Page 12 of Bewitching the Orc Chief

Osen scoffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched. The slight break in tension disappeared as his gaze found mine, concern darkening his eyes.

“You okay?” His voice dropped low enough that only I could hear.

I nodded, though my skin still hummed with restless magic. Hard to explain that Galan’s prejudice wasn’t the worst I’d faced—not when my own coven wanted me dead.

“Come on.” Osen’s hand found the small of my back. “We could all use a drink. The Limp Dagger’s got a fresh cask of barrel-aged ale.”

“Only because you just delivered it.” Zral tossed a handful of wood chips at him. “Months after promising to brew it, I might add.”

“Apologies,” Osen said smoothly. “I had to take charge of an unruly orc clan first.”

Torain snickered half-heartedly as we filed out the door. Zral kept up a string of complaints about delayed deliveries and bartered favors, but the tension around Osen’s eyes betrayed his carefully neutral expression.

I bit my lip and tried to ignore all the questions gathering in the back of my mind, but it was no use. There was a puzzle to solve, and I prodded at the edges like a healing bruise I couldn’t stop touching.

The same curiosity that had driven me to dig through the coven’s archives, to question every inconsistency until I discovered their horrific truth, now pulled at new loose threads. Osen’s recent rise to power after his father’s death. The clan’s conspicuous absence from Silvermist that even my trusted bartender Vanin had noted. The fresh scar I’d traced on Osen’s skin. Galan’s bitter warnings about outsiders being the death of tradition.

Something ugly had happened here. Something that left the clan divided and Osen walking a precarious line as their new chief.

A horn blasted through the valley, followed by excited shouts. Osen’s stride faltered as voices rose from the village center. We rounded the path’s bend to find a crowd gathering around two figures—one in elaborate ceremonial robes with a staff that radiated old magic, the other bearing Galan’s stern features aged by decades of disapproval.

Galan pushed through the throng to join them, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes as he bent to whisper in their ears. The shaman’s gaze locked onto me with such seething suspicion that my magic coiled defensively beneath my skin. Beside him, the older orc—who had to be Galan’s father—curled his lip in unmistakable disgust.

Well, shit. So much for that drink.

CHAPTER FOUR

OSEN

Damn Alris and his timing.

I grit my teeth as the shaman strode toward us. His staff tapped against the stone with each step, the sound echoing through my skull like a death knell. His cold eyes fixed on Miranda, and I fought the urge to pull her behind me.

“Who is this?” His voice slithered out of his lips with barely contained disdain.

The question wasn’t really a question—his tone made it clear he knew exactly what Miranda was. Human. Outsider. Threat.

Behind him, Uncle Coth’s weathered face twisted into a sneer worthy of his son. The elders who’d helped raise me, who’d guided my first steps in leadership, now looked at me like I was something rotten.

I opened my mouth to answer, but he cut me off with a sharp gesture.

“We will discuss her being here.” He frowned down his beaklike nose at Miranda. “In private.”

The shaman turned his back and strode toward the sacred cave, not bothering to see if I followed. The gesture burned like acid in my gut. Among orcs, showing your back was the gravestinsult—a declaration that you considered someone too weak to be a threat.

Never mind thatInow led this clan. Never mind that Miranda was my gods-blessed mate.

Whispers rippled through the gathered crowd. I caught fragments of “human” and “outsider” hissed between tusks. Even those who’d supported my leadership since Father’s death now shifted uneasily, their stares prickling across my skin like thorns.

But challenging the shaman openly would only make things worse. The gods had chosen him as their voice, and even I couldn’t defy that authority without consequences. One wrong move could split the clan, and we’d already lost too much.

Father’s words echoed in my head:A chief serves his people first. Personal desires come second.

I wrapped an arm around Miranda’s shoulders, drawing her close. The rosemary and citrus of her scent calmed the storm brewing inside me, even as I felt her tension. I pressed a quick kiss to her temple, trying to share strength and reassurance I wasn’t entirely sure I felt.

“Go on ahead,” I murmured against her hair, fighting to keep my voice steady. “Tell Thalia to give you some of the special reserve.”

I caught Torain’s eye with a silent command.Keep her safe. Keep her close.

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