Page 67 of That’s My Orc, Tusk Off

Your relocation occurred two years, ten months, and fourteen days ago.

No record of your mating bond has been filed with the Council.

The House of Valtresh reserves the right to reclaim any unbonded orcling for arranged mating within the kingdom. An Ancestral Scribe will arrive at your location in four days’ time to conduct a formal assessment.

Failure to demonstrate a mating bond will require your immediate return to kingdom jurisdiction for an arranged mating of your parents’ choice.

By order of the Council,

Scribe Kelthren of the Third Registry

Fred floated through the window I’d left open and bumped into the wall before settling on the back of the empty chair.

Amanda rode on his head, her crown dim.

Fred grumbled.

“I don’t need company,” I told them.

Fred grumbled louder and flew, bumping my shoulder.

I reached up and steadied him with one hand. His fur was warm. His grumble vibrated against my palm.

“Alright,” I said. “Stay.”

I read the letter again, but the words blurred.

Demonstrate Domestic Excellence.

That was what they’d reduced it to. Not “have you built something that matters” or “are you happy.” Just: prove you’ve acquired a mate according to our specifications.

Four days.

I pulled my tablet closer and opened a new document.

Assessment Requirements, I typed. Then stared at the blank space below.

I had no idea what to write. The thing they were measuring didn’t exist yet.

I stood and walked to the window, but there was nothing to see except my own reflection in the glass. A seven-foot orc staring at a piece of paper like it could unwrite itself.

I’d had years here, and I’d spent them color-coding intake forms and arguing about filing systems rather than making an effort to find a mate for a law I was unaware of.

No. That wasn’t fair.

I’d spent the time building something that mattered. Bonding with my true-heart brothers. Learning how surface-world systems worked so I could make this life work.

I hadn’t spent that time thinking about what my family might eventually require of me.

None of it counted.

The Ancestral Council didn’t care about the rescue league or the creatures we saved or the fact that I’d finally found a place where I belonged. They cared about one thing: whether I’d secured a mate.

If I couldn’t prove it, they’d force me to return to the kingdom, and I’d be paired with someone from a suitable family, approved by my parents and the Council. My new mate would look at me the same way my parents did and find me adequate at best.

I’d lose everything I’d built here.

Willa.