Page 74 of Her Orc Blacksmith

Chapter 28

“What are you doing here, Thorne?” The words sliced through the stillness of the night like a hammer to anvil.

But Thorne didn’t flinch. He didn’t even turn to look at me immediately. Instead, he brushed a hand over one of the wooden beams, tracing the grain as if he had laid it himself—the audacity.

My knuckles tightened at the hem of my robe, resisting the urge to pick up a nearby hammer and lob it at the back of his head.

When he finally deigned to acknowledge me, he did it with that all-too-familiar arrogance.

“Just trying to understand what everyone sees in you.” His tone was light—conversational, even—but there was a tightness around his eyes.

As I studied him, it hit me—if he meant harm, Sylwen’s runes would have kept him out. He wasn’t here to destroy; he was here to confront something he couldn’t ignore any longer.

That’s when I knew—it wasn’t just the rebuilt smithy he was seeing. It was everything that went into it. Every beam and stone, every rune carved into the doorframe, every piece of mithral woven into the walls was a testament to something he couldn’t quite grasp. He was seeing a community that had come together, people who had once been strangers working side by side. People who had chosen to help me, to see me succeed, while he stood on the outside, clinging to his outdated beliefs and refusing to bend.

A bark of laughter escaped me unexpectedly. “Are you... jealous?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Don't be ridiculous,” he answered, but a flicker of confusion crossed his features, and I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

Because for all his stubbornness and pride, Thorne Ironsmith was just a man struggling to understand a world that had changed around him, feeling the ground shift beneath his feet. I was standing in the middle of that change, a reminder of everything he couldn’t control.

And it wasn't just me.

“Is this about Lira?” I asked.

Thorne’s grip on the beam tightened ever so slightly. “My daughter has always been too headstrong for her own good,” he said. “She thinks she can defy me, defy the guild, because you’ve put ideas in her head.”

I hesitated, my brow furrowing. Me? I’d barely spoken to the girl.

But maybe it wasn’t about what I’d said at all—maybe it was what I represented. I was here, building a forge, defying the expectations set for me, showing girls like Lira that there wasmore to life than the roles people tried to force them into. I didn’t even realize I was setting an example, but maybe that was exactly why Thorne resented me. He didn’t like the thought of anyone disrupting his carefully crafted world—least of all, someone like me, someone he had written off as incapable.

“Well, then, I'm glad I did,” I finally said. “Lira deserves to know she has choices. And if that scares you, maybe you should ask yourself why.”

Thorne’s lips pressed into a thin line. “She doesn’t need choices,” he said, his tone clipped. “She has a respectable path laid out for her. Lira is supposed to be planning for a family, carrying on my legacy through blood and name! That’s her role, and there’s order—structure—to it. It’s the way things are supposed to be, and it’s being undermined by you—someone who wasn’t even supposed to be here in the first place.”

I took a steadying breath. Thorne’s version of the world—the one with paths laid out for everyone, with neat, predetermined roles—had crumbled a long time ago. War had changed that, had rewritten the rules.

“I didn’taskto be here,” I reminded him. “Life just happened. You think I wanted this? My husband died, remember? You think I planned on standing in the ashes of everything we built, trying to piece it back together from scraps?”

Our eyes locked, and something shifted between us. For the first time, Thorne was silent—reallysilent—none of his usual blustering excuses or dismissive remarks.

“You keep talking about order and structure,” I said, leveling my gaze at him. “But what you really mean is control, don’t you? You think you can make Lira into something she doesn’t want to be. But you can’t. No one can.”

Thorne’s gaze flicked to the forge I’d rebuilt with my own hands. “This world... it’s not what it was. The guild isn’t whatit was.” He shook his head, as if trying to shake off the truth. “Everything’s changing.”

“Change doesn’t have to be bad, ” I said, my voice soft but firm. “She wants to be part of your legacy on her own terms, not just through name and babies. She needs your guidance, not control. If you want to keep her close, let her find her way.”

His gaze snapped back to mine, a flicker of doubt crossing his features. I pushed on, sensing the opening.

“You’re her father. She needs you, but not to control her, to guide her. To let her find her own way.” My voice softened, but I didn’t back down. “You’re scared of losing her. I get that. But you'll lose her anyway if you don’t give her the chance to choose.”

Thorne’s lips tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might turn and storm out. But then his shoulders sagged, just a fraction, and his voice dropped low.

“You think you know her better than I do?” he said, a tinge of bitterness in his tone, but it was muted now, quieter. “You think you know what’s best for my daughter?”

I shook my head. “No. But I do know what it feels like to be trapped. You want to protect her, I get that. I want the same for Elias every day of my life. But sometimes... we have to let them figure out what they want for themselves.”

Thorne’s jaw worked for a moment, his eyes dropping to the floor, as if he was turning everything over in his mind. Then, almost begrudgingly, he spoke.

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