It took me ages to fall asleep last night despite the long day. Thoughts of Marut kept me up at first, and then his light snoring made it impossible to drift off. I didn’t begrudge him, because his day had been just as long as mine, running around town. But I needed sleep badly, so now I’m swaying in my spot next to my husband on the driver’s seat of the wagon he’s been tasked to drive. My eyes sting from the cold morning wind as we leave the capital and head north toward the forest of Bellhaven and King Gorvor’s lands.
We departed from the inn early, when the sky was barely tinged pink, and I left behind the only home I’ve ever known. The city gate opened for us, and the wide world yawned in front of me like an endless abyss. My hands trembled in my lap, but then Marut reached over and wrapped a warm blanket around my shoulders to keep me warm, Ritta waved at me from her wagon, and somehow, the departure wasn’t as frightening anymore.
We make good progress, stopping now and then to rest and water the horses. I’m relieved, because the farther we go, the less of a chance there is of my brother following me and making a muck of things. I don’t share the thought with my husband, because I don’t want him to think I’m strange for avoiding my brother, but then Marut did offer to force him to return my money, so perhaps he wouldn’t think so badly of me in the end.
Throughout the day, he keeps feeding me little morsels of food he must have bought at the inn, sweet yeasted cakes, dried apples, and thinly sliced roast beef. By the time we stop to make camp, I’m not even hungry for dinner. But there’s work to be done, and even though I’ve never camped out in the open before, Ozork puts me to work peeling and chopping vegetables for stew while the rest of them set up tents and then start the fire. When all the orcs and I sit down to eat, my chest is light with the feeling that I contributed effort, too.
After dinner, I help Neekar wash the dishes in the cold river water, and he chuckles at me when I stub my toe on the large stew kettle, then offers to carry me back to camp to keep my weight off my throbbing foot. I politely decline, but I like the easy camaraderie, the feeling that he and the rest of the crew have accepted me as one of them, even though I’m clearly different.
Marut stands the moment I hobble back to camp. “What happened?” he demands.
I wince. “I was just clumsy, it’s all right.”
He frowns at me. “I would like to carry you.”
A flush works its way up my chest. Everyone is staring at me, and I don’t like it one bit. “It’s fine,” I confirm. “It doesn’t hurt much. Can we—I’d like to go to bed now, please.”
I’ve washed at the river, and after the long day, I just want to rest. Marut doesn’t look happy, but he escorts me away from the fire, toward the line of five tents that have been set up. I count mentally—one for each of the orc wagon drivers. Ozork explained to me that they often spent the night by the fire, under the sky, but there was a chance it would rain tonight, and they didn’t want to risk getting wet while sleeping.
I’ll be sharing the tent with Marut, of course. I’d tried to keep the thought from my mind all evening, figuring I’d deal with the reality later. But now that we’re at the tent, there is no more pretense. I duck my head and slip inside. It’s taller than I imagined it would be—which makes sense. It was made for an orc, after all.
Marut enters behind me and secures the tent flaps, tying them together. A burst of laughter filters through the night air, and I turn my face toward the sound.
“Can they hear us?” I whisper, thinking of the orcs’ sharp senses.
Marut dips his chin in a nod. His face is obscured by shadows, and only the flickering firelight from beyond the canvas illuminates the space between us.
“Oh.” I fidget in place, unsure of what to do. “Do you want to go to sleep?”
I have no idea how we’ll manage not to touch each other in a space this narrow. The thought is slightly terrifying, but I remind myself it’s Marut here with me, no one else. If I really wanted to, I could sleep in one of the wagons, I suppose, curled up against a burlap sack of grain, but I didn’t want to make it out as if I’m afraid of my husband. He’s done nothing to deserve that. The orcs must pity him as it is, when he’s saddled with a mate who doesn’t like physical contact as much as orcs seem to.
“What are you thinking about?” he murmurs.
I peer into the dark again, worrying my lip with my teeth. I don’t want everyone to hear what happens between us. I’m not quite ready to open my heart to Marut, no matter what, but he deserves some sort of explanation for my condition.
Then a long tone sounds outside, and a slow, sad melody fills the air. It’s a fiddle playing, and the song is beautiful, unlike anything I expected to hear in an orc camp.
Marut shifts on the other side of the tent. “That’s Ozork,” he says. “He often plays for us.”
The melody soars and dips, and I find myself just listening to it, my heart stuttering. Then I realize that it offers us more than just something nice to listen to—it’s a screen covering our conversation.
“I didn’t mind touching you,” I blurt out suddenly.
Marut stills, his large body a great hulking shape in the darkness. “Aye, I know.”
Of course he does. He likely scented it, given what he’s told me. I fight down the embarrassment born of years and years of trying to make myself smaller and unnoticeable for my own protection.
“I only hate it when people touch me without permission,” I admit. “A-and I don’t mind it when it’s children.”
“I saw you hugged your nephews before we left,” Marut says. “But who touched you without permission?”
A growl enters his voice, and he leans forward, intent on me. It should be terrifying, having an angry orc this close, but I know instinctively his fury isn’t directed toward me.
“Just…men,” I say vaguely, even though I remember every unpleasant interaction I’ve had over the years. “I, um, developed curves rather early for a girl, and some men took that as an invitation to…”
Marut shuffles closer to me. He raises his hand as if he wants to touch my face, then drops it without making contact. “I would chop off their limbs,” he says softly. “If you tell me who they were.”
A shiver goes through me. I’m used to people shouting when they’re mad about something, but somehow, Marut’s quiet ire is more terrifying. He means it, too, and just knowing someone would do that for me is a thrill.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, my breaths coming short and fast. “It’s all in the past.”
He hums. “But it’s not, is it? You are still suffering because of what those people did to you.”
I push back a strand of hair. “I was lucky. I was never really hurt.”
I’ve heard horror stories about girls and women who weren’t as lucky, but my father’s overprotectiveness and his insistence that I remain pure for my future husband did save me from most harm. My brother tried to shove me in the arms of ineligible men, which seems even more unkind now that I know what he’s done.
“If one man laid his hands on you without you wanting him to, that’s hurt enough,” Marut growls.
I stare up at him. I suppose he’s right, though no one ever explained it to me that way. I’ve been called oversensitive, missish, prudish, and more colorful words, too, because of how I conducted myself. No one ever bothered to question what happened to me to make me this way.
“Anyway.” I duck my chin, embarrassed. “That’s why I am the way I am.”
I reach up to unpin the braids from my head, pulling out the hairpins one by one. The way I sweep my hair up every morning is another attempt at disguising myself—my long red hair has been the object of many comments, and I’ve learned to tuck it away as much as possible to avoid that. But after a long day, my scalp hurts from the severe style, so I sigh in relief as the twin braids fall down my back. I won’t unbraid my hair completely tonight, because I don’t want to fuss with it in the morning, but if we stop at an inn another night, it’ll be lovely to brush it all out.
“You have beautiful hair,” Marut says, his words soft. “It looks like coiled fire.”
I squint at him, unsure if he’s poking fun at me. I’ve heard all the comments from people likening my hair to flames or carrots, but he seems awed more than dismissive.
Then he adds, “Most orcs have dark hair. Your color is very unusual in our lands. I like it.”
He’s paying me a compliment. It’s not one I’d expect from a human man, but from Marut, it sounds sincere.
“Thank you,” I say. “I think your hair is lovely, too.”
He tugs on one of the long braids that reach way past his shoulders. “One day, I would like to brush yours. Wash it, too, if you’ll allow it.”
My eyebrows climb up. “Is this something that orcs do?”
I’ve never heard of a man brushing out his wife’s hair. Women did that on their own or had maids to do it if they belonged to the upper class.
But Marut nods decisively. “It is. I would like nothing more than to have your hands on me, little bird. It’s been years since anyone did my hair for me.”
I wonder who braided his hair in the past. A surge of jealousy explodes through me at the thought of some other woman touching his hair, but then I think that perhaps it was his mother, and that helps me breathe through the irrational emotions.
My husband lets out a huffing laugh. “You will be the only woman who will touch my hair from now on, Violet. You needn’t worry. I will never stray.”
His oath soothes some ruffled part of me. I lean forward. “I won’t either. I can promise you that much.”
I cannot say that I will love him, not yet, but it’s not in my nature to betray. I’ve made my choice, and I will live with it, for better or for worse.
Marut unbuttons his jacket and slides it off his shoulders. “We’d better get some sleep. Tomorrow will be another long day.”
I make him close his eyes, then wiggle out of my dress and stays. I wad them up in a bundle and use it as a pillow, then cover myself to my chin with the soft blankets Marut must have set up for us.
“You can open your eyes now,” I whisper.
I can’t see his eyes very well, but I feel the heady weight of his gaze on me as he undresses to his shirt and pants.
“Do you think…” I pause, not knowing how to ask what I want to know.
Marut stretches out on the sleeping pallet beside me. “Do I think what?”
I swallow thickly. This is the moment of truth. Either I gather the courage to do this or I retreat into my shell again.
“I thought we might share a good-night kiss,” I whisper quickly before my nerves give out again. “I-if you’d like to. But I just think it’s something I’d like to do, with my husband, I mean. I read a novel where a couple did this, they shared a kiss every night, and they were very happy together, and I know it’s only a story, but there’s—”
“Violet,” Marut says rather loudly, interrupting my babbling.
I fall silent, staring at him through the dark. My hands tremble in my lap, and I’m fairly certain my face must be the color of a beet.
“I would love to share a good-night kiss with you,” he says, his voice solemn.
“Oh.” I fidget in place. “That’s good.”
I stall in place, unsure of how to do this. Marut remains on his back, his hands tucked under his head, waiting for me.
“Um,” I begin. “How do you want…?”
“I’ll stay right here,” he murmurs. “The last thing I want to do is take from you more than you want to give me.”
Damn him. I need guidance in this, I think, but he’s just doing what I asked him, which is not touching me in any way. I fight the urge to growl, then shuffle closer to him.
“Take your time,” he says softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
His words are soothing, his voice an anchor in the dark.
“Could you tell me what to do?” I whisper. “I mean, not that I don’t know how kisses work, I do, but it would make me feel like you’re participating, even if you’re not moving.”
This close, his scent is intoxicating, and I fight to keep my mind from drifting off to imagine how good he would taste if he smells so nice. Because I’m not ready for any tasting yet, thank you. I only want a little kiss, a peck on the lips, quick and soft.
“Lean in,” Marut instructs. “You can put your hands on my shoulders. Or by my head.”
I go to my knees and look down at him. His broad shoulders are still covered by his shirt, but right now, I feel that bracing my hands there would be too much. I’d feel the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric, and I’m not ready for that tonight.
So I lean down and place my hand by his head. An issue becomes immediately apparent—this brings my face much closer to his than it would have if I’d put my hands on his shoulders. My braid slips over my shoulder and falls against his chin.
I’m about to brush it back when he says, “Leave it.”
Then he drags in a deep inhale through his nose and groans. “You smell so good, Violet. I could eat you up.”
Our breaths mingle between us, and I know what to do, I just don’t think I can do it.
“Kiss me,” he murmurs. “Press those sweet lips to mine, little bird. I want you to.”
With his permission, I can finally obey. I didn’t know how important this was to me until he voiced his wish out loud, but it’s the missing piece, and the barrier that kept me back disintegrates.
I lower my head until the tip of my nose touches his. It’s clumsy, fitting two faces together, and I worry about his tusks for the first time. Will it hurt to kiss him? Will they poke my cheeks, uncomfortable?
Then my lips brush Marut’s, and my worries fall away. Not because it’s an extraordinary kiss by any stretch of imagination. It’s only a light press, a shared breath, but it’s so damn right, I immediately want more.
Bracing my other hand on the blankets by Marut’s head, I lean in all the way and repeat the kiss. His lips move under mine, firm and warm. The tusks are cool to the touch but not sharp enough to hurt, a contrast to his skin. My eyelids flutter closed as I give him another kiss. Then I force myself to wrench away and scoot over to my side of the tent.
Marut lets out a long exhale, staring at the roof of the tent. I wring my hands in my lap, worrying over whether or not this was as enjoyable to him as it was to me. Because I want more of this, yet I don’t know if he’ll agree, not with his worry that I might regret whatever we do together.
I won’t. I don’t think I will anyway, not if it feels as good as what we just did.
I realize only now that the sounds of Ozork’s fiddle have died down, and I didn’t even notice. I’ve been too engrossed in Marut and this moment. I hope the others in the camp didn’t hear what we spoke about, but then I decide it doesn’t matter. This is between Marut and me.
“Do you think I could get a good-morning kiss tomorrow?” I whisper.
Marut huffs out a low laugh. “Aye. You can get as many kisses as you want.”
That gives me pause. I’ve seen couples kissing in the streets of Ultrup, of course, but I didn’t know there was no limit to how many I was allowed.
“Really?” I ask. “I can kiss you whenever I want?”
Marut finally turns his head toward me, his dark gaze piercing. “You can kiss me anytime. And touch me. I am yours, Violet, and you can have me any way you want me.”
“Oh.”
The power of those words. I don’t know if he realizes just how important they are.
Then I find him studying me, and I think that maybe he does know. He’s making certain I will have no reason not to touch him but what I conjure up in my own head. He’s drawing back the curtain on my insecurities, and for a moment, I think I might hate him a little for it. It’s my turn now, for better or for worse, and I don’t know if I’m strong enough to make my next move.
“Good night, Violet,” he murmurs.
I slip under the blankets and cover myself to my chin. The camp has fallen silent around us, and only the light crackling and popping of the fire disturbs the silence, and the occasional call of some animal in the forest. I’d be worried about my safety, but I know the orcs have set up watch through the night.
“I’d like to share a kiss every night.” I’m getting warm and comfortable, too sleepy to keep my eyes open. “And in the morning, please.”
“All right,” Marut agrees. “But remember, you don’t have to limit yourself. I would hate for you to hold yourself back on my account.”
I can hear the smile in his voice, so I reach over and poke him in the ribs. It’s just a quick jab with my finger, but it feels significant nonetheless.
“I didn’t know my husband was a rascal.” I can’t help but grin back, even if he can’t see it, burrowed as I am in the covers.
He laughs softly, then says, “Thank you. For trying.”
My throat tightens, and I only manage to squeeze out, “Good night, Marut.”
“Good night, little bird.”
In the morning, I wake up alone in the tent, but Marut pokes his head in when I’m doing up the laces at the front of my gown. He ducks inside and crouches in front of me, his black eyes shining.
“Well, wife?” he rumbles. “I’ve come to collect my morning greeting.”
His lips turn up as he says it, and I know that if I refused him, he’d leave me alone. I don’t want to do that. But kissing him in broad daylight, with all the other orcs milling about outside, is much harder than doing it under the cover of darkness.
“Hold still,” I demand.
I go up to my knees, closing the distance between us. He’s so much larger than me, I have to tilt my head back to look him in the eyes. From this position, I can’t kiss him without his cooperation.
“I think you’ll have to kiss me today,” I say. I try to make it out as if I’m annoyed, but my voice is too breathy for that, and my entire body thrums with excitement.
Marut gives me a moment to change my mind, then lowers his head. Where I was terrified last night, quick to kiss him, then back away, my husband takes his sweet time. He runs the tip of his nose over my hairline and inhales deeply, then presses a soft kiss to my temple. And another to my cheek, high up, then peppers a series of small kisses over my jaw.
“That’s not fair,” I breathe. “I thought you’d kiss my lips.”
“Hmm.” Marut kisses a spot right by my ear. “You didn’t specify that. If you don’t like it, I’ll stop.”
“No!” I sway forward and press my palm to his knee, then jerk my hand away as if it burned. “I don’t want you to stop.”
His next breath, warm and minty, brushes over my lips. “All right then.”
He finally relents and touches my lips with his. Like yesterday, a thrill goes through me at the contact, but it’s made more powerful by the anticipation and all the little caresses he gave me before. He lingers, too, more than I did last night, our lips fused together. I feel like there’s something more I could do, but before I can put it into coherent thought, Marut breaks the contact and straightens, his expression satisfied.
I lift my fingers to my lips. “This was nice,” I breathe.
“That’s very good to hear,” he says. “Whenever you feel like repeating it, let me know.”
With that, he disappears from the tent again, leaving me to put myself together. I emerge into the cold spring morning. My breath fogs in front of my face, and I realize just how cozy the tent was compared to the outside air. Marut must have warmed it up with his body, because otherwise, we would have gotten too chilled overnight.
I hurry over to the fire to help with breakfast. We don’t linger—the road ahead of us is long, Ozork says, so we pack up the tents, bury the firepit, and wash in the rushing, cold river. By the time the sun clears the treetops to our right, we’re on the road again, the horses rested and eager to get going.
Marut seems to be in a particularly good mood today, and when the other drivers break into a song that echoes down the road, he joins in with his deep voice. I listen, rapt, to the epic story of the orc warriors’ prowess, and laugh when Marut’s cheeks flush a darker shade of green when he realizes I’m watching him.
We break for lunch in a meadow by the river, and Ritta calls me over to help her pick the first primroses growing by the edge of the forest.
“Our herbalist, Taris, will be glad we found them.” She holds out the wicker basket for me so I can drop a fistful of the tender yellow blossoms into it. “Spring comes a bit later to King Gorvor’s lands. We’re higher up in the mountains.”
“It’s lovely of you to think of her,” I say, bending down to pluck more flowers.
Ritta shrugs. “Everyone pitches in where they can.”
I like the idea of that. I don’t have a profession because I was never allowed to learn one, but I’ll help whenever they need me.
“Which reminds me…” Ritta turns to me and lowers her voice. “If you need the tea to prevent you from getting pregnant, tell me, all right? I have some with me, and I’ll introduce you to Taris once we get to the Hill.” Then she smacks her forehead. “Or Ivy, your new sister-in-law. She’s Taris’ apprentice.”
I blink at her. Such a short statement, yet it packs a powerful punch. “My sister-in-law? I didn’t know I had one!”
The young orc woman rolls her eyes. “I don’t know why I expected Marut to tell you anything. He barely talks to anyone. Prefers reading to talking.” She goes as if to put her arm around my shoulders, then pulls back at the last moment. “Right, sorry. Well, ask him about his brother. They’re twins, and Korr found his mate this past winter. Ivy will help you with the tea, I’m sure.”
She wanders off in search of more primroses, and I follow, lost in thought. Marut and I are nowhere near needing anything to prevent pregnancy, but it’s good to know that orcs are open about this. And yes, that sounds like something we need to discuss—before the situation demands it.
But what Ritta said about Marut preferring his own company and his books… It doesn’t ring true to me. He’s been nothing but nice to me, and I feel as if perhaps the others have misjudged him if they can’t see his good side.
I believe he would make an excellent father. And I want babies, many of them, so maybe we won’t need that tea at all.
