Steagor’s eyes widen, and he pushes away from the table to stand straight in front of me. “Poppy…”
“Your name and occupation, sir,” I repeat, lifting my chin.
He frowns at me, but I’ve been subjected to this particular expression of his so many times over the past days that I’ve become immune to it.
“Steagor, son of Torg,” he says reluctantly. “Guard to the queen of the Black Bear Clan.”
“I didn’t know you were Dawn’s personal guard.”
He shuffles his feet, looking at the floor. “I asked her for leave while dealing with you.”
Dealing with me. This male really knows what to say to crush my feelings. He has stomped on them so many times today, it’s a wonder I’m still able to feel anything at all.
“Why have you never married, Steagor?” I ask, pushing the hurt away.
He clasps his hands behind his back. “I hadn’t found my mate.”
The word mate strums a chord inside me, and I remember Dawn calling Gorvor her mate as well. I feel like I’m missing something, but I don’t know what.
“And if you found your mate, how would you treat her?” I ask.
His dark gaze bores into me, and when he speaks, his voice is raw, his expression earnest. “I would worship her every day,” he says. “Make sure she was safe and healthy, and if she gave me children, I’d be the best father to them. I’d spend my life making sure she knew how special she is, and I would always, always do what’s best for her.”
Yearning explodes inside me, a greedy, desperate wish to be this male’s mate—and be treated like he said. I drop my gaze to the table, fighting down the urge to run into his arms and beg him to accept me.
I’m not certain how Steagor will know which woman is his mate, but I’m clearly not her if he’s trying to pawn me off to someone else.
But if he hasn’t found her… Does that mean he wants to be alone, or would he consider a different kind of relationship? And could I be with him knowing he was searching for someone else all the while?
The thought of letting him go—of leaving—sends me into a panic. My pulse flutters madly, and I can’t seem to get enough air. I still don’t want to look up at him for fear that he’ll discover what I’m thinking. But everything in me demands I make a decision.
Do I want this orc badly enough to stay and try to make things work with him somehow, even though we’ll both always know our relationship has an expiration date?
I think of how he helped nurse me back to health. How he made me explode all over his hand today, how he seemed to know my body better than I did myself. The attraction between us is mutual, I’m sure of that, and if I go into this with clear expectations, maybe it won’t be so bad.
Because I know—I know—that I’ll get my heart broken at the end of this.
But I can’t walk away.
I swallow thickly past the lump in my throat. I realize I haven’t replied to his heartfelt declaration, so I prepare myself and face him.
Steagor is watching me in silence, his face grim as always.
I scoot back the chair and stand. “I have some errands to run while we’re here.”
His eyebrows furrow in confusion. “What kind of errands?”
“I need some things,” I reply vaguely.
I bend down, pick up the satchel stuffed with gold, and heave it on the table. It’s too heavy for me to lug around the village, so I palm three gold marks and tuck them into the pocket of my dress. That should be enough for what I have in mind.
“What are you doing?” he presses.
I glance at the satchel. “You said this is for me, correct? I’m going to use some of it now.”
“Aye,” he says, “but for what? If you need something, tell me, and I’ll—”
I raise a hand to stop him. “This is something I want to do for myself.”
“Do what for yourself?” he growls.
He’s clearly getting frustrated with my answers, and I think for a moment of letting him stew for a while.
But he’s looking so adorably confused, I decide to take pity on him.
“I want a trousseau.”
