Page 6 of Bound in Flames

“Well, well.” He kept his voice low enough for a private conversation. “Imagine my surprise to be face to face with a shaman on such a beautiful day.”

I stiffened, my eyes narrowing. “How do you know what I am?”

“Oh, we orcs have our ways,” he replied, his smirk widening. “Confirmed by the cuffs. Only shamans and conjurers get such special treatment.”

My gaze dropped, heat crawling up my neck. The weight of his golden eyes bore down on me, making the chains on my wrists feel heavier. Shame twisted in my stomach, and I shifted, trying to shake the feeling. Even as I looked away, a strange pull lingered, his attention unsettling. I could feel my pulse quicken, but I forced my shoulders straighter, ignoring the mix of fascination and unease clawing at me. I kept my eyes fixed on the ground. “What do you want, orc?”

“A little conversation,” he said, walking almost casually behind the cart as if he was out on an afternoon stroll, and not in chains. “The road’s long, and you’re the most interesting thing I’ve seen in weeks. Tell me, what's your name and what did you do to earn that cozy seat up in the cart?”

“Why? Hoping for tips to ride in luxury to our execution?” I shot back, shifting against the bars, my lips twisting in a wry smile. "Or are you planning to sweet-talk your way out ofyour chains, too?" My voice was sharper than usual, a small act of defiance against the guards who might still hear our conversation when they wandered too close.

“Depends,” he said with a smirk. “Can you teach me how to charm my way out of chains as well as you’re charming me? Or is it a talent exclusive of shamans?”

I shot him a wary glance but said nothing. The guards were too far ahead to overhear, but his casual demeanor unsettled me. His injuries should have left him weak, yet he exuded absolute confidence.

“Cleo. What should I call you? Prisoner 438? Or maybe Mr. Overconfident?”

His grin stretched wider, teeth flashing in a way that was both playful and predatory, his golden eyes glinting with amusement. He shifted, the movement slow, deliberate, as if to remind everyone how little the cuffs restrained him. His voice, low and smooth, with a teasing edge. “You can call me whatever you like, so long as you say it sweetly.”

“You’re blocking my view of the road, orc.”

His quiet chuckle caught me off guard, a surprising response to what I had intended as sharp defense rather than an invitation to banter. Despite my best efforts to maintain a barrier between us, he seemed to revel in the game of unsettling me, as though every word I hurled his way only added fuel to his amusement.If only I knew orcs were as charming as they were large.

“My name is Dex. You’ve got the better seat. I’ve got the better view.”

“Oh?” I asked, arching a brow. “What’s so interesting behind this cart?”

“I’m talking about you, obviously.” His eyes danced with mischief.

My face burned as a blush bloomed across my cheeks, spreading heat down my neck. I shifted uncomfortably againstthe bench, willing myself not to fidget, but the feel of his golden eyes lingering on me made it impossible to stay still. His gaze was unnerving, like he was peeling back layers of my carefully constructed walls. I forced my attention elsewhere, determined not to give him the satisfaction of catching me off guard again. I failed miserably.

“What are you doing here?”

Dex’s grin turned wry. “Let’s just say I’ve been asking too many questions. The Crown is very sensitive about certain topics.”

I ignored the way he spat the wordCrown, his tone dripping with scorn. The contempt in his voice made his feelings toward the human Royal family of Ostelan unmistakable, and I found myself agreeing with his opinion of them. “Like what?”

“Like shamans,” he said, his gaze sharpening. “Your kind is rare, and in my culture, you’re revered. Without shamans, our magic weakens. Our people suffer.”

I let out a sharp breath. “You were looking for me?”

“Not you specifically, but fate has a funny way of making introductions.”

I couldn’t help but sneak another glance at all of him. Despite the fresh wounds and bruises, Dex carried himself with an unsettling ease, as though the chains binding him were merely decoration. I lingered too long on the contours of his chest, where muscle shifted beneath bruised skin, each subtle movement exuding a raw, unshaken power. Warmth crept up my neck and spilled onto my cheeks before I could look away. His golden eyes caught mine, and his smirk deepened. Smug, insufferable, and entirely too knowing.Damn it, Cleo.

Dex chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate through the air. “You keep glancing at me. Should I take it as a compliment?” His words were quiet enough that the guards milling around wouldn’t hear, but the knowing edge in his tonemade me shift uncomfortably, hyper-aware of their periodic presence.

“You’re in chains, bruised and bleeding,” I said dryly. “Trust me, it’s not admiration.”

He laughed, the sound deep and unbothered, rolling through the tension like it had no business being there. “You must be used to people underestimating you and your sharp tongue, little shaman.” His eyes glinted with amusement as if he found my defiance entertaining.

“For someone in cuffs, you’re annoyingly cocky,” I grumbled, crossing my arms in a weak attempt to steady myself. The heat rising to my cheeks only fueled my irritation. I needed to set him as off balance as he was making me feel.

“Confidence isn’t something they can lock up.” His tone was smooth, like this entire conversation was just a game to him.

“Careful,” I shot back, narrowing my eyes. “Or your ego’s going to snap those chains before you do.”

“Would that impress you?” His voice dropped into a low, teasing drawl, each word laced with deliberate provocation. His lazy smile was infuriating. He shifted his weight, muscles rippling against the heavy cuffs. “Though, I’d wager I’d make quite the spectacle.”

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