Page 28 of The Passionate Orc
At the altar stood both officiants: Elder Grommash from Nar's clan, his weathered green skin and ceremonial battle scars making him look fierce despite the smile on his face, and Reverend Coleman from my parents' church, who'd known me since I was a child.
Nar took my hands in his. His were massive compared to mine, calloused from warrior training but gentle as they always were when he touched me.
"You're beautiful," he rumbled quietly, for my ears only. "My artist."
"And you clean up nice, warrior," I whispered back. His formal clan attire, a combination of leather, metal, and deep red fabric—made him look even more imposing than usual, but I could see the softness in his brown eyes, the vulnerability that he showed only to me.
The ceremony was a beautiful blend of both traditions. Elder Grommash spoke of strength through union, while Reverend Coleman talked about love and commitment. We exchanged rings, mine a delicate band with small diamonds, his a sturdy metal band engraved with both orc runes and human writing.
"By the power of the Red Blade Clan," Grommash intoned.
"And by the power vested in me," added Reverend Coleman.
"We pronounce you husband and wife," they finished together.
Nar gently cupped my face in his hands as if I were a delicate crystal glass and kissed me with such tenderness that it made my heart ache. The cheers from both sides of the audience blended together—human whistles and orc war cries creating a symphony of celebration.
As we broke apart, I noticed the sky had darkened considerably. Our wedding planner was frantically signaling to the staff, who were quickly ushering people toward the giant reception tent.
"Looks like we're in for a storm," Nar said, looking up. "Good thing we planned for this."
The first fat raindrop hit my nose just as we made it to the tent.
The wedding planner transformed the space inside into a magical wonderland. The ceiling twinkled with fairy lights; they arranged wildflowers in mismatched vintage vases as table decorations, and Nar added a small replica of one of his paintings to each centerpiece after he finally shared his art.
"Not bad for a backup plan," I said, squeezing Nar's hand.
"Our planner deserves a raise," he agreed.
TheCluckin' Goodcatering team, Nar's absolute favorite fried chicken place—was setting up their stations. We'd decided against a formal seated dinner, opting instead for food stations where people could mingle and try different things. The choice had raised some eyebrows among my more traditional relatives, but when they saw the spread from gourmet fried chicken to fancy canapés they quickly came around.
My new husband (husband!) leaned down to whisper in my ear. "My clan elders are already on their third plate of spicy chicken wings. I think we've won them over."
Rain drummed on the tent roof as we cut the cake—a three-tiered creation with one layer of orc blood orange cake (not actual blood, despite what my younger cousins believed) andtwo layers of human vanilla-raspberry. As tradition dictated, Nar fed me a bite gently, and I did the same for him before playfully smearing frosting on his nose.
His clan roared with approval. Apparently, food fights were a sign of a blessed marriage in orc culture. Who knew?
The DJ announced our first dance just as lightning flashed outside, followed by a boom of thunder so loud it made some guests jump. Nar led me to the center of the dance floor, one hand at my waist, the other holding mine.
"Ready, Mrs. Humperdink?" he grinned, showing his tusks in that way that never failed to make my heart skip.
"Lead the way, Mr. Humperdink," I replied, still getting used to my new last name.
We'd chosen a song that meant something to both of us—one we'd danced to in my tiny apartment the night he'd first shown me his paintings. As Nar spun me around the floor (he was surprisingly graceful for someone so large), I noticed something dripping from the tent ceiling.
"Um, Nar..." I began, just as a fat droplet of water landed squarely on his forehead.
He blinked in surprise, then looked up. Several places in the tent were now leaking, creating a polka-dot pattern of wet spots on the dance floor.
The wedding planner looked like she might faint. My mother was already reaching for her emergency sewing kit (as if she could sew up rain), and several of Nar's clan members were scanning the ceiling as if they might battle the water itself.
Instead of panicking, Nar did something unexpected. He laughed—a deep, full-bellied laugh that seemed to shake the tent itself—then spun me through one of the dripping spots, making me squeal as cold water hit my bare shoulder.
"Dance in the rain with me, Emryn," he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
And so we did. Soon other couples joined us, dancing between (or sometimes directly under) the leaking spots. Someone, I suspect it was my cousin Michael, started a game of "dodge the drip," which had everyone laughing hysterically. Nar's clan members got into it too, turning it into a contest of agility that had everyone cheering.
What should have been a disaster turned into one of the most joyful moments of the day.
