Page 10 of Her Orc Protector

Leilan's eyebrows rose slightly. "That's... dramatic."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "My grandsire killed a direwolf once. It stuck.”

Tinderpost House came into view, its weathered gray stone softened by lantern light spilling from narrow windows. Smoke curled from the chimney, carrying the scent of rosemary and cooking meat. Usually, the sight of it settled something in me—a temporary shelter, yes, but one with solid walls and locked doors. Tonight, I felt the weight of what I'd done pressing against my chest. I'd brought danger here. I'd dragged a stranger into my mess.

I hesitated at the door, hand hovering over the latch. Leilan glanced at me, questioning. The orc—Uldrek—waited, his face still neutral. Resigned, I pushed the door open.

Warmth hit us first, then the rich smell of stew and fresh bread. The common room glowed with hearth light, the long table already set for evening meal. Mrs. Gruha emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. She took one look at Uldrek's massive frame filling the doorway and stopped dead.

"We don't usually do plus ones," she said, voice flat.

Uldrek lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. "I'm house-trained."

I couldn't tell if he was joking. His face gave nothing away—just those golden eyes watching, waiting. Patient as stone.

Gruha's gaze swung to me, sharp with questions I wasn't ready to answer. Leilan slipped past us both, her silver hair catching the light as she moved.

"He's with us," she said as she disappeared up the narrow stairs with her basket, leaving me to face Gruha's scrutiny alone.

Dora leaned around the doorframe, wooden spoon still dripping. Her eyes widened when she saw Uldrek, then narrowed with a knowing look that made heat climb up my neck.

"Well," she said, "hope you're not here to sweep Miss Fairbairn off her feet. She just started sleeping through the night."

Uldrek's mouth curved in the faintest suggestion of a smile. He didn't bother explaining or defending his presence. There was a stillness to him that drew attention but didn’t ask for it—like he’d learned long ago that quiet made people talk first.

I shifted Ellie higher against my shoulder, grateful that she was still sleeping. "It's not—we're not—" I started, but the words tangled on my tongue.

Gruha snorted and turned back toward the kitchen. "Come on, then. Might as well eat before the interrogation."

We followed her to the long wooden table, worn smooth by years of hands and elbows. Uldrek moved with surprising quiet for someone his size, settling onto a bench that creaked under his weight. He sat opposite me, leaving deliberate space between us that felt both polite and pointed.

Gruha returned with a worn clay bowl, which she placed in front of him with a solid thunk. She ladled stew into it—turnips and carrots and chunks of something that might have been rabbit, swimming in broth thick with herbs. Then she gave Uldrek a hard, assessing look, as if judging his soul, before adding a second helping without asking.

"You fight, don't you?" she asked bluntly.

Uldrek looked up, that slight smile returning. "Only when spoken to."

Gruha snorted again, but this time there was a hint of approval in it. “You’ll fit right in, then.”

She filled the rest of our bowls and returned to the kitchen. The other residents had gone quiet, stealing glances at our end of the table. I could feel their curiosity like a physical weight.

"So," Dora said, breaking the silence. She'd never been one for subtlety. "Where did you two meet?"

I tensed, my spoon halfway to my mouth. We hadn't had time to agree on a story. There hadn't been time for anything except walking back in taut, awkward silence.

Uldrek took a deliberate bite of stew before answering. "The market," he said. "Today."

Dora blinked. "Wait, today? But you're—"

"What do you do for work?" Leilan interrupted, having returned from upstairs. She slid into the seat beside me, her knee bumping mine under the table—a silent signal I couldn't quite interpret.

Uldrek set his spoon down. "Temporary things," he said. "Guard a caravan, track a thief, pretend to be mated to terrified women in public markets."

I froze, my spoon suspended in midair. The table went silent.

Uldrek just sipped his stew like he'd said nothing unusual.

After a moment that seemed to stretch for hours, Gruha let out a bark of laughter. "Practical," she said, returning from the kitchen with a loaf of bread. "I like practical."

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