Page 99 of Her Orc Protector

The Seal hadn’t touched me. His voice hadn’t warped my thoughts. Not this time. Because the bond was still there. Quiet, but steady. A thread of truth he couldn’t sever.

The carriage rolled on, passing through quiet streets toward the eastern gate of Everwood. Outside the small windows, I caught glimpses of the city I'd come to love—the proud buildings, the winding lanes, the play of moonlight on stone. How strange, to be leaving it this way, when just hours ago I'd been thinking of it as home.

"It's an elegant solution, don't you think?" Gavriel continued, oblivious to my inner turmoil. "We leave cleanly. No mess, no fuss. By the time anyone realizes you're gone, we'll be halfway to Riverbend."

The carriage slowed as we passed through the eastern gate, then lurched forward again as we crossed the threshold, leaving Everwood behind. The road under us shifted from smooth city stone to the uneven rhythm of outer paving stones, the wheels knocking in quiet, ceremonial finality. We were outside the city now.

I didn’t know where he was taking me.

But I knew who I’d left behind.

Ellie, warm in the cradle, her limbs loose with sleep. She smelled of milk and lavender, and when I’d tucked her in hours ago, I never imagined it might be the last time.

They would find her soon. They’d know something was wrong. They'd know I wouldn't just vanish. Not without her. Not like this.

I imagined Gruha waking with a grunt, pulling her robe tighter, and storming down the stairs. Leilan, whispering spells in her sleep. Dora—oh, Dora—with the confusion of an interrupted glamour and no memory of this evening except a vague, aching wrongness.

And Uldrek. My stubborn, loyal, maddening mate. Who never said the thing right the first time but always showed it in his hands. In the way he carried Ellie, as though she was shapedfrom starlight. In the way he looked at me like I was real. Like I was whole.

He’d think I left. After that fight. After everything we said. He'd think I walked away because the fire went still in our bond.

But it hadn’t. Not really. I felt it now, faint yet steady, like coals beneath the snow. Still warm. Still alive. And if he went looking for me—and he would—I needed that warmth to be waiting.

Because I had not been broken. I had not been claimed by that Seal, that man, that false kingdom he built on rules and power and control.

I had chosen.

And if staying in that house would have risked even one of them—even a hair on Ellie’s head, or Gruha’s calloused hand, or Leilan’s hard-earned peace—I would’ve walked into this carriage a hundred times.

So I sat in silence.

Not because he broke me.

But because love—real, maddening, terrifying love—is what let me close the door behind me.

Chapter 28

Eventually, the carriage slowed, pulling up to a building set back from the road. Through the window, I could make out a two-story structure—not grand enough to be a proper inn but too large to be a private home. Warm light spilled from a few windows on the ground floor.

"Ah, here we are," Gavriel said, leaning forward to look outside. "A place to rest for the night."

The carriage door opened, and Gavriel stepped out first, then offered his hand to help me down. I took it mechanically, allowing myself to be guided onto the packed dirt of a small courtyard.

Up close, the building revealed itself as a roadside waystation—the kind that catered to merchants or aristocrats who wanted privacy during their travels. No signboard hung above its door, just a simple lantern burning on a hook. A place that worked on discretion and coin rather than reputation.

"Come," Gavriel said, his hand settling on the small of my back, guiding me toward the entrance.

A man waited at the door—a wiry fellow with the tense expression of someone being paid very well to ask no questions. He gave a quick, deferential bow as we approached.

"Your accommodation is prepared, sir," he said, not quite meeting Gavriel's eyes. "As requested."

Gavriel nodded curtly. "We'll retire immediately. We're not to be disturbed until morning."

"Of course, sir." The man handed Gavriel a key, then stepped aside, allowing us to enter.

Inside was a sparse common room—a few tables and a small hearth, presently unlit. A staircase at the far end led to the upper floor. No other guests were visible.

We climbed the stairs in silence, his hand never leaving my back, a constant reminder of his presence. At the first door on the landing, he stopped and unlocked it, gesturing for me to enter first.

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