Page 86 of That’s My Orc, Tusk Off

Traig’s hand tightened around mine.

“Of course,” I said, my voice smooth despite the screaming in my head. “We’d be happy to have you at our home.”

The scribe closed his ledger. “I’ll return here at six this evening and follow you to your home.”

He stood, tucked the ledger under his arm, and strode to the door, where he paused, one hand on the frame.

“One more question,” he said, not turning around. “What is it about her that you couldn’t live without, Traig?”

“The way she sees me,” Traig said in a hoarse voice. “Not what I do or what I’m useful for. Just me. She counts good things, and I’m on the list.”

The scribe left without another word, the door shutting behind him.

My hand was still in Traig’s, and I couldn’t remember when that had happened. I’d reached for him or he’d reached for me.

We’d just told a scribe from the Ancestral Council that we were mated. That I was his, and he was mine.

My ribs ached with holding it all in.

We turned toward each other.

“What did you just⁠—”

“I couldn’t let them⁠—”

“We don’t live together.”

“I know that.” My voice cracked. “You’re not mad I jumped in, are you?”

He searched my face. “No. No, I’m not.” He pulled out his tablet, his fingertip moving across the screen. “The scribe will be back in—” He stopped. “Two hours.”

“That’s not much time.”

We stared at each other.

“I don’t think my apartment will work,” I said. “It’ll be clear right away that an orc has never lived there.”

“I have a cottage,” he said.

“Then we’ll move enough of my things into your home to convince the scribe that we live together.”

“You’d do that? Move your belongings to my home? Pretend we’re⁠—”

“Mated. Yes. That’s what I said we were.” I held his gaze. “Unless you’d prefer I tell the truth and you go back to the kingdom.”

“No. I’m not going back.”

“Then we have two hours to make your cottage look like both of us live there.”

We left his office and found the others in the break room.

Brovish looked up from where he sat with Laina, Sofia perched on his shoulder. Drogar leaned against the counter, a mug in his hand. And Greth stood near the window, silent as always.

They turned when we walked in.

“The scribe is coming back tonight to observe our household,” Traig said.

Drogar’s grin spread wide, his gaze sweeping between me and Traig. “Your household?”