Page 6 of Her Orc Healer

Betha slipped the coins into her apron pocket. “You ought to let Iris mix you up something for those shadows under your eyes, girl.”

“I’ll sleep when Maeve does.” I tucked the madder root into my satchel. “Which means never.”

Betha snorted. “Sounds about right. Safe walk to you.”

I dipped my head in thanks, reaching for Maeve’s hand.

We wove through the crowd, Maeve’s small fingers tangled in mine. The parchment stall wasn’t far, just past the candle-makers and the elderberry syrup vendor. If I kept my pace steady and resisted distractions, I could get what I needed and be on my way before the worst of the lunch rush crowd—

Maeve tugged at my hand, yanking me out of my thoughts. “Whoa,” she whispered.

I blinked, glancing down at her. “What?”

Maeve was staring—not at a stall or a pie vendor, but at a man.

An orc.

Orcs weren’t uncommon in Everwood, not anymore. The war had forced people together, and even after the treaties were signed, some had stayed. A few ran shops, a handful served in the city’s guard, and others worked where strong hands were needed. But that didn’t mean people were used to them yet.

I saw it now—the way the crowd parted instinctively around him, the way some people kept their heads down as he passed, not hostile, but cautious. Others gave him long, wary looks, as if still deciding what they thought of him.

But he didn’t seem to notice.

He moved like a current against the tide—steady, unbothered, cutting through the crowd as if it barely touched him. His sheer size commanded space, his broad shoulders framed by the morning light slanting between the canvas awnings. A dark leather satchel was slung across his chest, resting against the thick muscle of his torso. His tusked profile was serious, unreadable.

Maeve stared, wide-eyed.

I gave her hand a little squeeze, but she didn’t react. Her gaze stayed locked on him, as if she were trying to memorize every detail.

I didn’t blame her.

Because I was doing the same damn thing.

Maeve exhaled, long and dramatic. “He’s real big.”

I swallowed. “Yes. He is.”

I lingered half a second too long before snapping myself out of it, forcing my feet forward.

We had things to do.

Corwin’s parchment stall was just ahead, tucked beneath a red-striped awning. Seeing it sent a flicker of relief through me—one step closer to being done.

I adjusted my grip on Maeve as we approached. “Stay close,” I murmured, though she was already pressing against my side, still sneaking glances over her shoulder.

“Can we go back and see the big green man?”

“No.”

“But—”

“Maeve.”

She huffed, but thankfully, Corwin chose that moment to acknowledge me.

“Ah, Ms. Byrne,” he greeted, pushing his spectacles up his nose. “You’re later than usual.”

“Busy morning.” I set a hand against the counter, my fingers trembling slightly.Too many errands, too little sleep. Keep moving.

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