Page 33 of Her Orc Blacksmith

“I'll go,” Vorgath said at last, his voice softer and more measured.

I nodded, my throat too tight to say anything. He moved toward the door, his steps slow and deliberate, perhaps giving me the chance to call him back—but I didn’t. I stood frozen, watching him reach for the doorknob.

He turned just slightly, enough for me to catch the side of his face framed by the flickering lamplight. “Soraya…,” he started, voice low and gruff, as if fighting with the words. “I don’t expecteasy.” His hand tightened on the knob, muscles flexing beneath his worn tunic. “And I am not afraid.”

With that, he pulled the door open. The cool night air rushed in, mingling with the lingering heat that clung to my skin—the remnants of our kiss, of him. And then, without another word, he stepped outside, disappearing into the shadowed street beyond.

The door shut with a soft thud that echoed in the empty silence. I exhaled shakily, my knees finally giving way as I sank onto the nearest chair. My fingertips brushed my lips, still tingling. My gaze drifted toward the stairs. At the top, behind Elias’s door, my son slept. Safe. Innocent. Uncomplicated.

And then there was me… standing on the precipice, almost ready to jump, to bring it all crumbling down.

Vorgath’s final words hung between the walls, lingering like a challenge.I am not afraid.

But I was terrified. Terrified of what this meant. Of what I could lose. Of what I already wanted.

I stared at the door as though it might offer me some kind of solace—but it didn’t. The only thing on the other side was the empty street and the space he had left there, lingering like a shadow.

Chapter 14

The wagon rumbled along the winding path, jostling me with each bump and dip in the road. I sat rigidly on the wooden seat, acutely aware of Vorgath's large form beside me. The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. Strands of hair escaped my bun, tickling my cheek as the wind whipped past us.

I snuck a glance at Vorgath, noting how carefully he maintained the space between us. His hands gripped the reins loosely, his posture relaxed yet somehow distant. The silence stretched between us, broken only by the steady clip-clop of the horses' hooves and the creaking of the wagon.

The past few days had been a blur of hammering, shaping, and polishing as we raced to finish Grimble's commission. After that night—after the kiss—everything had shifted. Each moment beside him left my skin humming with tension, each accidental brush of his arm sent a jolt through me.

And yet, neither of us spoke of it. Vorgath had respected my retreat, never once pushing, never once questioning. His words were brief, measured—just business. And though his presence remained steady, solid as ever, it was as if there was now a chasm between us, wide and impossible to bridge.

It wasn’t resentment or hurt that I sensed from him, though. No, it was something else—patience. He was giving me space. Space to breathe. Space to figure out what I wanted. And the worst part? I wasn’t sure what that was anymore. I was terrified I'd ruined everything.

But now, as we made our way to Stonevale for the Tinkerer's Faire, a flicker of excitement pushed aside my nerves. I'd never been to the village before, let alone its famous artisan festival. Stonevale wasn’t large—more of a quiet, industrious town where dwarves and other races had settled after the Shadowfall War. It wasn’t just known for survival; it was known for innovation. The dwarves, especially, had earned a reputation for their ingenious inventions and craftsmanship, even after being forced to abandon their ancestral home near the Crystal Caves when dark magic made the land uninhabitable.

Still, they hadn’t let that stop them. Stonevale had become a hub of ingenuity, with the Tinkerer's Faire at its heart—a gathering where their latest inventions were displayed, celebrating both craft and progress. And we, with our ceremonial axes tucked in the wagon behind us, were about to contribute, which made my stomach churn with both excitement and nerves.

“Are you comfortable?” Vorgath's deep voice startled me from my thoughts.

I forced a light laugh. “Oh, yes. Though I'm not sure my backside will ever forgive me for subjecting it to this seat.”

A ghost of a smile touched Vorgath's lips, but he didn't turn to look at me. “We can stop to stretch our legs if you need.”

“No, no,” I said quickly. “I'm fine, really.”

“Are we there yet?” Elias’s voice piped up from behind us.

“Almost,” I called back. “You’ll know when we arrive because you won’t be able to stop your eyes from popping out at all the interesting things the dwarves have made.”

A small, conspiratorial giggle rose from the wagon’s back. Elias, wedged between our supplies and Grimble’s axes, was too excited to sit still—his legs swinging and his head darting side to side, trying to catch a first glimpse of the settlement.

“Like what?” he asked, his voice awash with genuine curiosity.

It was Vorgath who answered: “Tools. Machines that help with mining. Artifacts that can store energy.” His brow furrowed in concentration as he mentally rifled through examples. “I use one of their forge-stokers in my workshop. It pulls in air from below and funnels it through the fire, keeping the flames steady without needing someone to constantly work bellows.”

“I'm also a tinkerer,” Elias said, and I heard him clambering through the wagon to get closer to us until, finally, his little face popped up between us.

“That so?” Vorgath asked.

“Yup!” Elias nodded enthusiastically, his brown curls bouncing. “I'm really good at making things. Like... like Mrs. Crumble’s flowerpots! I put holes in them with a stick, and now water gets out the bottom when it rains.”

“Ingenious,” Vorgath agreed.

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