next. King Aldronn is a hands-on leader who prefers to go out among his people and solve problems directly instead of resting within the safety of his castle walls and making them come to him with petitions.

“I can’t imagine the cleaning stone offers them that much of an advantage,” he says.

I shrug. Each orc village rests near one of the magical standing stones of Alarria, which offer us useful services and goods. The cleaning stone does laundry and makes the tooth-cleaning berries and cleaning cloths used across the land. Eachtime you wet them, their magic refreshes, making them handy for bathing or cleaning.

But Aldronn’s right. Is that any more useful than the glow stones we use to light the night or the fire stones that let us easily cook our food and warm our homes?

He turns his sharp eyes on me, his mouth a firm line broken only by his tusks. “And you can think of nothing else?”

My thoughts flicker back to Moon Blade Village. My recent stay was the longest I’ve ever remained in one village, and without the rest of the king’s guard surrounding me, I had only the villagers to interact with.

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