Page 31 of Her Orc Protector

Uldrek’s thumb brushed lightly over the raw skin—careful, reverent. “You won’t have to,” he said. “Council won’t question it now. They’ll feel it. The bond will show itself if they press.”

I leaned into him slightly, suddenly exhausted. The weight of the evening—leaving Ellie, finding him, choosing this—settled over me like a heavy blanket. Uldrek seemed to understand. He shifted, moving to sit beside me on the bed, his arm still wrapped around my waist.

"We should clean it," he said after a moment, his voice low and practical. "I have—" He reached into a pocket and produced a small cloth and a tiny vial. "Kazrek's work. For the healing."

I nodded, tilting my head to give him better access. His touch was careful as he dabbed at the bite, the cloth coming away stained with blood. The salve stung, then cooled, spreading a gentle numbness across the mark. Uldrek's fingers lingered, tracing the edges of what he'd done. What we'd chosen.

"I should get back," I said finally, though I made no move to rise. "Ellie..."

"Will be fine for a little longer," he finished. "Gruha probably has her half-raised already."

I smiled despite myself. He wasn't wrong.

"Stay," he said quietly. "Just… stay. For a moment."

It wasn't a command. It wasn't even really a request. Just an offering—like everything else he'd given me. Space to choose. Room to breathe.

So I stayed. Just for a moment.

Chapter 10

Ipushed open the heavy oak door of the Archives, my cloak damp at the hem from the morning drizzle. Ellie was bundled close against my chest, her tiny body warm beneath layers of wool. The familiar scent welcomed me—old paper, waxed wood, rain-damp stone—as I stepped inside, grateful for the shelter from the persistent autumn rain.

The claiming bite still throbbed gently at the junction of my neck and shoulder, two days fresh. I'd taken to wearing my hair loose, letting it fall beside rather than over the mark. Not hiding. Not anymore.

"Just us for now, little one," I murmured to Ellie as we made our way through the quiet entrance hall. Morning light filtered weakly through high windows, casting pale rectangles across the stone floor. Edwin wouldn't arrive for another hour at least—he took his time on rainy mornings, his old war injury troubling him more in the damp.

I headed for the east alcove, where I'd set up a small workspace. It was tucked away from the main reading area, private enough for nursing Ellie between tasks but close enough to the central stacks that I could retrieve books without lengthy absences.

I rounded the corner into the alcove and stopped short.

Everything was... different. The space had been tidied, but not in the usual way. My small desk had been rearranged—quills lined up perfectly beside fresh parchment, a candle already lit and burning steadily despite the early hour. The basket-cradle I used for Ellie's naps had been moved slightly closer to the desk, positioned just right to catch the warmth from the nearby brazier without being too close to the heat.

And there, folded neatly in the cradle, was a wool blanket I didn't recognize—soft-looking, dyed a gentle shade of moss green. Tucked beneath it was a small, smooth stone that radiated gentle warmth and smelled faintly of herbs.

I glanced around, suddenly alert. The Archives were supposed to be empty at this hour.

"Hello?" I called, my voice barely above a whisper. "Is anyone here?"

Nothing. No footsteps on the stone floors, no rustling of robes. Just the soft crackle of the brazier and Ellie's quiet breathing against my chest.

As I stood there, uncertain, I caught a flicker of movement from behind a nearby row of shelves—just a shadow, really, there and gone so quickly I might have imagined it. But I didn't call out again. I just watched, waiting.

Nothing more.

I’d noticed other small changes before—scrolls organized before I'd touched them, books opened to useful pages. I'd assumed it was Edwin's thoughtfulness, or perhaps Fira's, though the dwarf would die before admitting to such sentiment.

"Well," I said softly to Ellie, "it seems we have someone watching over us." I touched the warm stone again, appreciating its gentle heat on such a damp morning.

I settled at my desk with Ellie still against me, needing to finish the transcription Edwin had assigned before he arrived. The work was detailed but satisfying—copying ancient texts onto fresh parchment, preserving words that might otherwise disappear into dust and time.

Later that morning, with Ellie dozing peacefully in her newly outfitted cradle, I made my way deeper into the Archives to retrieve a reference text Edwin had mentioned. The stacks stretched tall around me, shelves rising toward the vaulted ceiling, the scent of old parchment and leather bindings rich in the cool air. I'd grown to love these quiet corridors, the sense of knowledge waiting patiently to be discovered.

I turned down a narrow aisle lined with historical records of the northern territories, searching for the Lindell family crest among the spines. The Archives were organized by an elaborate system that I was still learning—region, then family, then chronology, with exceptions for magical texts or particularly rare volumes. It made finding specific works challenging, but there was a satisfying logic to it once understood.

I rounded a corner and stopped abruptly.

There, halfway beneath a low shelf, was a small figure whose arms were loaded with scrolls nearly as tall as she was. Silver-streaked hair was pulled back in a tight knot, and she had an ink-smudged shawl draped over narrow shoulders. Her posture reminded me of a startled animal, tense and ready to flee. But her hands never stopped moving, quick and sure, like someone who knew her work by heart.

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