Page 68 of Orc's Bride

Zoraya bears my weight without complaint, her arms around my waist as she helps me remain upright. The position brings us close enough that I can smell herbs and fabric and the sweet scent of her skin beneath the smoke of battle.

“Easy,” she murmurs, voice steady despite the tears I can see threatening in her eyes. “I’ve got you. We did it. The fortress stands.”

“We did it,” I agree, letting my head rest against hers for just a moment. Letting myself be vulnerable in a way I’ve never allowed before, supported by the woman who has become necessary to my existence.

Around us, Ironhold celebrates victory with the kind of joy that comes from surviving the impossible. Warriors embrace,civilians emerge from hiding, and the great bells begin to ring with triumph instead of warning.

But none of that matters as much as this moment. This quiet space between heartbeats where Zoraya and I acknowledge what we’ve built together, what we’ve protected, what we’ve claimed for ourselves.

The war is over. The fortress stands. The future stretches before us, uncertain but full of possibility.

And for the first time in my life, I have another person to share it with who chose me not for what I represent, but for who I am beneath all the armor and authority.

Victory tastes even sweeter when shared.

SIXTEEN

ZORAYA

Morning sunlight slants across Ironhold Fortress, gilding ash and blood with deceptive beauty. The field below the walls is strewn with broken siege engines and the corpses of Oryx’s army. The stench of death mingles with smoke, creating a bitter perfume of victory bought with blood.

I kneel beside Vlorn in the main courtyard, wrapping clean linen around his ribs. The bandages stain pink where blood seeps through, but the flow has slowed.

“Stop frowning,” he murmurs, his eyes closed. “I can feel you worrying.”

“I’m not worrying,” I lie, tying off the bandage with perhaps more force than necessary. “I’m calculating how long it takes you to heal if you insist on being stubborn.”

“And?”

“Too long.” I press my palm against his forehead, checking for fever. “You need at least a week of bed rest.”

He opens his golden eyes, fixing on mine with amusement. With my help, he rises to his feet, favoring his injured ribs but standing tall enough to project the strength his people need to see.

“Status report,” he orders, his voice hoarse from shouting.

Captain Korvin steps forward, his bearing military-straight despite new wounds. “Outer walls secure, my lord. No enemy forces remain. The banner’s protection saved hundreds of lives.”

Vlorn nods curtly. He stays close to me, our shoulders almost touching as we stand together. We are no longer hiding behind careful distance. We work as partners now; the distance we once maintained was burned away by crisis and choice.

Together, we climb the long stairs to Wolf Hall. I carry the completed battle standard, the silver threads still glowing faintly with protective power. The survivors gather, their faces showing the strain of combat but also hope.

Vlorn turns to face the assembled warriors, his presence filling the space despite his injuries. When he speaks, his voice rolls across the stone like thunder.

“She was no price,” he declares. “She is no captive. She is Ironhold’s strength, my chosen mate, and future war-mistress of this fortress.”

“I choose him too,” I declare, letting my gaze sweep across every face in the hall. “Not because chains bound me—but because we bled, built, and stood together.”

I plant the restored battle standard beside us. The moment the staff touches stone, silver light flares from the fabric. The magic recognizes our bond, sealing it with power that flows into the foundations of the fortress.

We escape to our shared sanctuary. Vlorn closes the door and exhales, the mask of command slipping away. He reaches for me, his fingers reverent.

“Zoraya,” he whispers. “You didn’t just save this fortress—you saved me.”

We lie tangled in the firelight for long minutes, breathing as one while the world reassembles itself around us. His arms surround me, creating a circle of safety.

“Fire and iron,” he whispers against my ear. “You and I.”

“Fire and iron,” I agree, leaning into his strength with total trust.