Page 25 of Her Orc Protector

Uldrek didn’t react right away. He just looked at me—as if he could see each folded page of the story I hadn’t told yet. His eyes were steady and strange and soft all at once, the kind of gaze that didn’t pierce but offered something quieter: a place to be seen.

“This isn’t about ownership,” he said at last, voice low. “It’s not a leash. It’s a tether—if you want it.”

“But it is a bond. Permanent.”

“It can fade,” he said. “If the bond’s not tended, it weakens. But yes. It changes things. It leaves a mark—on the body, sure. But mostly in the choice.”

I looked down at Ellie again, her body slack with sleep, her cheek pressed against my collarbone. She trusted me to carry her. To choose right.

“I’m still learning who I am,” I said. “Apart from fear. Apart from him. I don’t know if I’m ready to be bound to anyone again.”

Uldrek nodded. “You don’t owe me anything. Whatever you decide—decide for you. Not because you’re cornered. Not because you’re afraid.”

I looked at him. Really looked. The worn leather cord at his throat. The tired steadiness in his eyes. The way he hadn’t tried to fill the silence.

“And if I decide not to do it?” I asked. “If I can’t?”

His gaze didn’t flinch. “Then we figure something else out. I’ll still walk beside you.”

For a moment, the wind shifted, carrying the scent of lavender and worn stone, and with it a fragile peace that seemed borrowed from some other life. The kind I used to imagine in stolen glances across candlelit libraries, in the hush just before dawn when the fire burned low and I believed—just barely—that safety might return in tiny, stubborn sparks.

Now, it hovered here, in the curl of Ellie’s fingers, in Uldrek’s worn voice offering space instead of promise.

I let the silence stretch between us like a narrow bridge. I wasn’t ready to cross it. Not yet. But I could see the other side.

“I need to think,” I said finally. “Not just about the bite. About everything.”

Uldrek nodded once. Nothing in him pushed. He just stood slowly, rolling his shoulders.

“I’ll be at the training yard in the morning,” he said and then turned to leave.

When he was gone, the quiet felt different—deeper but not empty.

I tightened the sling around Ellie, pressed my lips to her brow, and whispered my own name against her skin—first the old one, cracked and fragile… then the new one. Chosen. Claimed.

Somewhere between them, I might still find the woman I was becoming. But first, I would think. I would walk. I would listen to myself.

And when the time came, I would choose. Not out of fear.

But because it was finally up to me.

Chapter 8

Isat on the edge of my bed in the stillness of evening, watching Ellie as she lay on her blanket, tiny fingers grasping at the wooden rattle Fira had gifted her. The light through the narrow window was fading, painting the worn floorboards with long shadows. From below came the familiar sounds of Tinderpost House settling into its nightly routine—Gruha's deep voice humming an old dwarven melody, the rhythmic thunk of a knife against a cutting board, someone stoking the hearth.

The ordinary sounds should have soothed me. Instead, each mundane echo seemed to underscore the weight of the choice before me.

I closed my eyes, replaying the scene in the Civic Hall—the solemn faces of the councilors, the careful neutrality in Thornwood's voice as she laid the ultimatum before us. Complete the bond, or lose protection. There had been sympathy in her eyes, perhaps, but the law was the law. And the Order was watching.

"And if we choose not to rush this ritual that you're suddenly so concerned about?" Uldrek had asked, his voice steady even as tension radiated from him.

Councilor Pellen's response had been clinical, detached: "Then the protection afforded by the Natural Bond exception would be nullified. And her sovereign protection would be forfeited.”

What they hadn’t said—what they didn’t need to—was that Gavriel would come for us. That whatever representative had already made inquiries would return with more than questions. That the web I'd thought I'd escaped would tighten once more, this time around both of us.

Ellie made a soft, gurgling sound, drawing my attention back to her. She had rolled onto her side, still fixated on the rattle, unaware of the storm brewing around her small life. I reached down and stroked her cheek with one finger, marveling at the perfect softness of her skin. She turned toward my touch, instinctive and trusting.

Trust. Such a simple word for something so complex.

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