Page 14 of Her Orc Blacksmith

As I moved to the kitchen area, my mind raced with possibilities. I had some venison left and plenty of root vegetables. A stew, perhaps? Simple, hearty, and easy to make in large quantities.

The decision made, I began chopping vegetables. Behind me, I could hear Elias chattering away to Mrs. Crumble as they cleaned, his excitement about meeting a real orc evident in every word.

“Mama,” he called out, “do you think Vorgath can lift our whole house?”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “I don't think so, sweetheart. And please don't ask him to try.”

Mrs. Crumble's tinkling laugh joined mine. “Oh, I don't know,” she said, her voice full of mischief. “I've heard tales of orc strength that would make your hair stand on end.”

I turned to give her a mock glare. “Don't encourage him, Mrs. Crumble. The last thing I need is Elias asking Vorgath to benchpress our furniture.”

“And why not?” she asked. “It might liven up the evening.”

I rolled my eyes, but as I turned back to my cooking, I felt some of my anxiety ease. Yes, this was unexpected and potentially awkward, but also exciting. No man had stepped through this door since Kald, and certainly not one like Vorgath—an orc, a man I’d barely known a few weeks ago, who was now... what? My teacher? My friend?

Or something more?

I caught a glimpse of myself in the small, dusty window—hair in wild disarray, apron dusted with flour and soot. I wasn’t polished or perfect, and suddenly, I felt vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with the state of my cottage or the meal I was preparing.

“Mrs. Crumble,” I said softly, not turning around, “am I crazy for doing this?”

There was a pause, and then Mrs. Crumble appeared at my elbow, her wizened face kind. “Crazy? No, dearie. Brave? Perhaps. But there's nothing wrong with opening your heart to new possibilities.”

“I don't know if I remember how to do this,” I admitted, adding the vegetables and chopped venison to the simmering pot.

Mrs. Crumble patted my arm. “The heart never forgets, my dear. It just needs a little encouragement sometimes.” She glanced at the stew. “Now, how about I add a pinch of my special herbs? They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, after all.”

I laughed, feeling some of the tension leave my shoulders. “Even if that man is an orc?”

Mrs. Crumble winked. “Especially if he's an orc, dearie. Especially then.”

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Time flew by in a flurry of cleaning, cooking, and last-minute preparations. Before I knew it, the sun was setting, casting long shadows across our newly tidied home. I stood in front of the small, cracked mirror in my bedroom, fussing with my appearance for what felt like the hundredth time.

I'd changed into a dress I'd mended earlier in the week using the delicate flower embroidery that Lady Hargrave had rejected. It hugged my curves in a way that made me feel both self-conscious and oddly empowered. The neckline was atouch lower than I was used to, and I found myself constantly adjusting it.

“You look lovely, dearie,” Mrs. Crumble's voice drifted up from somewhere near my elbows. I looked down to see her beaming up at me, her tiny hands clasped in approval.

“Are you sure?” I asked, smoothing down the fabric nervously. “It's not too much? Or too little? Seven save me, what if he thinks I'm trying too hard?”

Mrs. Crumble chuckled. “My dear, he'll be too busy picking his jaw up off the floor to think anything of the sort.”

Her words sent a flush through me, a strange blend of embarrassment and pleasure. It had been so long since I’d dressed up for anyone, yet here I was, fussing over a dress, over how I looked. For him.

For Vorgath.

A sharp rap at the door made me jump. “He's here,” I whispered, suddenly feeling like a young girl again, nervous before her first date. Not that this was a date. It was more like... a working dinner.

“Then let's not keep him waiting,” Mrs. Crumble said, giving my skirt a gentle tug to straighten it.

With one last glance in the mirror, I made my way to the door, my hands trembling slightly as I reached for the handle. I opened it to find Vorgath standing there, his massive frame filling the doorway. He wore a brown tunic that strained against his broad chest and shoulders, and dark leather breeches. His hair was brushed back, revealing more of his face than I was used to seeing, and his beard seemed to be combed.

“Soraya,” he said, his dark eyes widening slightly as they took me in. “You look... different.”

My confidence faltered for a moment before I noticed the appreciation in his gaze. “Good different, I hope?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

“Very good,” he said in a way that confirmed I hadn’t imagined the spark between us.

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