Steagor and I don’t leave his room for several days, apart from when Steagor goes to get us food and one trip to the communal baths, where he teaches me that I love having his finger up my ass while he fucks me from behind. I never thought I would enjoy public lovemaking, but it thrills me in a completely unexpected way, and besides, we’re far from being the only couple who enjoys the baths for this particular reason.
He’s away for another food run—and to report to King Gorvor, who has been more than accommodating of us taking this time off. But it’s like the first frenzy of our mating is wearing away, and I can handle being around Steagor for more than a moment without wanting to jump back in bed.
Not that his bed was the only place we fucked. I found out that I particularly enjoy being taken up against the wall, with Steagor supporting all my weight, and my orc has been more than happy to indulge me.
I giggle at the memory of how he’d knotted me, then kept thrusting into me while holding me under my knees so I had no leverage for moving my hips—I’d been completely at his mercy, and I loved it. While I’m learning to take control of my life in general, I have no issue giving up my power when we’re together.
My inner muscles contract at the thought of chasing Steagor down and dragging him into some shadowed alcove, and a slight ache makes itself known where I’m sore from last night. The size of Steagor’s knot is a constant source of pleasure for me, but it does stretch me, so I’ve been using the salve he’d given me after our first night together. It’s so good, I could swear it’s magical, and I’m soon going to need another pot.
I open the wooden chest where Steagor has made some room for my belongings, few as they are. He’d offered me the space without a word, frowning at me as he explained that he was having another chest made for me by an artisan in the Hill, but it wasn’t ready yet, and he’d looked so adorably flustered, I’d kissed him there and then, and we’d ended up making love right on top of this chest.
Now I carefully move some of his clothes to the side to find the salve, which I swear I’d put at the bottom of the chest so it wouldn’t accidentally smear all over Steagor’s leathers. As I do, a folded piece of paper slides from underneath the clothes, and I pick it up, thinking it’s the note he left me that day.
I haven’t gotten around to learning how to read yet, what with spending all my time with Steagor. But the words Mara read to me are inscribed in my memory, and I unfold the paper to see if I can match them to the scribbles on the page.
Only it’s not Steagor’s letter that I’m holding.
It’s a wanted poster from the human land of Styria, one with my face on it.
I saw one just like this posted to the noticeboard in Ultrup. On the rendering, my blonde hair is bushy and curly, my mouth turned down in a petulant pout. I’m sure my stepmother, Tamra, described me to perfection to the artist who later created this etching to be printed and distributed all across the realm.
But how did Steagor come by it?
Cold fear rushes through me as another memory unfurls in my mind. He’d said that he visited the border villages with King Gorvor and Dawn, which is where they must have picked up this poster.
I can’t imagine the shock he must have felt at seeing my face pasted on the village noticeboard. The face of his mate, who has turned out to be a criminal.
Yet he hasn’t said anything. Why?
With trembling hands, I close the chest and sit down hard on top of it. My vision blurs as panic sets in, my breaths growing shallow, my heart hammering wildly.
It’s one thing to know that I could be arrested if I ever step foot in the land of Styria again. It’s another thing altogether to realize that the threat of this punishment has followed me all the way into the heart of Bellhaven.
If anyone saw this poster, they could easily take me back to the first human town, hand me over to the city watch, and collect the five gold marks of reward. That much money could mean that a family could survive the winter comfortably instead of starving and going without firewood. It could mean a new horse for a warrior, a herd of goats for an enterprising farmer, or freedom for a woman used to spending most of her working hours on her back.
It might not be much money to a rich person, but for most, it could be life-changing.
And I have no way of knowing whether this poster is the only one that made it to the Hill.
What if one of the other warriors in King Gorvor’s guard saw it, recognized me, and is only biding his time until he finds me alone in a corridor, going about my business?
The thought spurs me to action, and I fly for the door and slide the bolt across, breathing hard. I lean my back against it and try to formulate some sort of plan. I have no idea whether anyone else knows about this. If they don’t, Steagor is the only one, and I only need to persuade him that he should not hand me over to the authorities. Money isn’t an issue for him—he prepared a bag full of money for my dowry, so surely he wouldn’t be swayed by five gold marks. But he’s an honest male through and through, so he might feel like it’s his duty to report me to the human authorities.
The other possibility—that others know about this and are plotting to take me away from here—is far more alarming. If Steagor came between them and me, he could be hurt. I couldn’t stand it if he was implicated in this, or if the mistakes I made in the past caused strife for him within his own clan. The people here are all the family he has, and I can’t force him to choose between his loyalty to them and his mate.
Having to make that choice would ruin him.
So I’ll just protect him from that.
If I hear even a whisper about this, I’ll leave. I’ll travel back to the town where I was born and try to persuade my stepmother to call away the hounds, to give me a chance at a happy life. Maybe I could pay her off using a part of my dowry? But that won’t be possible if I’m caught by someone trying to collect the prize. So I need to be ready to run. To take my things and escape in the dead of the night. It’ll break my heart—and Steagor’s—but at least he’ll be safe.
I open the chest again and find my leather satchel, the one I carried with me all the way from my hometown. In it, I place a rolled-up spare shift and a shawl I made from some cut-offs from a sewing project I did on Mara’s request. I don’t own much else that could fit inside my small bag, and I’ll need to stop at the kitchens for some provisions and at my workshop for the sewing equipment I brought with me to the Hill.
If I have time, that is. Maybe I’ll have to run as fast as I can, and grabbing this satchel will be all I can do.
Cringing with shame, I add a pair of Steagor’s winter mittens—much too large for me but well made and lined with soft rabbit fur—to my satchel. That’s me stealing again, but I don’t think I can be arrested for the same crime twice. He’ll see I took them, but I can’t brave the cold, late-autumn nights in these northern parts without good protective gear.
I’m halfway through making a list of items I need to collect—just in case—when the door rattles. I let out a choked scream, then cover my mouth with my hand. I’d bolted the door, and now someone is trying to get in the room. I dart my gaze this way and that, but there’s no way out, and that door won’t hold for long.
Another rattle, and a heavy fist thumps on the door.
They’ve come for me.
