The Hill is the most magical place in the world, I decide, as I sit in a deep thermal pool, leaning back on the smooth, warm rock.
When Mara mentioned a bath, I’d expected it to involve a copper tub and a number of buckets being warmed over the fire. Instead, she and Dawn took me through the corridors to yet another part of the huge underground structure and showed me the communal baths.
Apparently, Dawn, being the king’s wife, has access to a private pool in his room, but she still took off her clothes and joined us in the perfectly warm water.
“I can’t say no to a good soak,” she’d announced as she’d stripped her shift over her head—right there in the middle of the chamber.
Mara was right. The orc ways are certainly surprising. When we arrived at the baths, several orcs were already soaking there in various pools, some scrubbing themselves vigorously and climbing out of the water naked as the day they were born, and others luxuriating in the warmth, seeming content to doze off.
If I’d been shocked to see Steagor’s broad chest last night, this is a whole other experience. Orcs are far from being shy about their bodies. Or other people’s bodies. I managed to avert my gaze most of the time and keep it to the floor, but for the first time in my life, I saw a…a cock.
It was large—larger than what I’d imagined—and I don’t think I ever want anything to do with…things like that. I didn’t even glance up to see the male’s face, because how could I ever meet him again, knowing what he looks like with no clothes on?
I blush now just thinking about it and duck under the surface, wetting my hair, then surface again with a gasp. The atmosphere at the baths is intimate, the lighting barely enough to see by. I mention it to Dawn, and she explains that orcs can see in the dark.
They can see in the dark.
That explains how Steagor knew I was crying last night—and how he so unerringly found my hand to hold it.
Thinking about Steagor while I’m naked, and after I’ve seen that naked male, is doing strange things to my body. The water is perfectly warm, but my nipples tighten, and I shift restlessly on the stone ledge that serves as a bench in the pool.
“Their sense of smell is also a lot better than a human’s,” Dawn adds, “which is why everyone washes all the time.”
“Oh.” I think of the state of my unwashed body last night. “Oh my. Poor Steagor. He must have been dying from the stench.”
Mara lifts her eyebrows. “I don’t think he minded.”
That’s a strange thing to say, but at that moment, two naked orc women holding hands walk to the pool farthest from ours, and I get distracted trying not to gawp at them. I gratefully accept a bottle of hair oil and a wide-tooth comb from Mara and start on the painful task of detangling my curls.
But it’s hard to ignore the sighs and splashes of water coming from the pool at the end of the chamber. And even harder to pretend that I’m not intrigued by what they’re doing—because clearly, they’re both women and lack the anatomy necessary for…fucking. But there must be more to it than simple joining of male and female parts, because a muffled cry echoes around the chamber soon after, and even with my lack of experience, I can’t claim it’s a yelp of pain.
So what is going on?
I look up to find Dawn and Mara watching me with varying degrees of amusement and worry.
“Everything all right?” Dawn asks as she runs her fingers through her long wet hair, lathering them with sweet-smelling soap.
I clear my throat. “Oh, yes. Don’t worry about me.”
Taking a washcloth and a cake of soap, I scrub my entire body and dunk myself over and over until I feel completely refreshed. Mara and Dawn climb out first, not bothering with hiding their bodies, and I admire the pale swell of Dawn’s baby bump, my mind tumbling with confused thought.
She’s human, and though our accents aren’t the same, I can’t imagine her upbringing was a lot different than mine. And yet, she has clearly become accustomed to the orc ways—and in a short amount of time.
So is it possible that I will, too?
Mara wraps herself in a large bath sheet, then unfolds another and holds it wide, motioning for me to climb out of the water. I clamber over the lip of the pool and gratefully accept the linen cloth.
I glance around to see if anyone noticed my undignified dash, but no one is paying attention to me. Huh. Maybe what these women told me is true. Maybe no one cares.
I roll up Steagor’s shirt and the borrowed shift, not wanting to put the dirty clothes back on, and follow Mara and Dawn—who did get dressed—a short way down a corridor, my wet hair dripping down my back. It seems so wrong to be traipsing down the public hallways in nothing but a bath sheet and boots, but no one looks at us funny.
Finally, we reach a door to what turns out to be a storage closet of some sort. And from a battered old wooden chest, Mara pulls out several dresses, then more from a rack hidden behind a dusty but very intimidating suit of armor.
“There we go,” she says. “One of these will fit, or we’ll modify it to suit you.”
I raise my eyebrows at the display. “These are very nice. Why do you keep them stashed in here?”
Mara bites her lip and glances over at Dawn, who has stopped in the doorway, absentmindedly rubbing her belly.
But now she steps forward and takes one of the dresses from Mara, running her fingers over the simple, non-adorned hem. “This clan…helps people. People like me. And sometimes, those people arrive at the Hill or one of our villages with very little to their name, like you. For cases like that, we like to have some things in place to help them transition into their new lives.”
I look at the dresses with a new appreciation. “That’s lovely.”
Mara clears her throat. “Well, now we got that out of the way, I think you should try some of these on.” She takes the first dress, a simple linen one the color of mustard, and holds it up to my face. “Ugh, no. Definitely not your color.”
I crouch by the chest, running a critical eye over the fabrics. “I know my colors. I’d like to find something blue or green.”
We dig through the lot together, discarding dresses that were clearly made with voluptuous orc women in mind, until I find one that might fit. It’s made of soft velvet fabric dyed a light periwinkle color.
“This one will likely fit,” I say, standing. “Now I only need some stays and a clean shift.”
Mara hands me a thin linen shift, and I finally squirm out of the bath sheet and into proper clothing again. I straighten—and stop, because they’re both watching, clearly worried.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“We don’t have any stays,” Dawn says carefully. “Orc women don’t wear them.”
“Because they’re a torture device,” Mara adds sharply.
Dawn puts a hand on her arm. “I agree. But Poppy likely grew up wearing a corset all the time, didn’t you?”
I nod mutely, then glance down at myself. “There’s just…a lot of me. I need to manage it all somehow.”
Mara puts a hand on her hip, frowning. “There’s a lot more of me. And I’ve never had a problem with that.”
I can’t help but dip my gaze to her bosom, which, now that I look at it closely, is free of any sort of corset or whalebone contraption. But her dress is cut in a way that helps support and, well, contain her breasts.
“Yes,” I say, flustered, “but you’re…” I motion with my hands to indicate her height and figure. “You’re beautiful. Statuesque. I’m like—like a dumpling. Short and round.”
Dawn laughs. “Oh, Poppy. I understand why you think that this is a bad thing. But dumplings are soft and sweet, and a lot of people find them delicious.”
“That’s not what I meant.” I flush deeply.
“I know,” she says, soothing. “And we can ask Ozork to bring back some stays the next time he goes to Ultrup. He’s the one who leads a company of orcs to the city to trade every once in a while,” she explains. “But until we can manage to get that, I’m afraid you’ll have to go without. We had to cut off your stays because you were barely breathing.”
The thought is uncomfortable, but I don’t want to make a fuss since these two women have been so helpful to me. If I have to spend a month or so without a corset, I’ll make do somehow. I hold up the pretty velvet dress. “All right.”
I draw the soft fabric over my head and let it fall around me, enjoying the weight of it. I’ve always had a thing for lovely dresses, and this one is very well made. It’s a little plain for my taste, but that’s nothing some embroidery won’t fix.
The dress is long in the sleeves, and the hem at the bottom could be tucked in an inch or so, but it fits well otherwise. Dawn steps up behind me and helps me tie the laces, tightening the bodice of the dress around me. I run my hands over the sleeves, humming happily.
Then I notice my breasts.
“Gods, this is too much,” I mutter, embarrassed. “I can’t wear a dress like this. Do we have something more modest?”
Mara cocks her head to the side. “What do you mean? You look perfect. You were right about the color, too, it suits you so well.”
I put a hand on my chest. “But I’m showing too much skin.”
“Poppy, do you trust us?” Dawn comes around me to stand beside Mara.
I look from one to the other, at their open expressions and kind eyes. And I find myself nodding, even though I’ve barely met them.
“Well, then, trust us when we tell you that this dress is incredible on you,” she says. “And forget everything you ever learned about your body. The human society is not kind to women, but you’re not among humans anymore.”
I flush under her praise and stifle the urge to tug up the dress. “Thank you.”
“Good,” Mara says. “Now let’s go find Steagor. He’ll want to see your new dress.”
I follow them out of the small closet space and into the corridor. I don’t question Mara’s conviction that Steagor will be interested in my dress, but I highly doubt that will be the case. In my experience, men are rarely interested in women’s dresses if they’re not tailors themselves. I can’t count the number of husbands who’d sat in a corner of my father’s shop, bored to tears, while their wives picked fabrics and cuts.
I don’t have time to think about that, though, because we come to an enormous cavern taller than our village hall, with long tables and benches all around.
“This is where we eat most of our meals,” Dawn explains. “Those of us who are well enough to come here, that is.”
She convinces a cook at the kitchens to part with some freshly baked scones slathered with strawberry jam, and we continue down another corridor, nibbling on the sweet pastries. I try not to swallow mine too quickly, but it’s so good I would eat three more if I could.
Before I can ask for another, though, the sound of clashing steel and rough shouts steals my focus.
“What is that?” I ask.
“The practice rings,” Dawn says. “This is where the warriors go to pummel each other in the name of training.”
We enter another sizeable space, smaller than the dining hall but with a high, rounded ceiling studded with air vents. The walls are lined with weapons racks and straw dummies, probably for archery practice, and on the floor of the chamber, two practice rings are marked with wooden fences.
In one, an orc woman in leather armor is battling a male, both wielding wooden staffs, the clack of their blows loud and rhythmical. Another orc woman with short, graying hair is sitting on top of the fence, shouting instructions at them. Neekar is standing by her side, listening to her attentively, but he sends a grin my way and waves.
In the other ring, two orc males are sparring with swords, both barefoot. They circle each other, their footwork as elaborate as dancing, and each swing of their longswords is powerful enough to cut through a man. But they seem evenly matched, and though they’re both breathing hard, neither is giving way to the other.
One of the orcs sweeps his sword up in a powerful arc and brings it down on the other. The impact of steel on steel is jarring, and I stop, covering my ears against the shriek of metal. Mara and Dawn stop beside me, and Dawn winces as another heavy blow lands, sending sparks dancing over the blades.
“Gorvor, darling, do you think you could pause for a moment?” she calls over the din.
Immediately, one of the two orcs pulls back, turning toward her. The other male rolls back his shoulders, muscles rippling under his shirt. That’s when I realize who it is.
Steagor faces us, then swipes his forearm over his sweaty brow. He jumps the fence with one nimble vault and stalks over to a trough-like sink at the wall of the cavern, where a stream of water pours into the stone gutter. He splashes water on his face and rinses down the sweat. His shirt sticks to him, damp and molding to every ridge of muscle.
I stare at him, thinking about what Dawn told me earlier. Orcs like to wash often. And I don’t mind that at all, because the sight of Steagor with water dripping off him is…
Aah!
I tear my gaze away from him and look around for Mara and Dawn. Mara is chatting with the silver-haired trainer, and Dawn is…being kissed very thoroughly by the large male who was battling Steagor just a minute ago.
This must be the orc king.
I smooth down my dress, unaccountably nervous. I’d forgotten Dawn was a lady—a queen, even—because she’s so kind and not even a little aloof or pretentious, but I have no idea what this king is like.
At the moment he’s kissing his wife like his next breath depends on it, and she is returning his attentions just as eagerly. I duck my head, feeling suddenly shy, but my belly tightens with some sensation I can’t quite explain. It’s not jealousy, exactly, but something akin to greed, perhaps. A deep-seated craving to know what that feels like.
Then Steagor appears in front of me. “Hello, Poppy. I didn’t expect to see you up today. I was going to bring you some lunch after this training.”
Dawn extricates herself from her husband’s embrace, her cheeks pink and her lips swollen. “Uh, she came to find us, so we took her to the baths and found this dress for her. Isn’t it lovely?”
Her cheerful voice is drowned out by the pounding in my ears as Steagor runs his dark gaze over my body—slowly, from my freshly washed, still-damp hair, to my scandalously low neckline, to where the hem of my dress rests on the floor. He drags in a deep inhale and looks up into my eyes.
“Lovely,” he echoes, his voice gravelly.
Heat shoots through me, settling in my belly, and I clutch the clothes I’m still carrying around. That snaps me out of this strange spell.
“I brought you your shirt,” I babble to cover my embarrassment. “Thank you for lending it to me. I mean, I’ll wash it for you. It’s wrinkled, and I slept in it, so…”
I trail off, stuck halfway between offering Steagor the garment and wanting the earth to open up and swallow me, because I have no idea what to do with myself at this moment. All of these sensations are so strange, and there’s so many people around—
“I’ll take it,” Steagor says.
He reaches out and takes the wadded-up shirt. Then he stiffens, his nostrils flaring, and brings the shirt to his face.
The change in him is instantaneous. The molten heat of his gaze disappears, and pure fury replaces it as he turns on his heels and drops into a fighting stance.
“Neekar,” he snarls.
