Page 64 of Bound By Blood
"You would bind yourself to an Orc chief before their altar?" The question carries more weight than mere curiosity. "Face their judgment, their scorn, their rejection?"
"I've already bound myself to you in ways they'll never understand." Her fingers find mine, intertwining with familiar warmth. "This would simply make that bond visible in terms they can't ignore."
Practical. Logical. And utterly terrifying.
Marriage under human law means accepting their customs, their definitions, their limitations on what love can be. It means standing before priests who view my people as demons, nobles who see alliance as betrayal, commoners who've been taught to fear Orc faces in children's tales.
But it also means protection for Eirian. Legal standing that shields her from charges of impropriety. Recognition that transforms rumored scandal into respected union.
And perhaps most importantly, it creates precedent.
If the daughter of House Thorne can marry an Orc chief under Church blessing, other alliances become possible. Trade agreements gain legitimacy. Cultural exchange shifts from dangerous experiment to accepted practice. The foundation stones of lasting peace.
"I accept," I tell her, watching relief flood her features. "But I have conditions."
Her eyebrows rise slightly, waiting.
"I will not abandon clan beliefs for human ceremony. This union adds to who I am, doesn't replace it." The words come slowly, each one carefully chosen. "Your Church may claim dominion over your soul, but mine remains bound by older oaths."
"Of course." She nods immediately. "I wouldn't ask you to betray your faith for mine."
"More than that." I step closer, close enough to catch her scent, to see the tiny silver threads that mark ancient wisdom in her chestnut hair. "If we marry under human law, you must also accept binding under clan law. Full ceremony in the Grove, surrounded by Stoneborn Elders, witnessed by the sacred stones themselves."
The request gives her pause. Her mind works through implications, understanding what I'm truly asking.
Clan binding means more than ceremony. It means acceptance into the tribe, permanent marking that declares her Stoneborn by choice rather than birth. It means participating in rituals that her Church would label heretical, speaking vows that invoke powers her people fear.
It means choosing our love over their approval in the most public way possible.
"Yes."
The word comes without hesitation, carrying conviction that makes my heart swell with pride. This woman, who could retreatto safety, instead chooses courage. Who could preserve her old life instead embraces transformation.
She understands. She truly understands what we're building together.
"Then we move forward." I lift her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to knuckles that bear new calluses from healing work among my people. "Two ceremonies. Two sets of vows. One love binding all worlds."
The next morning brings Lord Edran's grudging cooperation. The man clearly despises the necessity, but political reality outweighs personal preference. A Church wedding provides cover for his controversial alliance, transforms potential scandal into strategic marriage, gives his advisors justification for supporting Orc refugees.
Master Willem proves more difficult.
"This is blasphemy." The priest's voice echoes through the chapel as we discuss arrangements. "Sacred marriage reduced to political convenience, holy sacrament twisted to legitimize unnatural union."
"Nothing unnatural about love between two people who've proven their devotion through shared struggle." Eirian's response carries steel beneath silk, noble authority asserting itself against religious condemnation.
"Love?" Willem's laugh holds a bitter edge. "You mistake physical attraction for divine blessing, political expedience for sacred calling."
The man sees only what his prejudice allows.
I step forward, letting my full height cast a shadow across the altar. "Question my lady's motives again, priest, and discover how sacred your tongue remains."
Silence stretches between us. Willem's face pales, but his eyes hold fanatic gleam that speaks to a deeper danger. Thisman won't accept defeat gracefully. Even if forced to perform the ceremony, he'll seek ways to undermine what we're building.
Another enemy to watch. Another threat to consider.
But Lord Edran intervenes before tension can escalate further.
"The ceremony will proceed as discussed," he declares with an authority that brooks no argument. "Simple service, minimal attendance, Church law satisfied according to proper forms."
