Page 31 of Bewitching the Orc Chief

“Hm. Maybe.” I fought my smile and picked up a tote of products. “Maybe not. Guess we’ll find out.”

Torain paused and flicked his eyes to me. “You can’t really turn someone into a frog, can you?”

I shrugged and made for the tent flaps.

“Miranda?”

I broke on the other side of the canvas, shoulders shaking in a silent laugh. Torain wasn’t entirely wrong, though. Transmogrification was more of a skill exclusive to certain demon subspecies than something any old witch could manage. Still, I wouldn’t be doing my sister-in-lawly duty if I didn’t let him sweat about it a bit.

Mist & Market buzzed with activity. It was late spring, which meant more tourists in town searching for adventures in nature and their own monster under—or in—the bed. They eagerly crowded around the farmers’ market vendors, tasting honey and buying trinkets by the dozen.

And now they had me.

I dusted the last—probably imaginary—specks of wood shavings from my dress and took a moment to soak in the bustling energy of the market. My little corner of it, specifically. Six months ago, I never would have dreamed of putting down roots like this. Now here I was, setting up a physical storefront for Brewed Awakening right next to my clan’s woodworking stall.

“Miranda?” Prutha’s hesitant voice drew my attention, and I ducked back into the tent. The young orc stood uncertainly by a display of sleep sachets, her green fingers fidgeting with the ribbons. “Should these go with the other relaxation blends?”

“Perfect spot.” I smiled encouragingly. “Your instincts for organization are spot on.”

Pride straightened her shoulders. The young orc had a natural talent with herbs that reminded me of myself at that age. Before the coven. Before the darkness. Teaching her felt like coming full circle somehow.

Gus’s fluffy tail swished as he wandered closer to a table displaying oils and tonics, batting playfully at the crystal sun catchers hanging overhead.

“Stop,” I muttered under my breath, hoping the command would carry to him on the air.

He blinked innocently, but I knew his game. He’d park himself near browsing customers, looking adorably pitiful until they felt compelled to stay and chat. Crafty cat.

“Excuse me?” Right on cue, a woman with flowing silver hair twiddled her fingers in his direction and gave him a fond smile before nodding at the display of mystical bath bombs. “Do these really work on fae sensitivities?”

The morning flew by in a whirl of conversations and sales. Each interaction got easier as I settled into my role. This wasn’t so different from my online shop, really. Just with more immediate feedback when someone’s face lit up at finding exactly what they needed.

A familiar bulk lurked at the edge of the crowd, trying and failing to be inconspicuous. Galan shifted from foot to foot, scowling at anyone who glanced his way. But he kept inching closer to my stall, like a wary animal drawn to food.

I pretended not to notice until he finally worked up the courage to approach. His massive frame seemed somehow smaller as he hunched his shoulders, clearly hoping no one would see him here.

“Can I help you find something?” I kept my voice neutral, though amusement tugged at my lips.

Galan grunted and glanced around furtively. “I used to get... something. From Alris. For...” He tapped his temple meaningfully.

“Migraines?” At his sharp nod, understanding dawned. I’d noticed him squinting against the light during clan meetings. “Ah. Those can be brutal. Let me see what I have.”

I ducked behind the counter and pulled out a few bottles from my personal stock—the stronger stuff I kept for special orders. “How often do they hit? And do you get any warning signs beforehand?”

His answers were gruff but detailed enough for me to work with. I selected a small amber bottle and added a few drops of peppermint oil for extra pain relief. “Two drops under your tongue at the first hint of pressure. Should head it off before it gets bad.”

Galan accepted the bottle like it might bite him. “How much?”

I waved away his attempt to pay. “Consider it a family discount.” When he started to protest, I added, “Though if you’re feeling generous, maybe put in a good word with your father about me?”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Suppose that’s fair.” He cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

I hid my own smile as he practically fled the stall. For all his gruff exterior, there was a gentleness to him that reminded me of Osen. And I’d forever be thankful he chose a fair fight over a dishonorable coup.

My heart ached thinking of Coth’s continued exile. As much as I wanted to dance on the fucker’s grave for trying to kill my mate, I could acknowledge complicated family dynamics. The strain showed in the shadows under Galan’s eyes and the way his shoulders hunched when clan matters arose. Being caught between father and clan couldn’t be easy.

Warm, familiar hands settled on my waist as Osen’s pressed against my back. “Terrorizing my cousin again?”

“Me? Never.” I tilted my head back to smile up at him. He’d been dragged away for a meeting with the mayor earlier, and I’d missed having him close. “Though he might actually crack a real smile one of these days.”

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