Page 12 of Her Orc Protector

I stared down at my hands, hating that he was right. The tracker would report back to Gavriel. Papers would be filed. Inquiries made. The protection I’d built with careful lies was already starting to collapse.

Uldrek's voice softened slightly, losing its edge. "I don't like being lied to. But I really don't like men who make women afraid to speak their own names."

He shifted his weight, broad shoulders blocking the breeze that had started to pick up, sending dead leaves skittering across the garden stones.

"So yeah. I'll go along with it."

I looked up, wary of hope after so many months without it. "Why?"

Uldrek shrugged, the movement almost casual. "Felt like the kind of mess I'd regret not stepping into."

I studied his face in the lantern light—the strong lines of his jaw, the faint scars that marked his skin, the quiet steadiness in his golden eyes. He wasn't safe. But neither was silence.

"Thank you," I said finally, meaning it.

He nodded once, accepting. "So. What's our story, then? Since I apparently wandered into a marriage this afternoon."

I hadn't thought that far ahead. "We need something simple. Easy to remember."

"Met when you arrived in town," he suggested.

"Why would you be interested in me?" I asked, thinking practically. "An orc warrior with a human woman and child—people will question that."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Orcs aren't exactly known for our logical mating choices. We follow instinct."

His gaze held mine for a moment longer than was comfortable, something unspoken passing between us. I looked away first.

"You don't know me," he said finally. "I could be anyone. Worse than the man you're running from."

"I know enough," I countered. "You didn't have to help me today. You could have walked away. You didn't."

"Low bar."

"But mine to set."

Uldrek fell silent again. The night had grown colder around us, our breath visible in small clouds between our faces. In the distance, I could hear the muted sounds of the house—dishes being cleared, voices murmuring, the creak of floorboards as people moved unseen behind warm windows. A world continuing, oblivious to the choice we faced in this small, forgotten garden.

"Like I said, I’ll go along with it," he repeated, "but there are conditions."

I nodded, waiting.

"You tell me the truth. Always. I don't need all of it—you're entitled to your privacy—but what you do share needs to be real." He held my gaze, unwavering. "I won't be caught in a lie I don't understand."

"Fair," I agreed.

"And I train you." His eyes flicked to Ellie, then back to me. "Combat basics. How to defend yourself and the little one. If someone comes for you again, you need to know how to fight back."

I didn't answer right away.

The thought of learning how to fight should have terrified me. Of wielding anything sharper than a kitchen knife, of calling on muscle memory I didn't yet have. But what lodged itself in my chest wasn’t fear.

It was something closer to relief.

Not rescue. Readiness.

“Alright,” I said. “You train me. No lies, no pretending beyond what’s necessary—and we keep Ellie safe. That’s the boundary.”

Uldrek nodded once, solemn. “Deal.”

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