Page 72 of Her Orc Protector

"I didn't know this counted as combat," I teased gently, my voice hoarse.

He chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “The most noble of all battles.”

I laid my head against his shoulder, letting his warmth soak into me. The world narrowed to the creak of floorboards settling in the rafters, the soft rustle of the cotton coverlet as he pulled it over us, and the distant murmur of wind moving through branches just outside the window.

We were drifting toward sleep when it happened.

A flicker of silver light, barely brighter than moonshine, caught my eye. One of Hobbie's protective charms—tucked into the window frame—had sparked to life for just a moment.

Uldrek noticed, too. He sat up, muscles tensing as he watched the window. The charm remained dark now, innocuous against the weathered wood. But the air in the room felt different—hushed, as if holding its breath.

Nothing followed. No further flares, no disturbance. Just that single warning pulse, like a ripple across still water.

After a long moment, Uldrek settled back down beside me, drawing me closer against his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath my ear, but I could feel the slight change in his breathing—the warrior's instinct that never quite slept.

"We still have time," I whispered into the darkness.

His arms tightened around me. "Then we won't waste it."

Chapter 20

The sun hung low as I walked the riverside path, my shawl slung over one arm, ink-stained hands still marked despite a thorough scrubbing at the Archives' basin. The air was warm against my face, carrying the scent of jasmine from cottage gardens and the earthy smell of the river.

My steps slowed as our cottage came into view—still a strange thought, that something was ours—its weathered stone glowing golden in the fading light.

From the back garden came the low rumble of Uldrek's voice, not quite loud enough for me to make out the words. He sounded exasperated, which meant he was either talking to the weeds or to himself. Probably both.

I followed the worn dirt path around the side of the house, pausing when I saw them. Uldrek knelt in the tangle of herbs, sleeves rolled up past his elbows, large hands carefully working at the base of some stubborn plant. His back was to me,shoulders flexing beneath his shirt as he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a threat.

And there, beneath the crooked apple tree, Ellie sat on her blanket, hat askew, intently gumming her wooden rattle. Her face brightened when she saw me, and she waved the soggy toy with a squeal.

Uldrek turned at the sound. "Finally," he said, wiping his brow with the back of his wrist. "Your daughter's been judging my gardening skills for the last hour."

"Better her than me," I said, smiling as I crossed to him. "What are you fighting with today?"

He gestured at the tangled mess before him. "Mint. It's choking everything else."

I crouched beside him, examining the twisted mass of stems and runners. "You're losing this battle."

"I am not," he growled, pulling at another stubborn root. "It's a tactical retreat."

"Of course." I reached over and plucked a sprig of mint, crushing it between my fingers. The sharp, clean scent filled the air between us. "We could dry some for tea."

He gave up on the root he was wrestling with and sat back on his heels, looking at me properly for the first time since I'd arrived. His gaze traveled over my face and lingered on my ink-stained fingers. "Good day?"

"Busy. Edwin has me cataloging the council minutes from last season. Not exactly thrilling, but—" I shrugged. "It's steady."

Uldrek nodded, understanding what I didn't say. The stability of it. The normalcy. He brushed a strand of hair from my face, his touch lingering a moment longer than casual. "You've got ink here too," he said, thumb grazing my cheekbone.

"I'm hopeless," I sighed, leaning into his touch for a brief moment before pulling back. "I'll wash up before dinner."

"No rush." He watched me, something warm and private in his eyes that made heat rise in my chest.

Eight days had passed since I filed the petition against Gavriel. Eight days of quiet, ordinary life in our little cottage. Every morning, I'd braced myself—for a letter, a courier, a figure at the edge of the street. Every night, I'd lain awake listening for footsteps that never came.

But there had been nothing. Just quiet. Just… this.

I hadn't let myself believe in this fragile peace we'd built. I'd held myself apart from it, waiting for the break. But somehow, despite my caution, it had begun to settle into me—into my bones, my breath, the way I moved through each day.

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