Page 90 of Her Orc Protector

Last night, we had come together in hunger and need, our bodies finding the connection that our words couldn't. But afterward, the barrier remained—unspoken, intangible, but present. I had spent the day wondering, worrying, replaying our conversations. Searching for the moment when things had shifted.

But now, watching him sharpen that blade with such steady focus, I felt hope rise. Perhaps the strangeness had passed. Perhaps we would find our way back to solid ground.

I took a step forward, then stopped as a familiar voice called my name.

"Issy! Wait up!"

Leilan was hurrying down the street from the opposite direction, a basket over one arm and a bright smile on her face. Her silver braid swung with each quick step, and I could see the blue stains on her fingertips even from a distance.

"I was hoping I'd catch you," she said, slightly breathless as she reached me. "I wanted to show you the new indigo dye."

"It worked?" I asked, genuinely pleased. She'd been experimenting all week.

She grinned, pushing back her sleeve to reveal a patch of fabric wrapped around her wrist. The blue was deep and vibrant, almost glowing in the evening light.

"Mad Millicent says it's the best she's seen in years." Leilan's voice bubbled with pride. "She's letting me mix all the specialty dyes now, not just the basic ones. Says I've got the touch for it."

"That's wonderful," I said. "Your hard work is paying off."

"It is, isn't it?" She bounced slightly on her toes. "And she hinted that if things keep going well, I might be able to take over the dye shop when she retires. Years from now, of course, but still!"

I smiled at her enthusiasm. "You'd be brilliant at it."

Leilan's expression softened then, her eyes taking on that perceptive look that sometimes made me forget how young she was. "Look at us," she said, "finding our places. When I think about how we both arrived here..."

She shook her head, and we fell into step together, our pace unhurried as we grew nearer to my cottage.

Leilan glanced toward Uldrek. I did, too, something warm stirring again in my chest at the sight of him—solid, focused, quietly present.

"You've come so far, Issy," Leilan said gently. "Not just surviving anymore. Living." She shifted her basket to her other arm. "You don't need protecting anymore."

I studied the man who had stepped between me and danger so many times. Who had offered his name, his mark, his strength when I had nothing but fear and a baby in my arms.

And suddenly, it was clear—a truth that had been forming slowly, without my noticing. She was right. The constant terrorthat had driven me to Everwood, that had made me clutch at any offer of safety... it had eased. I had found my footing. Found my strength.

I didn't need his protection anymore. But I wanted him. Wanted the life we'd begun building. Not out of desperation or necessity but choice.

"No," I said quietly, the certainty of it settling into my bones. "I don't."

As the words left my lips, I saw Uldrek's hands go still, the whetstone motionless against the blade. His shoulders tensed slightly, head lifting. Our eyes met across, his expression unreadable in the fading light.

Then he looked down again, resuming his work with a deliberate focus that seemed different than before. More rigid. Less natural.

A small frown tugged at my mouth, but I dismissed the concern. He was probably just concentrating on a difficult spot on the blade.

"I should go," Leilan said, squeezing my arm gently. "These dyes need to be mixed before they set too long."

I nodded, returning her quick hug. With a final wave, she turned and hurried down the street, basket swinging at her side.

The last of the daylight clung to the edges of things as I walked the remaining distance to our cottage. Uldrek stood as I neared, tucking the dagger into his belt. His face was composed, but something in his eyes seemed distant.

"How was your day?" I asked, coming to a stop at the foot of the steps.

His expression didn't change. "Fine," he said, the word short but not quite sharp. "Yours?"

“Fine.”

I climbed the steps, studying his face, searching for some clue. He stepped aside, holding the door for me with rigid courtesy. IfI had passed him on the street, I might have thought him merely reserved. But this was Uldrek—my Uldrek—who had traced patterns on my skin in the dark, whose laughter I knew by heart.

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