Page 105 of That’s My Orc, Tusk Off

“This should be enough, though I’ll still observe you today,” the scribe said, closing his ledger, putting his pen in the pocket of his robe. “I’ll be leaving Bramble Creek tonight and will return to the kingdom tomorrow. The Council will think about this deeply. You’ll have an answer within the turning of one moon.”

“A month?” The words burst out. “We have to wait a month?”

“The Council does not rush choices about lineage and bonding.”

“Will Traig’s parents be part of the decision?” I asked.

The scribe stood, tucking the ledger under his arm. “The House of Valtresh initiated the inquiry. They will be consulted.”

Traig’s face went carefully blank, the same expression he wore when he was reorganizing supply rooms at two in the morning because his feelings were too big to name.

Everything we’d done might not matter. His parents may have already decided he’d failed. The scribe’s report might be words on paper that wouldn’t change anything.

But we couldn’t say that or accuse the Council of already knowing their answer.

So we nodded and thanked him and watched him gather his things.

“I’ll see you both at the facility soon, I assume,” he said at the door. He left, his footsteps fading outside. His truck roared to life, and he drove toward the rescue operation.

We still sat in Traig’s kitchen.

“A month,” I said.

Traig’s jaw worked. “Yes.”

“And your parents get to weigh in.”

“Yes.”

I turned to face him. “You need to explain some more about why you read my notebook. It’s just us here. No scribe to write things down and judge you.”

His jaw worked before he answered. “I saw it on the table after you fell asleep.”

“You could’ve waited. Asked me in the morning.”

“I could have.” He met my eyes. “But I was afraid of what you’d say if I asked. Whether you’d tell me it was all for show.”

The vulnerability in his admission made my chest crack open.

“How much did you read?” I asked, softer now.

“Only a few lines, but enough to know you’ve been thinking about me too.” He scraped his tusks across his lip. “You wrote about the coffee. The cookies. How I trusted you about the bloombacks.”

Heat crept up my neck. “Those were private thoughts.”

“They were.” He didn’t look away. “And I shouldn’t have read them without permission. But Willa—” His voice dropped. “I needed to know if you were only here because I needed you, or if you wanted to be here. I don’t want this to feel forced for either of us.”

My throat pulled tight. He’d given me pretty much the same answer in front of the scribe, but framed differently.

“And now you know,” I said.

“Now I know you’ve been falling too,” he said, it like he still couldn’t quite believe it. “But I took that from you instead of letting you give it.”

His shoulders curled forward.

“I violated your trust,” he said. “I read something private. Without asking. Without permission.”

I’d been so caught up in what he’d found that I hadn’t let myself feel what he’d done.