Page 1 of Her Orc Healer

Prologue

Therewerenightswhenhe still woke with the weight of dying men in his hands.

The battlefield was long behind him, but the memories clung like blood that wouldn’t wash away. Torn bodies. The frantic press of his palms against wounds he couldn’t close fast enough. The desperate eyes of soldiers begging for mercy he couldn’t grant. He had saved so many.

But it was the ones he lost who whispered to him in the dark.

He had left that life. And yet, the past followed him—in the ache of old wounds, in the weight of his name, in the distance he kept from the city that was supposed to be home.

Because it wasn’t. Not really.

He had walked away from his people, from the clan he could no longer face, from the warriors who had once called him brother. There was no home left for him—not in the land of his birth and not here among those who respected his skill but never truly saw him.

Maybe that was why he’d come to Everwood. He could do good here. He could serve. But he would never belong.

That was the cost of surviving when others had not.

Kazrek exhaled and rubbed a hand over his face. The scent of boiled cloth and calendula hung thick in the air. Above, rain tapped the roof tiles in a steady rhythm. The clinic was mostly dark, save for the lantern he’d left burning in the side window—partly out of habit, partly for the stray ginger cat who slipped in when the streets turned cold.

Because a man without roots had nothing to lose.

And yet, on the nights when sleep refused to come, he wondered—just for a moment—what it would feel like to have something worth staying for.

Chapter 1

Itwasn’teventhetenth morning bell, and Maeve was already glowing.

I spotted the telltale shimmer from the corner of my eye, a soft golden light pulsing against the shelves. I didn’t react. Not at first.

Instead, I finished weighing out a portion of powdered indigo, carefully tipping it into a parchment envelope for the waiting customer. “Sealed tight,” I said, pressing wax along the edge. “This batch is finer than your last order. It should give you a deeper saturation.”

The old archivist, Edwin Fairweather, hummed in approval. “Ah, excellent, excellent. I do appreciate a rich color—”

A delighted giggle rang through the shop.

Finally, I looked up.

Maeve, balanced precariously on a stool behind the counter, had her arms spread wide, palms up. Light spilled from her skin in flickering waves, gold shifting to soft amber, then back again.

“Maeve Byrne,” I said, voice low. “What did I say about glowing?”

Maeve gasped, eyes going round with dramatic guilt. “Not in the shop!”

“Not in the shop,” I agreed.

“But—” She flexed her fingers. The glow pulsed brighter. “Feels wiggly.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. Some mothers worried about sweets or scraped knees. I worried my niece might set herself on fire.

Maeve clapped her hands, sending another ripple of golden shimmer into the air. “I glow, Mister Edwin!” she announced proudly.

Edwin chuckled, tucking the packet of indigo into his satchel. “She’s a lively one, that’s for sure.”

“She’s something,” I muttered, reaching for a damp cloth. "Come here, May."

She giggled, wholly unrepentant, as she wobbled on the edge of the stool. I caught her around the middle before she could topple. The warmth of her magic buzzed against my skin like the lingering hum of a struck bell. Not hot, not painful—just... Maeve.

I released a slow breath, smoothing Maeve’s hair and setting her back on solid ground. "Hands in your pockets," I instructed.

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