Page 27 of Her Orc Protector

For too long, I'd let that voice dictate my choices—or worse, convince me that I wasn't capable of making choices at all. That my judgment was fundamentally flawed, my perceptions distorted by emotion and weakness.

But now, as I walked through the quiet streets of Everwood, I found another voice rising beneath the echo of his doubt—my voice.

He didn't push. He didn't demand. He let me decide.

Uldrek wasn't Gavriel. He didn't speak in pretty words or grand promises. He didn't try to shape me into something I wasn't. He offered what he had—protection, honesty, respect—and left the rest to me.

I thought of how he'd looked at me in the garden, his eyes steady and serious. “You don’t owe me anything. Whatever you decide—decide for you.”

That was the difference. Gavriel had never cared about my consent—not really. He'd wanted my acquiescence, my admiration, my obedience. But Uldrek demanded nothing. He simply stood beside me, solid and present, leaving space for me to choose.

I didn't know if this was the right decision. But for the first time in too long, I was making the decision myself. Not out of fear or desperation, but out of a quiet, growing certainty that this was a step I needed to take. For Ellie.

For myself.

Chapter 9

The Broken Spoke sat at the junction between Everwood's Heart District and the western quarter, a sturdy stone building with smoke curling from its chimney and lanterns casting warm pools of light across its entrance. It wasn't elegant or refined, but it wasn't dangerous either—just honest, unpretentious.

I hesitated at the door, my cloak drawn tight around me despite the mild evening. Through the windows, I could see the interior: a low-ceilinged room filled with wooden tables and mismatched chairs, frequented by laborers, guards, and traveling merchants. The sound of conversation and laughter spilled out each time someone entered or left, along with the rich smells of roasting meat and spiced cider.

I'd never been inside. Since arriving in Everwood, I'd kept to quiet paths—the Archives, Tinderpost House, the training yard. Safe places. Known places. This was different. A step into something unfamiliar.

But then, everything about tonight was unfamiliar.

I hadn’t known exactly where to find him. I started at the training yard, though I knew he wouldn’t be there this late. One of the fighters—an older half-elf with a bandaged hand—had glanced up from sharpening his blade and nodded toward the west. “Wolfsbane drinks at the Spoke, more often than not.”

So I’d followed the narrowing streets until the wooden sign swung into view: a broken wheel hanging from its post.

I took a deep breath and pushed the door open, slipping inside and standing for a moment in the entryway, letting my eyes adjust to the dimmer light. The tavern was busy but not overcrowded. A large hearth dominated the far wall, bathing the room in golden light and comforting warmth. Overhead, iron chandeliers held dozens of candles, their flames reflected in the polished surface of the bar that ran along one side of the room.

Uldrek stood at the far end of the bar, one elbow resting on its wooden surface, a heavy mug in his hand. He was talking to the barkeep—a broad-shouldered human woman with gray-streaked hair—his expression relaxed, almost at ease. He smiled at something she said, a genuine smile that softened the hard edges of his face and made the scar across his nose crinkle slightly.

I felt a strange flutter in my chest. This was a side of Uldrek I hadn't seen before—not the watchful protector or the patient teacher, but simply a man enjoying a quiet drink, comfortable in his own skin. His presence seemed to fill more space than his actual size, drawing eyes without effort. Even in the mixed company of the tavern, his orcish features stood out—the pronounced tusks made more visible when he smiled, the sharp angle of his jaw, the deep green of his skin catching the warm light.

He looked... good. The realization caught me off guard.

As if sensing my gaze, he glanced up, his eyes finding me immediately across the crowded room. Something flickered in his expression—surprise, maybe concern—before he straightened, his casual demeanor shifting into the more watchful stance I recognized.

I made my way toward him, weaving between tables. By the time I reached the bar, Uldrek had turned fully toward me, his brow furrowed slightly.

"Well," he said, "this is unexpected. Everything alright?"

"Yes," I said, surprised to find it wasn't entirely a lie. I wasn't calm, exactly, but I wasn't afraid either. "I just… wanted to talk to you."

"Must be important to bring you into this den of iniquity," he said, his mouth quirking up at one corner. "Don't tell me—Ellie's finally sick of my face and you're here to break the news gently?"

The joke eased something in my chest. Familiar ground, even here in this unfamiliar place.

"Actually," I said, "Ellie's with Leilan and Gruha tonight."

His eyebrows rose at that. He knew how significant it was—I'd never left her before, not even for an hour. Not with anyone.

"Then I definitely need to buy you a drink," he said, gesturing to the empty stool beside him. "Sit. Before you change your mind and run back to check on her."

I slid onto the stool, still keeping my cloak wrapped around me despite the warmth of the tavern. Uldrek nodded to the barkeep, who approached with an expectant expression.

"Bren, this is Issy," he said. "She needs something… what do you like?" He turned to me, suddenly uncertain.

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