Steagor follows me down the main village road, to a milliner’s shop one of the tavern maids directed me to.
“You haven’t answered my question,” he complains. “What is a trousseau?”
I came up with a plan that might backfire spectacularly. But telling the orc about it would defeat its purpose, so I shake my head and keep my pace up. He mumbles something about stubborn women but enters the shop with me and hovers menacingly at the door while I pick out fabrics and thread for my sewing project.
The kind shopkeeper is all too happy to help me out. She shows me her selection of fabrics, which isn’t as good as I’d get in a larger town, but for now, it will suit my purposes. I haven’t sewn anything since leaving my father’s shop, and I’d only brought my small sewing kit with me, so I add scissors, big sheets of pattern paper, and several bobbins of thread to my purchase.
“Will you be setting up a shop here, miss?” the matronly shopkeeper asks as we chat about fashions and best practices. “We haven’t had a proper seamstress in the village. If you’d like, we can order you more cloth from Ultrup.”
She looks so hopeful, I stop, thinking about it. “You think there’d be enough business in the village for a shop?”
She beams. “Oh yes, miss. If you’re any good at what you do, they’ll be queuing at your door.”
I don’t promise her anything, but I don’t cast away the idea either. I’m not sure how my plan will play out, so I don’t know whether I’ll be staying at the Hill come spring or moving somewhere else. If I have to leave the orc stronghold, this village seems like a good place to set up a business. And it’s on King Gorvor’s land, so human guards have no jurisdiction here.
That is, if the king will let me stay in his kingdom.
Everything is up in the air, and my mind buzzes with nervous energy at all the ways things could go wrong. But if I stay the course and do nothing, I’ll definitely end up with a life I don’t want.
So I pay for my purchases—and refuse to let Steagor carry the parcels wrapped in brown paper because I’m still cross with him. He trails after me like an oversized, menacing shadow. When we return to the inn, I stand by the entrance and finally face him.
“I’m ready,” I say.
Steagor crosses his arms over his chest. “For what?”
“To return to the Hill.”
He’s silent for a moment, then says, “We’re going to spend the night, then travel to the next village tomorrow. Maybe all the way to Ultrup if we have to.”
Dread slams into me, cold and painful. I cannot return to Ultrup. Someone could recognize me, and I’d be dragged back to my stepmother to answer for my supposed crimes. I do my very best to keep those fears from my face, though. Let Steagor think I’m just opposed to more husband-hunting activities.
“No.” I enunciate it clearly, hoping my voice won’t tremble. “I want to go home.”
The moment I utter the words, I want to take them back. But Steagor’s eyes flash with something like satisfaction, and he takes a half step forward before he stops himself.
“I didn’t mean—” I fumble for the right thing to say. “I just meant that I don’t want to go anywhere else. I don’t want to do this anymore. Please.”
And there goes my composure. My voice cracks, and I clamp my teeth, turning away from Steagor. If he insists on staying here and moving on to another village, I’ll really have to run away. In the middle of the night, like I’d done once already, like a thief that I am. And this time, I’ll take my offered dowry with me and run so far, no one will ever find me. I have no idea where that would be, especially with the winter setting in, but I’d rather stay on the run than be forced into a loveless marriage with some stranger.
The idea is heart-wrenching in the worst possible way. I don’t want to leave Steagor, but if he rejects me again, I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it. I can apparently only throw myself at a man a certain number of times before it grows to be too much.
“Poppy…”
His warm hand lands on my shoulder, and he turns me around again so I have no choice but to look up at him. He makes a guttural sound in his throat and swipes his knuckles over my cheeks, drying my tears.
“No more husband talk,” he promises quietly. “We can wait until you’re ready. Maybe in the spring?”
I shake my head. “What if I’m never ready?”
He clenches his jaw and drops his gaze to the ground. “Your father asked me—”
“I don’t care,” I blurt out.
He snaps his head up. “What?”
I swallow thickly past the lump in my throat. “I don’t care what my father asked you to do. I’m glad I had somewhere to run to, and I’m grateful you took such good care of me.”
Steagor winces and opens his mouth as if he wants to object, but I barrel on.
“No one asked me what I want,” I say. “I was left with nothing after he died, even though I worked for him for years. Do you know how much that stung?”
His fingers tighten on my shoulders, but he doesn’t interrupt me, as if he knows I need to get all of this out of me.
“So no, I no longer care what my father wanted for me. On his deathbed, he foisted me on you instead of facing his mistakes and making sure I had some freedom in my life.”
I’m breathing hard now, and a tremor runs through me. I’ve barely let myself think these thoughts, let alone express them in public, but speaking them out loud to Steagor is a relief. I’ll always love my father, but that doesn’t mean I’m not angry at him. I’d been so focused on surviving and escaping my stepmother that I’d barely given myself time to think about what happened. But the more I do, the more I’m convinced that my father did me wrong.
“I worked in his shop for years, Steagor,” I exclaim. “He taught me everything he knew, but I worked my damn best for an allowance that barely let me buy fabric for my own clothes. And when he died, my stepmother got everything, even though she’d refused to help in any way, even after Father had gotten sick.”
She’d been so adamant about it, too, as if working for money was beneath her. A savage thrill goes through me at the thought of her now. She doesn’t have the skill to keep the shop going, so her main source of income has dried up. I’ve never thought of myself as petty, but I can’t find it in me to pity her.
Steagor is still watching me in silence, holding on to my shoulders—but I can’t tell if he’s keeping me from crumbling or supporting himself in the face of my outburst. Still, I have more to say to him, and if I don’t say it now, it’ll sit on my mind forever.
“So I don’t care what my father’s plans for me were, really.” My voice loses some of its shrillness, and I dip my gaze to Steagor’s chest, unable to look him in the eye for this last part. “If you’ll allow it—if your king will allow it—I’d like to spend the winter at the Hill. I can make myself useful, I don’t mind the work. Just… I’d like to stay with you.”
Those last words come out as a whisper, and I hate that, I hate that I’m begging this male for permission. There’s a part of me that wants to rail and scream at the unfairness of it all, but now that I’ve said my piece, all the fight has gone out of me. I clutch my parcels to my chest, waiting for his verdict.
Steagor’s fingers squeeze my shoulders, and then I’m pulled forward, crushed against his chest. He wraps his big arms around me and holds me. His chin comes to rest on top of my head, and he rumbles deeply, the sound vibrating through my body.
I squeeze my eyes, willing myself not to cry, but it’s a useless wish, because there’s no keeping back the flood of tears now. I sniffle, then burst into deep, heaving sobs, the kind I haven’t allowed myself after my father passed away. I’d been too busy, too scared, too ill—too overwhelmed to even think about breaking down like this. But in Steagor’s arms…I’m safe.
The realization has me crying harder, and I bury my face in his coat, shaking. I should be afraid of him, of what he does to me on the most intimate level, yes, but also because he does hold power over me.
I’m not, though. Despite his ridiculous insistence on getting me a husband, this orc has done nothing but take care of me—in a way that helped me. And I don’t want to let him go.
I cling on to him, the wrapped parcels of cloth squeezed between us. Steagor doesn’t let go, nor does he try to soothe me with inane promises. After a while, he plucks the packages from my hands and places them on a windowsill next to us, then strokes my hair with his palm, smoothing down my wild curls. My sobs subside, and I wipe my tears with the back of my hand.
A rip of fabric has me looking up at Steagor. He offers me a piece of his linen, torn off from the bottom of his shirt. I snort through my tears, and he shrugs, a corner of his lips turning up.
“It was already ruined,” he says. “One more piece won’t hurt.”
I blot my tears and wipe my nose, trying hard not to ogle the strip of green skin and muscles now visible where he’d torn off his shirt.
“Wait here,” he says, patting my shoulder. “All right?”
I nod and hiccup. “Yeah. Where are you going?”
He motions somewhere behind him. “I have a quick errand to run. I’ll be right back. See if you can get us some food for the road?”
Before I can say anything more, he turns his back on me, rounds the corner, and disappears down the road. I stay rooted to the spot, shocked that he’d left me standing here seconds after I had a complete meltdown in his arms. I don’t know what I expected, but it’s certainly not this.
It takes me a few minutes to pull myself together, but I wipe my eyes on Steagor’s makeshift handkerchief, pick up the parcels, and head into the inn to speak with one of the serving maids. By the time Steagor returns, I have a cloth bag full of hard-boiled eggs, ham, apples, and fresh bread for the road.
He peers down at me, his expression worried, but I’d had enough time to calm down and decide that I wasn’t going to cry anymore. I’m not certain I want to go through with my plan either. I contemplated going back to the shop where I bought the fabric and returning it, but I want pretty things in my life. And if Steagor is serious about that dowry being mine to use, I might as well do that.
“Are you—?” he starts to say.
“I’m fine.” I cut him off. “If we’re returning to the Hill, that is.”
“We are,” he confirms, his eyebrows knitting together in a frown. “But—”
“Fantastic,” I say, hurrying to the door. “I already asked the stable boy to saddle your horse. He should be ready by now.”
I escape the taproom as quickly as possible, unwilling to discuss what happened earlier. I didn’t burst into tears on purpose, to coax Steagor into agreeing with me—I’d just had enough. But the fact is that it did serve my purpose, and I’m not going to let that opportunity go to waste if it means I get to avoid the kind of future my father had envisioned for me.
I’m done with letting men control my fate. Steagor seems to be on my side for now, but I’ll need to make sure I have a plan to fall back on if that ever changes.
