At the busy Golden Prince Inn, I meet the rest of the orcs who came to the city with Marut. There’s Ozork, who seems to be the leader of their expedition, Neekar, a younger warrior with a charming smile, and Lirg, a quiet orc who soon opens up to tell me all about his family. I also meet Ritta, the only woman of the party who claps Marut on the back to congratulate him on finding his mate, then motions me to the side and whispers that I should come to her if I need anything, anything at all.
It’s all a bit too much for me. I end up sitting in the corner of their private dining room, watching Neekar and Ritta bicker over the last of the honey cake. Their easy acceptance is promising, though I’m still wary of them touching me, because they seem to be fond of doing that all the time. Neekar hugs Ritta around the shoulders when he tells a story of how they bought four barrels of dried fish down at the river. Lirg complains of a crick in his neck that he got lugging around bags of imported sea salt, and Ozork kneads his shoulders with brisk gestures that suggest this is completely normal for them.
But not one of them tries to get too close to me, and I realize that Marut must have said something to them. Or perhaps it was Ozork, who knew about my issues from this morning’s wedding.
A hot flush creeps up my neck at the realization that I’m the odd duck again. I clench my hands under the table, embarrassed. If Marut found an orc mate—or even a human without such problems—they’d likely all hug me and bump shoulders with me and act like they do with each other. Instead, they must treat me like a leper, keeping me at a distance.
Marut sniffs the air between us and frowns. “What’s wrong?”
I glance up at him. “What?”
“Your scent has changed,” he says, his voice gravelly. “Are you all right?”
He can smell the difference? I squirm away from him, even more uncomfortable. He watches me for a moment, then nudges Neekar to stand up from the bench.
“Come on,” he says. “Let me take you up.”
The orcs all call goodbyes to us, and I duck my head, knowing what they must expect us to do when we reach our room. It’s our wedding night, after all.
I follow Marut up the wooden stairs. They creak under his weight, and he nearly fills the width of the narrow hallway on the second floor. But the room we head into is spacious enough, with a window facing the back garden.
“It’s not much,” Marut says, closing the door behind us. “I, ah, didn’t know I’d be getting married today. This is the nicest room they had.”
I turn in place, surveying the wide bed and simple but well-made furnishings. There’s a silk screen behind which stands a table with a washbasin and a pitcher of water, and a maid has brought up my wedding bouquet, which Ozork took after the ceremony. It has been arranged in a pretty ceramic vase on top of the dresser, and I feel a surge of affection toward the warrior who cared enough to do this.
“It’s lovely,” I say earnestly. “I like it.”
He palms the back of his neck, suddenly looking unsure. “I could get another room. If they have it. Or I can bunk with Ozork and Neekar if you’d like the room all to yourself.”
He really would do that for me. I know that if I asked, he’d march right out and leave me be. But I didn’t marry him to kick him out like that.
“No, that’s all right,” I say. “We’re married, aren’t we? We should share a room at least.”
I try to smile, but my lower lip trembles, so I face away from him. The floorboards shift when he moves through the room toward me, and I stiffen, wondering if this is the moment when he breaks his promises to me. Then hot shame flushes through me—he hasn’t given me reason to doubt him yet, so why am I so ready to think the worst of him?
“Violet,” he murmurs. “Will you look at me?”
I swallow hard but force my feet to shuffle around so I’m facing him. Marut stands so close, we’re breathing the same air, but he doesn’t touch me. I can’t meet his gaze, though. I stare at the laces of his shirt, resolute.
“Are you afraid of me?” he asks. “Because you don’t smell afraid, and apart from that very first moment I barged into Mrs. Pimms’ office, I didn’t get a whiff of fear from you today.”
That startles me enough that I look up into his eyes. “Really?”
The corner of his mouth twitches up. “Really. You’re nervous, I’ll grant you that, but your fear…” A shudder goes through him. “I would know. It is the most horrible thing to scent your mate and know she is afraid of you.”
I think back on our interactions through the day and have to admit he’s right.
“Fine.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m not afraid.”
His hand twitches at his side as if he wants to reach for me but stops himself. “Then what’s wrong?”
I press my lips together, trying to find the right words. Finally, I admit, “I hate that I’m still…strange.”
He cocks his head. “Strange? How?”
I let out a frustrated sound and stomp away from him. “I-I’m not normal, Marut. You know I can’t touch people, and you still married me. I thought, all right, maybe you’re just not as used to touching as most humans are—but then I saw you with your friends!” I fling my arms out and add, “You touch all the time. Everyone hugged you when they congratulated you. And you had to tell them to keep away from me, didn’t you?”
Marut’s black brows draw together in a frown. “Did you not want me to?”
“No, of course I wanted you to,” I cry. “But I hate that you had to do that. You did nothing wrong, I just wish…” I don’t want to finish the thought in front of him. It’s embarrassing, and I dislike everything about it, but that’s how I feel, and I can’t help it.
“What?” He comes closer. “What do you wish for, Violet?”
Damn him. Damn him and his earnest gaze and his probing questions. I don’t want to answer, but I will, because he deserves that much from me at least.
“I wish I was normal,” I whisper.
Marut stares down at me for a long while, the muscles in his jaw ticking as he clenches and unclenches his teeth. His chin is stubbled with coarse black hair, and some deep, strange part of me wonders what that would feel like under my palm.
Then he demands, “What is normal?”
The question is forceful, as if I somehow made him angry with my words.
“Uh.” I hesitate, unsure of what to say. What does he mean, what’s normal? “I-I don’t know. Husbands and wives, they…they touch, Marut. They…”
I cast a gaze toward the bed, with its sheets and covers still tucked in perfectly. For a split second, I imagine what it would look like in the morning if we…
“They fuck, you mean?” he growls.
I start and face him again. He’s watching me closely, his dark gaze intent. The crude word unlocks something inside me. I don’t need to tiptoe around this with Marut. He’s not bound by the same rules of polite society as I am, and for once, I find myself wishing I wasn’t either.
“Yes!” My shout surprises me, but I can’t stop now. “They fuck. And I don’t know—I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to.”
He prowls forward. His mouthwatering scent washes over me. “Do you want to, little bird? Would you like me to fuck you?”
“I—” My breath lodges in my throat. He’s so damn imposing, too large for comfort. “I don’t know.”
He gets right in my personal space, his body a scant inch from mine, and I swear his heat radiates through the air, scorching me. My breaths are coming hard and fast, and I know I should push him away. I should put my hands on his chest and shove him from me, but I’m suddenly afraid of what would happen if I touched him again.
If I touched him again.
It hits me then, the realization that after years of not wanting to get close to anyone, my palms now itch with the desire to feel Marut’s warmth.
“You’re a liar, little bird.” He inhales deep through his nose. “Your scent tells me the truth, though.”
He steps back, and I sway in place, pulled forward as if we were tied together. I manage to catch myself just in time, then look up at him to find him smirking at me.
“What?” I blurt.
Marut takes another deep breath and lets out a satisfied hum. “When you are ready to admit what you want, Violet, I will be waiting. I’ll be here every day and every night.”
The words should sound threatening, but they’re doing the exact opposite. He’s giving me a safety net. A space where I can do things at my own pace without being rushed by anyone.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He dips his chin in a nod. “Now, get ready for bed. I’ll go down to ask for more blankets.”
I glance at the bed again. The room is warm, and there are sheets and covers on it already. But when I face Marut, he’s frowning at me again.
“I will sleep on the floor,” he says, his voice resolute.
He disappears from the room before I can protest, and I know this is my moment of reprieve. Hurrying to my suitcases, I extract a linen nightgown, a plain one I’ve had for years, and wash quickly with the warm water from the pitcher. When I remove my stays, my chest expands fully for the first time since this morning.
I slip my nightgown over my head and fold my dress, but before I have time to undo my hair, a knock at the door announces Marut’s return.
With a squeak, I dive under the covers. “You can come in,” I call, tugging the blanket up to my chin.
Marut carries an armful of blankets into the room. I stay in bed while he arranges them on the floor. A guilty lump lodges in my stomach at the sight of the makeshift sleeping pallet, and I nudge a pillow over the edge of the bed so it falls on his blanket with a thud.
My husband glances up at me, amusement in his gaze. “I’ll be fine down here. We usually camp out in the wild while on the road. This room is warm, at least.”
I try to imagine an orc camp and come up only with a ridiculous vision that might fit into my nephew’s fairy stories. Before I can reply, Marut unfolds to his full height and unbuttons his waistcoat. The silky fabric slips from his broad shoulders, and he hangs it neatly on a chair. Then he undoes the laces of his shirt and pulls it over his head with one swift tug.
I gape at his chest, green and broad and muscled. There’s so much skin showing, I don’t know where to look. My gaze darts from the rounded shapes of his shoulders to his thick arms, then to the chiseled muscles of his abdomen and down to where those slabs of muscle disappear under the waistband of his leather pants.
A hot flush works its way through my body, rising from deep in my belly to my chest and neck, over my cheeks and all the way to my hair. My palms are suddenly sweaty, and I squirm under the thick blankets, which become too hot for comfort.
He doesn’t seem to notice my fraught state. He merely folds the shirt, too, and stuffs it into his travel bag. It’s as if he’s not bothered by his nakedness at all, and I wonder what else I’ll have to learn about orc culture. So far, they seem to like hugging and touching, and don’t mind getting half naked in front of others.
Then Marut heads for the washbasin. His back comes into view, and I gasp before I can stop myself. It’s crisscrossed with old scars, thin silvery lines that disrupt the beautiful expanse of his muscles.
Marut turns swiftly toward me, and his gaze sharpens at my expression. He glances over his shoulder, though he can’t possibly see his back, then focuses on me again.
“What—?” I can’t finish the question. It feels too intrusive, too personal to ask of the male I only met this morning.
“My father whipped me bloody after I locked my brother in a root cellar overnight,” he says in his rumbling voice. “It was a long time ago.”
Horror washes through me. “How old were you?”
Marut lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I don’t know. Ten, maybe? It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters.” My words come out louder than I intended, so I press my lips together and take a slow breath through my nose. Then I try again. “It matters to me. Is this—is this how children are treated in your clan?”
I couldn’t live with that. From what I’ve seen of Marut, from how he was with my brother’s boys, I thought he was a kind, generous male. But I don’t know what I’d do if orcs are in the habit of mistreating children… If the thought of sharing a bed with an orc twice my size hasn’t sent me running, this will.
Marut stalks closer to me, his expression changing. He’s no longer dismissive—a fierce light enters his gaze, and he towers over me, so close I could touch him if I reached out.
“No,” he barks. “This isn’t how children are treated. Not now, not under King Gorvor’s rule.”
I stare up at him. “Then how—?”
He motions for me to scoot to the side and sits on the edge of the bed, on top of the covers. He puts his elbows on his knees and lets out a long sigh.
“I didn’t want to overwhelm you with all of this,” he murmurs without looking at me.
“All of what?”
A muscle twitches in his jaw. “What happened to me…” He jerks his thumb toward his shoulder. “My father was part of the old king’s court. Things were different there. More violent. It wasn’t a good place for an orcling to grow up, especially not one who preferred to stay in and read instead of going out and being a good little warrior.”
Bitterness colors his words, and my heart pangs with the thought of a younger Marut, being the odd one out in his family.
“But now it’s different?” I prompt.
He glances at me from the corner of his eye. “It is. King Gorvor, the old king’s son, found us another place to live. It was a big moment for our clan. About half the orcs left with him. Myself and my brother included.”
That gives me some hope, but it doesn’t explain his indifference toward what happened to him.
“And your parents?” I ask.
Marut’s lips twitch in a grimace. “They remained behind. My father would not leave, so my mother stayed with him. We heard he passed away a couple of years ago, and our mother soon after him.”
I cover my mouth with my hand. “I’m so sorry. It must have been hard to lose both at once.”
“We knew they’d go together,” he says quietly. “True mates often do. Life without your mate just doesn’t make sense anymore, or so I’ve heard.”
The weight of his words presses down on me, and realization dawns. “Is that what will happen to us, then? Will we—?”
He half turns so he’s facing me. “Aye, for me. But perhaps not for you. You might not feel as strongly about me as I do about you.”
My stomach flips at how serious he is. He would die if I passed away? I think of my parents’ marriage, which was arranged as well, and my brother’s union with Amber. I know Huck wouldn’t be too broken up over Amber, and my father certainly didn’t perish after my mother’s death.
But when I think of losing Marut, a sweeping feeling of terror threatens to overwhelm me. It’s sudden and all-encompassing. I gasp, tears springing to my eyes.
“What is it?” Marut moves forward, leaning on one hand, his other palm hovering just over my shoulder. “Violet, what’s wrong?”
I shake my head, my lower lip trembling. “N-nothing, I just…”
I can’t finish the sentence, but I need reassurance badly.
Marut brushes my hair back from my face, his fingers so close to my cheek. “Will you tell me?”
Breath hitching in my throat, I inch my palm over the blanket to where his hand is braced on the mattress beside me. Marut glances down and freezes in place, as if he’s afraid I’ll bolt away if he moves. In truth, I still might. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I need the reassurance, I need to feel the solid warmth of his body to know that he’s here, that he’s real.
Slowly, I let my fingers brush against his. Marut’s exhale warms the skin on the back of my hand, and I nearly shy away. But I swallow down the panic and trace his large knuckles with the pad of my index finger, then follow the lines of the veins under his skin, exploring.
I’m caught in this moment, and I don’t want it to end. Marut stays still, as if he knows that one move will shatter our newfound closeness. I relish the weight of his hand, the firm texture of his skin, so like mine but just slightly different.
Finally, I let out a sigh and pull away. I straighten to look Marut in the eyes. “I want to try.”
He lifts his black eyebrows, still unmoving. “Try what?”
I shove down my fear and say, “This marriage thing. I want to try. With you.”
Marut grins at me. “Do you?”
I can’t help but smile back. “Yes. Now what do we do?”
My husband’s gaze tracks from my eyes to my mouth and back, and I brace myself. This is it. He’ll kiss me, then push me back against the pillows, and we’ll…
He lets out a satisfied hum, then stands and moves across the room. I gape after him, suddenly bereft of the warmth we shared and the mesmerizing closeness between us.
“What?” I blurt, confusion rising in me.
Marut just leans over the first of the two burning lanterns and blows out the flame. “Now, we sleep.”
I straighten my shoulders. “But I said I wanted to try,” I complain. “You don’t want to?”
My husband walks over to the other lantern, and moments later, the room plunges into darkness. Only the sound of his footsteps tells me he’s moving toward his sleeping pallet. Then he must stretch his large body out on the floor, because his voice floats up to me from next to the bed.
“I want to more than try, Violet. Never doubt that,” he murmurs. His voice is soft and low and has me shifting in bed so I can hear it better. Then he adds, “But I cannot allow you to do this when I’m uncertain on whether you’ll regret it in the morning. Which is why we’ll wait.”
For a moment, I consider pressing the issue. I could invite him in my bed, ask him to—to kiss me. To touch me. Maybe even more. But I can’t deny that there’s a small, frightened part of me that’s relieved he put this decision off for another night.
Which is how I know he’s right. We need to wait until I, too, am certain I want him without a doubt. Anything less than that wouldn’t be fair to him.
“All right.” My voice trembles slightly, so I clear my throat and add, “Good night, Marut.”
“Good night, little bird.”
