Page 20 of Her Orc Blacksmith

As Vorgath's story came to an end, I saw that Elias was fast asleep, his small chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, a contented smile still lingering on his lips.

Vorgath reached out, his large hand gently patting Elias's head. “Sleep well,durgha,” he whispered.

I stepped back from the doorway as Vorgath rose, careful not to bump his head on the low ceiling. As he exited the room, closing the door quietly behind him, our eyes met.

“What doesdurghamean?” I asked, stumbling slightly over the unfamiliar guttural orcish sounds.

He smiled at my attempt. “It means ‘little one’.”

“That was a lovely story,” I said softly as we moved back down the hallway. “Did your mother tell you that one when you were young?”

“No,” he answered, his voice low and thoughtful. “My mother was a warrior. She wasn't one for stories. It was my father who told me and my brother tales like that.”

I blinked, surprised. The image of a young Vorgath, listening wide-eyed to his father's tales, was almost too much to bear. It was a reminder that beneath the warrior’s exterior was a shared experience of family, love, and tradition—things I hadn’t expected we would have in common.

As we reached the front door, a comfortable silence settled between us. The evening had been full of surprises, each one revealing a new facet of Vorgath that I found increasingly intriguing. I leaned against the doorframe, reluctant to see him go.

“Thank you for coming,” I said.

“It was pleasant,” he said with a nod. “It's been a long time since I felt...” he paused, searching for the right word, “...at home.”

His admission lingered between us, heavy with unspoken meaning, and I felt a quiet sense of joy stir inside me.

“You're always welcome here,” I found myself saying.

Vorgath took a step closer. I could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the faint scent of smoke and iron that clung to him. My breath caught in my throat as he reached out, hesitating for a moment before gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

For a heartbeat, we stood there, teetering on the edge of something profound. I could feel the weight of our sharedmoments—in the forge, over dinner, with Elias—pressing us closer together.

But then, as if remembering himself, Vorgath took a small step back.

“I should go,” he said. “Goodnight, Soraya.”

“Goodnight, Vorgath,” I replied, my own voice barely above a whisper.

As he turned and walked away, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the moonlit night, I found myself watching until he disappeared from view. Only then did I close the door, leaning against it with a deep sigh.

Chapter 9

The familiar crunch of gravel beneath my boots echoed in the stillness of the forest, a steady rhythm that matched the calm of the morning. The air was crisp, carrying with it the faint, earthy scent of pine and wildflowers. It was market day in Everwood, and though I wasn’t heading to town, the distant hum of voices and the occasional clatter of carts floated up to meet me.

My path led me toward Vorgath’s forge, but my thoughts wandered to the night before. The almost-kiss in the forge, the warmth of his presence during dinner, the gentle way he'd told Elias a bedtime story... My cheeks flushed at the memory, and I found myself both eager and nervous to see him again.

As the trail wound around a low ridge, the view opened up, revealing Everwood tucked in the valley below. From this vantage point, the town appeared like a living painting, the market square bustling with color and movement. I paused, listening to the faint echoes of laughter and haggling fromthe vendors, a distant but steady reminder of home. It wasn’t perfect, but Everwood was resilient—just like the people who’d chosen to rebuild after the war.

“Soraya.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of Vorgath's deep voice. I turned to find him standing a short distance up the path, his massive frame blending into the shadow of the trees. How I’d missed him entirely was beyond me, but the sight of him, solid and steady, made my pulse quicken.

“Seven curses, Vorgath! You scared me half to death,” I scolded, pressing a hand to my chest.

He frowned. “I didn't mean to startle you.”

As my heart rate returned to normal, I took in the sight of him. He was dressed in his usual leather and cloth, but his clothes were free of the usual smudges of soot, and his boots looked polished.

“I thought we might run some errands today,” he said, watching me take all of this in. “We need some things from the market for Grimble's order.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And here I thought I would spend another day being yelled at to 'tighten my grip.'”

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