My father is protective and rightly so. The males of our clan are cutthroat. Vicious. They’re wary of my father, who spends a third of his time with the West Mountain orcs. Our clan isn’t quite sure of the relationship there, but after a war between us and West Mountain that took out two-thirds of the population years before I was born, they don’t want to attempt another conflict. Not with Brachard in charge.
And King Brachard has made it clear that I’m a bonus goddaughter to him, no matter my clan. I think when I became a teenager, some males started to look at me with a glimmer of interest which was quickly dispelled by my father’s scowls. He became more violent, coming home bruised from battles. Bruised from hunting. Bruised from any activity. Despite his protests, I knew he was challenging males who dared to look my way.
I knew his plan when he mentioned giving me a haircut. Said my hair would grow thicker and faster. Like pruning herbs, he said. He cut it while braided, which left it lopsided. The more he tried to prune it, the worse it became. I assured him that I loved the freedom of short hair. I did. It kept my father from fighting. Shortly after that, he made sure I spent every summer at Solaya with the West Mountain orcs instead of just a month or two. Winters in our village weren’t so bad. They were cold and we all bundled up. You couldn’t tell males from females in the winter. And I never stayed home alone. I always hunted alongside him.
“Negan, my love,” Rosemary says, moving from congratulating Hisa and Shalia to me. “How beautiful you look! I swear that Joanna is magical with her sewing machine.”
I stand a little taller, looking down at my fanciful skirts. “Isn’t she?”
“Rosemary,” my father says, his eyes narrowed into slits. “’Tis a shame Shalia won’t be staying the summer with you. Not now that she’s mated, aye?”
“It seems she’ll want her handsome mate over her old aunt,” Rosemary agrees.
“Mayhap Negan can keep you company for a few weeks instead,” he says.
“Papa?” I ask, confused. He’s never made any mention of it.
“Help you out in the store.” He waves his arm around. “Sew. Whatever it is you females do.”
“I’d love that,” Rosemary says softly, looking at me expectantly as if she wants to hear my choice.
Then I realize what my father’s doing. Rosemary probably feels guilty that Shalia was taken from here. Probably feels like somehow it’s her fault that something bad happened on her watch and this is his way of letting her know she’s still trusted by orcs as well as humans.
“I’d like to,” I say, but turn to my father. “But what will you do?”
“Mayhap help out in Solaya. They have cabins to build for all the new couples.”
“Aye,” calls out Brachard. “And a new, secret project.” Then blurts out what it is. “A plumbing system. Like the hotel.”
Everyone looks suitably impressed, but I don’t say what I think. My father is excited to see Mont Grove, the real West Mountain orc headquarters. A location where they live during the winters. ‘Tis a great honor for an outsider to see it and such an honor that my father won’t be able to reveal to anyone but me that he’s been there.
Would totally be possible for others to torture him for the whereabouts of the headquarters.
“I’ll keep ye safe,” Rosemary whispers. “This I promise, dear Negan. See, I’ve hired a guard a few weeks ago. I’m sure he’ll promise to stay on a few more weeks to make sure my precious niece is safe.”
She turns to point out a Southpeak orc in the crowd, who nods, and makes his way over, his gaze never leaving mine. His eyes are dark pools of ink and for the briefest moment, excitement squirms in my belly. He seems familiar. I’m not sure why; I’ve never seen this orc in my life.
Then it dawns on me. He has the same eyes as Varguk, the one Bakog just introduced me to. The giddiness inside me dissipates.
“Aye, milady. I shall guard your beautiful niece with my life,” the Southpeak says. He reaches for my hand, bowing as if he’d like to kiss it. I stiffen, wanting to pull it away, to protest, because there’s something about this male that prickles my unease. I’m not sure how to do that with Rosemary looking so pleased with herself.
“He’s not to be trusted,” Varguk hisses loudly, and everyone freezes. Varguk turns to look directly at Bakog. “You asked if family members could be trusted to turn in their own if one of your females was in danger, correct? Back when you were looking for your mate’s abductors?”
“Are you calling yourself my brother? Because your mother wasn’t a Southpeak queen. She was a river rat who seduced a king,” the stranger snarls.
Brothers, then.
“A king who slept between her thighs.” Varguk shrugs but just the fact that he’s uncaring about his parentage tells me how much it must hurt. It hurts in the line of his shoulders, built to enormous proportions to protect himself from scathing words. The enormous chest, built to enormous proportions to protect his heart.
There’s no denying what the brother meant. The similarities between him and the other are apparent. The king created both sons and mayhap one son was from a queen, and the other? Was not.
“A king who will cast aside his mistake when he realizes you aren’t fit to rule. Because right now, I earned the job of guarding a fair maiden”—he leans in to whisper— “the princess who straddles two powerful clans. Blackheart and West Mountain.” His eyes cut to me andI fight a shiver that spears down my spine. How can eyes so beautiful look so cruel?
“You’ll stay away from her,” Varguk says. “After all, the West Mountain orcs owe me a boon. Don’t you, Prince Bakog?” he says loudly enough for Bakog to look our way.
A boon? Me? For a second, silence follows his words while it sinks in. Bakog offered me as a boon? There would only be one reason for him to do so and she’s standing next to him, newly mated. One of my best friends—he would have wanted to find his mate during the time she was kidnapped.
No one doubts Varguk’s words.
