Page 106 of Her Orc Healer

Vorgrim, on the other hand, had seized the mages’ delay before anyone could argue.

"The boy's not done healing," he’d grunted, as if Kazrek were still a squire with bruised knuckles, not a grown man who’d nearly torn himself apart to save a child. "Let the others chase ghosts. I’ll stay where I’m needed."

And then, there was nothing to do but wait.

We paused at the edge of the square. The clinic looked so ordinary. So quiet. It was impossible to believe that three days ago, I'd watched Kazrek's magic drain from his body as he poured it into the earth, taking the darkness with it. That I'd held his limp form as we were yanked back to reality, the ritual circle broken, the robed figures scattering into the trees like mist. That I'd screamed his name until my voice gave out, until Uldrek and Vorgrim arrived with the rest of the caravan to carry us all home.

Three days since Kazrek had given everything he had to save Maeve.

Three days, and he still hadn't opened his eyes.

"He's waiting for us," Maeve said suddenly. Not a question. A statement, calm and certain.

I glanced down at her. "How do you know?"

She shrugged, still cradling her sugar butterfly. "I can feel it." She tapped her chest, right over her heart. "Here."

The mark on my throat tingled in response—the place where Kazrek had claimed me that last night. Where his teeth had broken skin and something deeper than blood had passed between us. It wasn't magic, not exactly. But it was a connection. A tether. And even now, I could feel it pulling—a gentle but insistent reminder that he wasn't gone. Not completely.

"Alright," I said, squaring my shoulders. "Let's not keep him waiting, then."

Maeve bounded up the stone steps to the clinic, her curls bouncing behind her, one ribbon already slipping sideways. She stopped just before the door, turned toward me, and hesitated.

“You want to knock, or should I?”

I stepped past her and raised my hand. But before my knuckles could hit the wood, the door creaked open.

Vorgrim stood there, arms folded, filling the frame like a slab of granite. “He’s awake,” he said.

Then he stepped aside.

The scent of crushed herbs and warmed poultices rushed out to meet me—steam clinging to the air, carrying notes of mint, bark, and bitter root. It smelled like care. Like healing. Like the place where people came back from the edge.

Maeve walked in without hesitation, pausing only long enough to glance over her shoulder at me. I followed, the bundle tight against my chest, and let the door close behind us.

The curtains were drawn back, sunlight sheeting through the tall window in neat, pale stripes. Papers littered the desk beside the cot—scrap assessments, ink blots where someone had tried and failed to write something down.

Kazrek sat upright, propped against pillows, a rough-spun blanket pulled across his thighs. His skin was still pale by orcish standards—less deep green, more ash—but his posture was steady. His hands rested loose in his lap, palms up.

Maeve didn’t say a word. She just walked to him, curled her arms around his middle, and laid her head where his ribs rose and fell beneath worn linen.

“I told you we’d come,” she murmured.

Kazrek let out a breath that was half a sound, half a laugh. His hand came up to her back, slow and careful. He bent forward, just enough to press his forehead to the crown of her head.

I watched them from the doorway. Maeve tucked under his arm like she belonged there. Like she’d never been anywhere else.

It wasn’t the first time I’d seen him hold her.

That first day came rushing back—the scent of crushed leaves, the quiet hush of the clinic, the way his arms had cradled her while he taught her how to grind calendula into salve. I’d stood in the doorway then, too. A stranger. Suspicious. Tired.

I thought of the quiet evenings when he carried her home—tucked against his chest, curls tangled in his coat. Of the way she leaned into him without hesitation, like she knew she didn’t have to ask to be protected.

And I thought of the altar. The way his body had curved over hers like a shield. Like he’d make himself a wall between her and anything that tried to take her.

Not just her.

Me, too.

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