Page 42 of Wed to the Orc Captive

“Goddess, if she’d shown up and died⁠—"

“She didn’t die.”

The young one spoke up. “Do you want soup or anything? You could sleep. I could wake you when he’s lucid.”

“No,” she said stiffly. “There’s no way I could sleep.”

Another voice joined them, a woman murmuring in Orcish, and their tongue changed. And I was more tired than their sorceress was. Even in a black cave, in an unfamiliar bed, with voices beyond a curtain, I slept, and I only woke when he did.

TRUTHS

Ididn’t realize I’d been waiting for his voice, that drifting in and out of consciousness some part of me still combed the sounds of this foreign place for him. But then I was awake like I’d been doused with ice, sitting up in this backroom, and from beyond the curtain I heard

“Oh, you were worried? It would take more than this to kill the idiot of Belnor Ridge.” He was laughing with someone, even though his breaths were still shallow and tight, like he was masking pain. I sat poised on the edge of that bed, wanting to rush back, stilling myself. I couldn't be sure that he wanted to see me. These were his friends; he knew them; he was comfortable with them. I was a burden he'd picked up mere days ago.

“You’re beat to hell.” Tyralk’s voice again.

“Thank you for noticing. Am I still pretty?”

“Ask your wife, you dumbass.”

The mirth left his voice. “Annora.”

“Yeah. That wife.”

“She’s safe?”

Rowena, the woman, was icy. “She’s safe.” She almost spat the words. “How could you?”

“That’s…an intense response to my nuptials, sister-in-law. I thought I’d get at least a congratulations from you. I brought you a friend. I did get her all the way in from Droth territory alive. Give me credit.”

“You absolute asshole⁠—"

“Rowena,” the quiet one, Khal, murmured. “Give me a moment, yes? You can ask your questions, just…this isn’t the way we need.”

It was quiet.

Khal’s voice rejoined. “It’s been less than six weeks, and you show up beat to hell with a very frightened, injured woman who claims to be your wife. Can you tell us how this happened?”

There was a sound, a long gulp, like drinking, the clink of a lowered cup. “It was a scenario of Tar Ivan.”

The sorceress burst. “You absolute pig, even with the Droth, how could you⁠—"

“They kidnapped me. Have a little faith, Rowena.”

“They what?”

He drank again, a clink. “One of those idiot villages on the fringe. They kidnapped me. They had superstitions that the attacks could be stopped by orc marriages. I tried to get around killing any of them, and ended up behind bars, between a pretty face and a disemboweling hook. Forgive me,” his sarcasm twanged, “for not choosing the hook.”

There was a little gasping sound, and I realized the sorceress was sobbing. “I’m sorry.”

“Good. You know me better than that, Fire-starter.” He didn’t sound mad. It was so strange, how he never seemed to sound mad.

“She’s so afraid and she’s covered in bruises⁠—"

“She fell down a ravine.”

“She said you hurt her.”