Page 68 of Her Orc Healer

Kazrek was watching me too closely now. “And if you could leave?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I wouldn't know how.” The thought of leaving felt too big—like trying to unmake the shape of myself.

“Then maybe…” His voice turned softer, like the whisper of wind through leaves. “Maybe it’s not about leaving. Maybe it’s about choosing. About where you let yourself root.”

The door to the inn creaked open again, releasing a burst of warmth and laughter. Iris stumbled out, cheeks flushed from wine and dancing.

"I'm heading home," she announced, her usual sharp wit softened by mead and merriment. "Before I lose what's left of my voice to all this flirting."

I turned toward her automatically, the familiar pull of routine nudging at me. It would be sensible to leave now and return to my quiet shop and carefully ordered life. To step back into the person I knew how to be.

But then Kazrek's presence shifted beside me—not reaching, not asking, just... there. I looked at him, really looked at him, and saw what he'd been trying to tell me. Maybe staying didn't have to feel like chains. Maybe it could feel like this—like choosing to plant yourself somewhere and seeing what might grow.

"Go on," I told Iris softly. "I think I'll stay. Just a little longer."

Iris's knowing smile was the last thing I saw before she disappeared into the night. Then it was just us again, standing in the space between the warmth behind us and the cool dark ahead.

I turned back to the hearthfires glowing through the windows, to the soft flicker of magic drifting through the rafters. To him.

And for once, I didn't think about what I had to do.

I thought about what I wanted to choose.

Chapter 19

Thefirehadburneddown to a drowsy orange glow, casting long, wavering shadows across the wooden floor. Someone was humming a melody I didn't recognize—the kind of tune that sounded like it had been passed down through generations of wanderers. Above us, faint traces of magic still clung to the rafters like mist, shimmering and fading with each breath of night air that slipped through the cracks.

Kazrek and I had retreated to a small table near the hearth, both of us pretending we were still waiting for the elusive Selior. The truth was simpler and more complicated all at once—neither of us seemed ready to let the night end. The world outside with all its problems felt distant enough that I could almost forget them.

Almost.

My eyelids grew heavy as I leaned against the wooden chair back, my limbs weighted with pleasant exhaustion. Without meaning to, I found myself drifting closer to Kazrek, my shoulder pressed against his arm, solid and steady beside me.

"I should go home," I murmured, even as my head tilted to rest against his shoulder. My shawl had slipped down, leaving my neck exposed to the cool night air, but I couldn't summon the energy to fix it.

Kazrek didn't speak, but his arm shifted, coming around to rest along the back of my chair. Not quite holding me, but close enough that I could feel the heat of him along my spine. I melted further into the touch, surprising myself with how natural it felt.

"You're tired," he said, his voice a low rumble that I felt more than heard.

"Mm." I didn't deny it. My eyes slipped closed, just for a moment.

His hand moved then, a gentle adjustment that brought me more securely against him. I tucked closer without thinking, drawn to his warmth like a moth to flame. This wasn't something I did—lean on people, physically or otherwise. But tonight, with the world soft-edged and distant, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

His fingers brushed against my bare shoulder where my shawl had fallen, slightly rough against my skin. A soft sigh escaped me, one I hadn't meant to release. Kazrek's thumb moved in a slow, gentle arc across my skin, each stroke leaving a trail of heat that sank deeper than it should. I kept my eyes closed, afraid that if I opened them, the moment would shatter like glass.

The sound of heavy footsteps approaching broke through the haze. I didn't move, too comfortable to be bothered, but I heard Vorgrim's familiar gravelly voice above us.

"If you're both waiting for Selior," he said, his tone dry as autumn leaves, "you're wasting a perfectly good night."

I forced my eyes open, though my body protested at the effort. Vorgrim stood beside our table, regarding us with an expression that managed to be both knowing and entirely unimpressed.

"I'll stay up," he continued, hefting his cup. "He's less likely to spook if it's me anyway."

Kazrek's hand tightened slightly on my shoulder. "Vorgrim—"

"Take my room," Vorgrim cut him off, already turning away. "Door’s at the top of the back stairs. Don’t break anything."

He disappeared into the shadows before either of us could respond, leaving behind only the echo of his words and their implications.

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