Page 65 of Her Orc Healer

A night out. A moment of quiet between the storms. A date, if I even remembered what that word meant anymore.

I inhaled, then let my shoulders relax.

“All right,” I said, lifting my chin. “I’ll go.”

Uldrek grinned, Vorgrim nodded approvingly, and Kazrek—Kazrek didn't—smile, not exactly. But something in him eased, like a knot he hadn’t realized was pulling too tight.

"Good,” Uldrek declared, slapping the table. “Then it’s settled. We'll see you when the sun touches the treetops.”

Maeve beamed, clearly delighted at the prospect of me attending something festive for once. “I can help you pick a dress, Auntie Ro!”

I groaned under my breath, already regretting this decision. But when I risked a glance at Kazrek, I found him watching me with that measured intensity of his, something unreadable flickering in his dark gaze.

He had stepped into my world first. Maybe it was time I did the same.

This time, I didn’t look away.

Chapter 18

TheCozyHearthinnwas unrecognizable. What was usually a modest, worn space had become something else entirely—something vibrant, alive.

Silks in deep reds and bright golds draped from the rafters, their edges moving in slow, enchanted ripples as if stirring beneath invisible hands. The hearthfires had been altered, burning in shifting hues of green and blue. Spell-woven lanterns hung suspended in the air, which carried the thick scent of roasting meat, spiced honey, and a dozen unfamiliar spices. Voices layered over the music—low orcish rumbles, elven lilt, human laughter, something chittering in a dialect I didn't recognize.

I tightened my grip on my shawl, suddenly very aware of how out of place I must look.

“You look beautiful,” Iris murmured. Then, after a beat, “And if you pull that neckline up one more time, I will cut it lower.”

I shot her a skeptical glance. She had arrived at my door an hour ago, carrying a dress I hadn't worn in years—one I'd tucked away after my father died, when practicality became more important than beauty. Deep blue with copper embroidery, it hugged my waist before falling in soft pleats to just above my ankles. The neckline was lower than I normally wore, leaving the tops of my breasts exposed. I'd forgotten how it felt to wear something simply because it made me feel good, not just because it was practical.

"I look like I'm trying too hard," I muttered.

"Yes, because everyone here isso plainly dressed," Iris said dryly, gesturing to the vibrant crowd.

My eyes swept the room. The caravan had drawn all manner of people—a one-eyed elven woman with star charts tattooed up her arms, laughing deeply at something her companion said; a human boy no more than sixteen with burn scars tracing up his palms and a strange fire-gleam in his eyes; a silent dwarven woman tending the bar, her beard braided with tiny silver bells.

They touched easily, laughed freely, spoke in half-finished sentences as if everyone already knew the endings. I didn't know how to stand here, how to be. These weren't my people. This wasn't my world.

But then, something familiar caught my eye. Near the back of the room, slightly removed from the heart of the crowd, sat Kazrek with Vorgrim and Uldrek. His broad frame was relaxed against the sturdy wooden bench, arms resting loosely on the table as he listened to something Vorgrim was saying.

As if sensing my gaze, Kazrek turned his head.

For a moment, the room shrank down to just that look. He took me in—slowly, deliberately. His eyes swept over me, lingering for a fraction longer than was proper at the dip of my neckline, the curve of my waist. Then he stood and crossed the room.

"You came," he said, his voice low, just for me.

"I did," I replied, lifting my chin.

Kazrek’s eyes searched mine for a moment before stepping aside. “Selior isn’t here yet,” he admitted. “But sit with us. Eat. There’s time.”

It wasn’t quite a request, but it wasn’t a command either. Just a quiet certainty, like he already expected me at his side. My heart beat a little faster. Not from fear—just the way it always did when he looked at me like that.

I stepped forward. Into the noise, into the color, into the warmth of unfamiliar magic—drawn to him, before I could think better of it.

The caravan folk didn’t treat me like an outsider, exactly. Instead, they treated me like something new. A curiosity. A story they had only just begun to figure out.

An older man with curling, salt-grey hair pressed a carved wooden charm into my hand without a word. When I frowned down at it, he gave me a knowing look. “Safe dreams,” he said, before turning back to his drink as if that explained everything.

A sprightly woman wearing tattered silks stopped briefly in front of me, inhaling deeply with a pleased hum before vanishing into the throng.

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