Page 2 of His Noble Savior

The orcs’ chant crested, and the roaring of the Great River subsided. Terror washed through Lilian. Where moments ago white waves had raced downstream, breaking on rocks, the water was turning clear and fordable.

The tallest of the orcs—a monster the size of a boulder, thickset, burly and towering over his giant companions—set foot in the Great River. And walked right through it. Lilian froze in fear. The orcs’ ritual had overcome the river’s protective magic. The behemoth proceeded, the gently burbling water never reaching higher than his calves.

Behind him, a legion of orcs followed, the tamed river nothing more in their way than a harmless creek. The rumble of their approaching voices broke Lilian out of his stupor. Humans were right to be afraid of orcs. He tore around and sprinted away, Flora two steps ahead of him. Lilian didn’t waste his breath on words. With his heart in his throat, he raced for safety. He had to get away. No looking back.

A minute into his run, branches snapped behind him, thick wood cracking and splintering. Lilian pumped his legs with everything he had, weaving between the conifers, twigs whipping him. Grunts and growls crept closer—the orcs were gaining on him.

Lilian had to prevent getting caught. If he hid somewhere in the thicket, the orcs might run past him. He had to lose them before the forest thinned into marshland further north. There, hiding was impossible, and the orcs would outrun him with ease.

Lilian’s foot caught on a gnarly root, and he fell, hitting the ground. “Flora!”

She ran without looking back. Lilian struggled to his feet,hands aching, knees bleeding from the fall. Damp, hot breath hit his neck and massive hands seized him. The stench of orc sweat filled his nostrils. He screamed and kicked. It was useless. They grabbed him by the limbs, and when he fell again, they clutched his ankles and dragged him across the forest floor, not caring how the rough ground scraped his skin bloody.

Hot tears shot into Lilian’s eyes. His heart fluttered against his ribcage like a trapped bird. He hoped the humans would spot the invasion from the watchtowers they’d erected on the banks of the Great River. White smoke was to rise from them upon invasion, warning the lords of southern Vale. Perhaps they could save themselves. Perhaps towns and villages would be warned in time, allowing the men to escape. It was too late for Lilian. Nobody would come for him.

Chapter One

Richard

Four months later

In the marble-clad entrance hall of his castle, Lord Richard Dalton of Somerdale tightened and buckled the straps of his leather cuirass one by one. Anticipation thrummed through him as he and his brother George prepared to ride out.

“I hope we’ll find Nathan,” George said, his voice echoing in the vaulted hall, as he pushed gauntlets onto his forearms.

Two months ago, their younger brother, Nathan, had been captured by orcs while serving in the war against those savage beasts. Richard berated himself for not telling Nathannowhen he announced he’d fight alongside their house’s knights. The battlefield was no place for men. Ever since the Turian Empire fell to the orcs, all knights had been female. Orcs killed women in battle, but they didn’t drag them off to their camps, a fate worse than death.

Richard was the eldest and responsible for the family. If something had happened to Nathan, it was Richard’s fault. Nathan was only twenty-two and the family’s daredevil. Richard’s role was to hold him back when he put himself in danger. But in the chaos of the early days of war, they’d sent anyone who volunteered to the front. Regret ate at Richard.

“I hope so too, but it might not be him.” Richard strapped on his shoulder guards.

They’d received a message from the town of Ellesmere sayingorcs had been sighted with a captive. Could it be Nathan? The chances were slim, but Richard hadn’t lost hope that his brother was alive. It wasn’t the smartest decision for him and George to ride out and look for Nathan, but at least they weren’t going alone. Two female knights would accompany them as well as George’s master, Resh.

George bent to pull up his boots, and when he straightened, the red collar that graced his neck peeked out from underneath his leather armor. He’d met Resh on a reconnaissance trip into the Autumn Court of the faerie realm. George had been gathering information on Lord Malorn, a powerful fae who was being courted by Richard’s cousin and rival, Lord James Aranin of Castlehill. Eager to keep up, Richard had been inclined to announce his interest in Lord Malorn. Who wouldn’t want a mighty fae lord for a husband?

But George had been caught by Resh, an imp, who’d enslaved George’s soul. Richard should’ve been upset about this, but George was an awfully happy slave and invited Resh to live with him in the family castle. Despite Richard’s initial apprehension, Resh had integrated well. With the orcs pressing north, Richard was glad to have a creature as dangerous as an imp on his side.

“Are we ready to go?” Resh asked as he loped down the creaking wooden steps into the hall, driving a hand through his short, spiky hair. He was slim and a few inches short than George, easily sliding into his arms.

“Two minutes,” George said and pressed a kiss to Resh’s cheek.

Such displays of affection, uncommon for Valians and especially the nobility, made Richard blush. “You two are unbelievable.”

“You’re just jealous,” George said, strapping his sword to his back.

And wasn’t that the truth? “Not all of us can afford a lovematch,” Richard said, managing to keep the bitterness out of his voice. In his position as baron, he would have to marry for political gain.

“Talking about matches, have you heard from the Spring Court?” George asked. “Didn’t you say they were interested?”

“I received a letter this morning. The queen is looking to marry her second daughter, Princess Bellerose. She’s eager.”

“Why’s that?”

“All the other faerie courts are building alliances. Even the elves have stationed an envoy at Castlehill. Although… that might have more to do with James sending them missive after missive than with any political intent. As for the fae, there are rumors that the Winter King is courting Prince Elior of the Summer Court. And with Malorn claiming the throne of the Autumn Court and marrying Henry, the spring fae don’t want to be left behind.”

Neither did Richard. James hadn’t married Malorn of the Autumn Court, but his younger brother Henry had. The boy was only nineteen and had no idea that behind the scenes, Richard had been moving his pieces into place. He treaded carefully around Henry, not letting on he was keen to marry and that Henry’s husband had once been a viable option. Not that Richard had any romantic interest in Malorn—he had simply been a politically valuable option.

George narrowed his eyes. “If you married a princess of the Spring Court, wouldn’t that make our castle part of the faerie realm?”

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