Page 8 of Her Orc Protector

Ellie started to fuss, making those little sounds that meant she was hungry. I found a quiet corner near the bakery, its wall still warm from the day's ovens. While I settled to feed her, Leilan disappeared briefly and returned with something wrapped in wax paper.

"Honey cake," she said, breaking off a corner. "They're best when they're still warm."

The sweetness bloomed across my tongue—not the refined sugar of court desserts, but something earthier. Wild honey and oats, maybe a hint of nutmeg. I broke off a tiny piece and touched it to Ellie's lips. She blinked at the taste, then grabbed for more with surprising determination.

"She knows what's good," Leilan said, laughing. "Smart girl."

I wiped a crumb from Ellie's chin. "Too smart sometimes. She watches everything."

"Like her mother."

I stilled. But there was no edge to Leilan's words, no hidden barb. Just that same gentle observation she brought to everything.

The market lamps were being lit one by one, magic catching in glass globes like captured stars. A street musician had set up near the fountain, playing something slow and sweet on pipes that gleamed copper in the falling dark. For just a moment, I let myself believe in ordinary things. In markets and music. In the way Ellie's hand curled against my chest, trusting and warm. In friends who bought honey cakes just because.

A gust of wind stirred the scent of roasting meat and ash, tugging at the hem of my coat. I pulled it closer around us. Ellie was still nursing, her small hand curled around the edge of my collar, half-asleep again.

Leilan nudged my arm with her elbow, subtle. “They’ve got juniper soap over there. And wild mint.” She pointed to a stall, its shelves stacked in neat rows. “Want to try it?”

I hesitated. I had enough soap, barely. But that wasn’t why I paused. Something itched at the base of my skull. A low thrum of awareness I couldn’t quite place. I looked over my shoulder.

Nothing. Just the swell of people moving through the square, laughter rising in pockets, the clink of coin and the call of vendors. A dog barking near the baker’s cart. A child whining over a lost sweet.

I shook it off. “Maybe next time,” I murmured.

Leilan nodded and didn’t press. We gathered our things, Ellie now snug and dozing again in the plum sling, her breath steady against my chest. I reached to tighten the knot across my shoulder.

That’s when the voice came.

“Mrs. Duskryn.”

It felt like someone had stepped on my chest.

I didn’t turn right away. The name hung there, sharp and cold, cutting through the warm weave of evening noise like a wire pulled too tight. Duskryn. My married name.

“Mrs. Isolde Duskryn,” the voice said again, warmer this time, confident in its familiarity. “Don’t be shy.”

I looked.

He stood just behind a spice stall’s flapping canvas, the hem of his dark robes dusty from travel, but the golden embroidery clear enough. The clasp at his throat bore the twofold flame insignia: Order of Renewal. Not high-ranked, not political. A courier, maybe, or a tracker.

“Mr. Duskryn has been looking for you,” the man said. “Both of you.” His gaze slipped to Ellie, sleeping against my chest.

I stepped back instinctively. Leilan shifted beside me, her basket swinging slightly as she turned.

“You’re mistaken,” I managed, my voice too steady to be honest. “I filed my separation with the Hearth Office. I’m under protection.”

The man’s smile didn’t change. “You know protections like that don’t extend beyond city limits. And they certainly don’t outweigh a bond sealed by council and blood.” He moved forward slowly, like a herder drawing a gate closed.

“I’ve done everything I’m supposed to,” I said. “You have no right to touch me.”

He leaned in, his smile sharpening. “The Order answers to Elandiel’s High Seat, not border cities with bleeding hearts.”

His hand shot out, gripping my forearm, dragging me forward.

Leilan grabbed my other arm. "Let her go."

"How dare you—" he started, but his words cut off as shadows shifted behind him.

---