Page 108 of Warlord's Plaything

"Hira."

The voice is deep, unfamiliar.

But there’s something about it.

Something that hooks into my ribs, tight and sharp, as if it belongs to a memory I should have but don’t.

I turn.

And he’s there.

The orc is towering, broader than any I’ve ever seen.

His skin is a deep shade of green, his tusks gleaming in the dim firelight.

His eyes are sharp, calculating—but not cruel.

He looks at me like he knows me.

Like he’s been waiting for me.

"Who the fuck are you?"My voice is flat, unimpressed.

The orc grins. “That is a question I have been asking myself for twenty years, Hira. Because you are my daughter."

The words slam into me.

For a moment, everything stops.

The murmurs of the rebels. The distant drip of water from the ceiling. The heavy beat of my own fucking pulse.

I stare.

And then, I laugh.

It’s a sharp, cruel sound.

"Nice try."I shake my head."But I don’t have a father."

The orc—Menias, apparently—doesn’t flinch.

"You did."

He steps forward, slowly, like he’s approaching something half-wild.

"And I have spent years looking for you."

My stomach twists.

I want to believe it’s a lie.

But something in his eyes—something in his fucking voice—makes my breath catch.

"My mother never mentioned you."

Menias’ face hardens.

"Because she was taken from you before she could."

---