Page 42 of Bound By Blood
Lord Edran clears his throat. "Speaking practically, what would such an alliance entail? Beyond mutual defense, I mean."
Practical. Good. We can work with practical.
"Trade agreements. Shared patrol routes along the border. Coordinated response to raiders like the Ironmaw." I tick off possibilities on scarred fingers. "Cultural exchange. Learning opportunities for both peoples."
"Intermarriage?" Jazmin asks with studied casualness.
Eirian's fingers tighten around mine. Her pulse quickens beneath my thumb.
Intermarriage.The logical culmination of alliance, the binding that makes political agreement personal. Royal marriages have sealed treaties for centuries, but those were usually matters of state expediency between compatible cultures.
This would be different. Unprecedented. Human nobles marrying Orc chiefs, creating blood ties between peoples who've spent generations viewing each other as barely civilized enemies.
"Theoretically possible," I say slowly. "If both parties consent freely and the alliance proves stable."
Diplomatic non-answer. Grashak would approve.
But Eirian's eyes flash with something that might be disappointment or anger. She releases my hand, losing contact somehow more jarring than the earlier blade-wounds.
"Theoretically?" Her voice contains dangerous undertones. "Is that what this is? A theoretical exercise in diplomatic relations?"
Careful.Whatever I say next will echo through her family's evaluation of our bond, through my clan's understanding of my commitment, through every future negotiation.
Also, it matters to her. More than politics or strategy or clan advantage. It matters toher.
"Nothing about this is theoretical." I meet her storm-grey gaze directly, letting her see past the chieftain's mask to the man beneath. "I asked what I have that others don't. The answer is you. Your trust, your partnership, your choice to stand with me when standing apart would be easier."
The admission costs me, vulnerability always does, but her expression softens into something warmer than relief. Understanding, perhaps. Recognition of truth offered without calculation.
"Pretty words," Gorth says with gruff amusement. "But the lady asked about marriage, not partnership."
Gorth, you magnificent bastard.Trust my lieutenant to cut through diplomatic dancing and force the issue into the open.
Eirian turns to face me fully, water swirling around her waist as she moves. "Well? Is he right? Are we talking about partnership or something more binding?"
Binding.That word again, carrying weight beyond its simple meaning. Among Orcs, binding is permanent, sacred, witnessed by clan and ancestors alike. It's not entered into lightly or dissolved easily.
Marriageis the human equivalent, but marriage can be annulled, set aside, forgotten when politically convenient. Binding endures until death claims one or both parties.
"Binding," I say simply. "If you'll have me."
Her smile starts small and spreads like sunrise across her features. "Yes."
That's it?No negotiation, no conditions, no careful consideration of political ramifications? Justyes, offered with the same calm certainty she brings to her healing work.
Maybe that's what makes it real. The simplicity.
Lady Jazmin clears her throat delicately. "While I appreciate romantic spontaneity, perhaps we should discuss practical arrangements. Ceremonial requirements, property settlements, succession issues..."
"Later," Eirian says without taking her eyes off mine. "Right now, we celebrate survival and honor the dead. Politics can wait until tomorrow."
Wisdom again.But also instinct, the recognition that some moments demand acknowledgment before they disappear under practical necessity.
I reach for the flask, raise it in formal salute. "To the fallen. May their courage echo through eternity."
"To the fallen," the others echo, each taking the ritual drink.
"To new alliances," Lord Edran adds, surprising everyone, including himself.
