Page 16 of Owned By the Orc Warlord
Whatever happens in tonight's battle, we'll face it as one.
7
ZAHRA
The pre-dawn air bites at my exposed skin as I sit alone on the stone outcropping overlooking the settlement, my mind churning with thoughts that refuse to settle. The claiming ceremony from hours ago plays on repeat in my memory, each word Rogar spoke echoing with implications I'm still struggling to process.
I claim Zahra as mine—not as property, but as partner.
The words should feel like liberation. Instead, they sit in my chest like stones, heavy with obligations I never asked for and barely understand. When I accepted his claiming before the assembled warriors, it felt like the only path forward—a way to legitimize my position after defeating Karg, to transform outsider status into recognized membership.
But now, in the quiet moments before whatever violence dawn might bring, I'm forced to confront what I've actually agreed to.
"Brooding already?" Khela's voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts as she approaches with two steaming bowls of kaffo. Her scarred features bear the satisfied exhaustion of someone who's spent the night preparing for battle.
"Processing," I correct, accepting the bitter drink gratefully. The warmth helps chase away some of the chill that has nothing to do with temperature.
"Regrets about the claiming?" she asks bluntly, settling beside me with the casual ease of someone who's learned to read emotional subtext through years of warrior partnerships.
The question hits me like a kick to the gut, forcing me to examine feelings I've been trying to avoid. "I don't know," I admit, the honesty scraping from my throat like ground glass. "It happened so fast, in the heat of proving myself. One moment I was fighting for basic acceptance, the next I was bound to someone in ways I don't fully understand."
"Cold feet are normal," Khela observes. "Claiming bonds carry weight that most people don't grasp until after the words are spoken."
"Tell me about the weight." The request emerges rougher than intended, colored by growing panic as I realize how little I understood before accepting Rogar's formal declaration.
"Legal weight, for starters. You're now recognized as his equal under clan law—not property, not dependent, but genuine partner with rights and responsibilities that mirror his own." She studies my face with the analytical gaze I've learned to recognize as her way of assessing emotional states. "Social weight too. Other clans will treat you as extension of Stormfang authority, which means your actions reflect on his leadership and vice versa."
Each explanation tightens the knot of anxiety in my chest. I'd thought the claiming was simply protection—a way to secure my position within the clan hierarchy. I hadn't considered how completely it would bind my fate to someone else's, how thoroughly it would transform my independence into interdependence.
"And personal weight?" I ask, though I'm not sure I want to hear the answer.
"That depends on what you both make of it. Some claiming bonds become partnerships of convenience, others evolve into genuine love matches. But either way, you're tied to each other until death dissolves the connection."
Until death. The finality of it makes my hands shake around the warm bowl. I've spent years learning that survival depends on maintaining options, keeping escape routes open, never becoming so dependent on others that their loss would destroy me.
Now I've voluntarily bound myself to someone whose death would leave me legally and emotionally devastated.
"I think I made a mistake," I whisper, voicing the fear that's been growing since the ceremony concluded.
"Did you?" Khela's tone carries challenge rather than sympathy. "Or are you letting old fears convince you that connection equals weakness?"
"Connection does equal weakness when the people you care about become targets for your enemies."
"And isolation equals death when threats require coordinated response." She shifts position to study my profile more directly. "You defeated Karg in single combat, proved your tactical worth to skeptical warriors, and gained recognition that months of patient service couldn't have achieved. All because Rogar's claiming gave you the authority to demand that combat in the first place."
The observation forces me to examine the claiming from a different perspective. Without the formal bonds Rogar offered, would the warriors have accepted my challenge to Karg? Would my victory have carried the same weight, or would it have been dismissed as lucky fluke rather than proof of competence?
"So I should be grateful?" The question carries more bitterness than I intend.
"You should be realistic about what your alternatives were." Khela's voice grows harder, carrying the edge of someone who's survived similar circumstances through pragmatic rather than idealistic choices. "Unclaimed human female in clan territory, valuable for tactical knowledge but expendable when circumstances demand sacrifice. Claimed mate of the chieftain, legally protected and politically significant."
The brutal assessment cuts through my emotional confusion to reveal the tactical realities I've been avoiding. My value as unattached advisor would always be conditional, subject to changing circumstances and political pressures. The claiming transforms me from useful asset into essential partner whose welfare becomes central to clan leadership calculations.
"But what if I can't be what he needs?" The question emerges from vulnerabilities I rarely allow myself to acknowledge. "What if this partnership fails because I don't know how to trust someone completely?"
"Then you learn." Khela's smile holds edges that speak of hard-won wisdom. "Trust isn't something you either possess or lack—it's something you build through shared experience and mutual reliability."
Before I can respond, the sound of movement draws our attention toward the settlement's eastern approach. Warriors emerge from concealment with weapons drawn, their postures speaking of immediate threat rather than routine patrol activity.
