Page 7 of Her Rugged Orcs

Across the cell, Grash's massive form lies still, his chest rising and falling in what appears to be deep sleep. Murok and Dren are equally motionless. I'm alone in this. Like always.

"Get up, pretty thing," the first guard whispers, his breath hot against my ear. "Quietly now."

The second guard's fingers trail down my arm. "We want to see what's so special about you."

I rise without resistance – I know better. Fighting only makes it worse. The stone floor bites into my bare feet as they guide me toward the door, their touches becoming bolder.

"Such soft skin," the third guard murmurs, his hand sliding down my back. "The orc doesn't deserve such a prize."

My stomach churns, but I keep my face neutral. I've learned to wear masks like second skins. The first guard leans close, hisfingers tangling in my hair. "We'll show you what real warriors can do."

The words are familiar – I've heard variations a thousand times before. But something feels different now. The cell behind me holds three sleeping giants who showed me the first kindness I've known in years. The thought makes my throat tight.

"Quiet as a mouse," the second guard says, pressing against me. "We don't want to wake your new friends, do we?"

I glance back at the still forms of the orcs, wondering if this is how it ends – taken in the night while they sleep, never knowing what happened to me.

The first guard's grip tightens on my arm. "Move."

A blur of movement catches my eye – Grash's massive form rises like a shadow coming alive. His hand engulfs the first guard's wrist, and the crack of breaking bones echoes in the small cell. I stumble backward as the guard crumples to the ground with a muffled whimper.

Grash's golden-brown eyes burn with fury as he drives his fist into the guard's face. The wet crunch of bone meeting stone silences any further sound. Blood pools beneath the guard's head, black in the dim light.

"Touch her again," Grash growls, though the guard can no longer hear the threat.

Metal glints – Murok moves like liquid darkness, the fallen guard's blade finding its mark against the second guard's throat. A thin red line appears, then widens. The guard's eyes go wide, then empty.

"Shame," Murok whispers.

Behind me, Dren's presence shifts. The third guard doesn't even have time to turn before Dren's hands wrap around his head. One swift motion, and it's over. The guard's body slumps to the ground.

Grash bends down, retrieving the last guard's blade. Blood drips from his knuckles, and his chest heaves with controlled rage. "You alright?"

The question catches me off guard. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to process what just happened. They killed for me. Not for show, not for sport, not for their own survival. For me.

"I..." My voice cracks. I've seen death before. But this feels different. The way they moved without hesitation, without discussion. As if protecting me was as natural as breathing.

My fingers twist in the fabric of my thin dress. I stare at the bodies, at the blood seeping into the cracks between the stones. Three lives ended in the span of heartbeats, all because they dared to lay hands on me. This realization makes me dizzy.

Grash lifts the first body like it weighs nothing, his muscles rippling beneath his green-gray skin. Blood drips from his knuckles as he carries it to the far corner. The torchlight catches his tribal tattoos, making them seem alive as he moves.

"Help me with the straw," Murok says to Dren as he drags another guard across the stone floor. "We need to make this look natural."

Dren works in silence, gathering armfuls of dirty straw. His movements are precise like everything about him. He catches me watching and holds my gaze for a moment, his silver eyes unreadable in the shadows.

"Guards rotate every three days," Murok says, arranging the straw over the bodies. "These three won't be missed until then."

Grash grunts, wiping blood from his hands onto his pants. "Gives us time."

"Time for what?" Dren whispers.

"To figure something out," Murok replies, his blue eyes scanning the cell. "Can't stay here much longer."

The bodies disappear beneath the straw, and the cell looks almost normal again. Almost. Except for the dark stains seeping into the stone.

I press my back against the cold stone wall, letting it ground me. My mind spins with possibilities. They just killed for me. Protected me. But why? What do they want in return? There's always a price. Always.

Grash moves closer, and I fight flinching. He towers over me, but his eyes hold something – concern.

---