Charan drops his soldier’s arm and swivels around, then ducks just enough that the arrow aiming for his head only nicks his ear. The second arrow catches him in the thigh, passing straight through, and he stumbles but keeps upright. His hand goes to his belt where his large battle-axe hangs in a loop of leather, but he freezes before pulling it out.
It takes me a moment to realize that Charan has stopped moving, because I’m too engrossed in staring at the dead body lying on the ground. But at his sudden stillness, I squint at the bushes. From all sides of the clearing, shirtless orcs suddenly melt from the leafy undergrowth, their green skin a perfect camouflage in the dim afternoon light.
Warrior after warrior steps into the clearing, and they herd Bogur back, their longbows drawn.
And there is Gorvor, slipping from the shadows like a wraith, incorporeal one moment and imposing the next. He is nocking another arrow, and I know right then he was the one who took down my kidnapper and stopped his brother. The tall longbow is pulled tight, a weapon meant for killing prey at large distances but just as deadly from up close.
“Dawn,” he says, his voice vibrating with fury. “Step away from him.”
I scurry to the side, then run toward him, drawn by my love and the mate bond, the worry that I’d never see him again and the relief that he’s here, alive. But I stop several steps from him, unsure of what to do. I don’t want to throw myself into his arms when he’s still aiming at Charan’s heart.
Then Gorvor lowers his bow and extends one arm for me. I fly to him, wrapping my arms around his waist, and he squeezes me close and buries his face in my hair.
“Are you all right?” he murmurs in my ear.
I nod against his chest, too shaken to form words.
Gorvor holds me for a long minute, and no one in the clearing moves. Finally, he releases me and looks into my face. His expression darkens, and he takes my chin gently and examines the cheek where my abductor struck me. It hurts, and I expect it to turn a magnificent shade of purple soon as my eye is already swelling shut.
“I want to kill him again,” Gorvor growls.
I take a hold of his hand and press it between my palms. “He can’t hurt me anymore. You’ve made sure of that.”
He jerks his head down in a curt nod, then lets go of me. “Go wait with Neekar, little mate. I need to take care of this.”
He means to kill the two captured orcs. And I could go and hide with Neekar, but I don’t want to do that.
I put my hand on Gorvor’s arm. “I will stay with you. But you should send someone back to the Hill. Vark was seriously injured, and I had to leave him in the corridor at the Sun Room.” My chest squeezes at the thought of that scene. “I managed to bandage his wounds but I don’t know if he’ll make it.”
He flashes me a look that conveys both pride and relief. Maybe he thought I would shrink away from him because of this. But a guard lies dying in the Hill because of these males, and I’ve had it with being kidnapped. I want to see justice done.
Gorvor motions to his men, and one of them rushes back into the forest, heading toward the Hill. Three warriors converge on Bogur and force him to his knees. Then they stuff his ears with torn-up cloth, drop a heavy woolen hood over his head, and turn him away from Charan and the king. I frown, wondering what’s going on, and then it hits me—they want to question them separately.
The king steps closer to his brother and stares at him with unconcealed distaste. Charan tries to retreat, but when he puts his weight on his wounded leg, he hisses in pain and stops.
“Tell me,” Gorvor says. “Was everything we talked about today to throw me off the scent?”
His younger brother shakes his head. “No. I meant every word.”
I wonder what happened between them. Did they get a chance to discuss peace between the kingdoms? But barging in with my questions would be inappropriate right now, so I bite my tongue and wait, hoping for more information.
“Then why did you leave the hunt with Bogur?” Gorvor demands.
Charan’s gaze dips to the ground. “I only learned of the plan to lure you away from the Hill when he told me on the hunt. We’d talked about using your mate to…speed along our negotiations. But I never gave the order to my men to kidnap her like this. Or to hurt her.”
He looks at me, and his already ashen skin turns gray. He winces, probably at the emerging bruise on my face, then hangs his head. And despite how troublesome he’s been in the past weeks, I can’t sense any insincerity in Charan’s voice now. He could be a very good liar—or he’s telling the truth.
“What happened, then?” Gorvor taunts. “Why did they act on their own?”
The orc glowers at this, some of his color returning. “They were not my men. They answered to our father. He must have given them orders I knew nothing about.”
Gorvor lets out an impatient sound. “What was your real purpose here, brother? To kill me?”
Charan’s gaze snaps up. “No! I only wanted to make sure you wouldn’t take back our father’s crown.”
My mate drags his hand over his face, spraying water droplets to the ground. He suddenly seems tired, as if the weight of the world is sitting on his shoulders. “How many times do I have to reject it?” he asks. “I didn’t want it then, and I don’t want it now. I only want my people to live in peace.”
Charan nods vehemently. “All right. I will take your word for it, and we can put all of this behind us.”
I don’t think that’s the whole truth, but I don’t know how to get the full story from Charan.
Gorvor is not done with his questions, either. “What role did Bogur play in all of this?”
His brother’s throat bobs as he swallows. “He approached us some time after we arrived here. He said he could help us get you out of the way. The plan to take your mate was his suggestion.” His gaze darts to me again, to my swelling cheek, and back to Gorvor. “He said you would go mad without her. And he told us about the gold.”
One of the warriors lets out a foul curse, and the resolve on Gorvor’s face hardens. This is the secret they’ve all been protecting, sometimes at great cost. And if Charan knows it, he could spread the word throughout his own kingdom—and bring an army here to wrest the Hill away from the Black Bear Clan.
“I don’t want your gold, brother,” Charan says quickly. “When I am king, I will change things in the Boar Clan territory.”
He sounds so sincere, I want to believe him. If this could be resolved without more bloodshed, I want it to work out, but I’m not sure what to think. To put the fate of our entire clan in the hands of one male who has already proven himself to be a conniving enemy…it would be foolish.
Gorvor doesn’t reply. I don’t know what he’s thinking, and apparently neither does Charan, because he’s getting more and more agitated, shuffling his weight from foot to foot, then wincing and favoring his wounded leg. A trickle of blood from his pierced ear is washed away by the rain, until only a thin rivulet of pink runs over his grayish-green skin.
But there’s a definitive family resemblance between him and Gorvor, in the shape of their eyes and their build. I wonder if Gorvor sees it, too—and if he’s hesitating because of it.
Finally, the king motions for his warriors to remove the hood from Bogur’s head and the cloth from his ears. They muffle Charan’s hearing this time and drop the hood over his eyes, and he sways slightly, as if disoriented. Two of the warriors grab him by the arms and ease him to the ground. The hood bobs, and Charan murmurs a word of thanks, then extends his wounded leg in front of him.
I focus my attention on the scout who sat at my table in the great hall just this morning and calmly told me about the sheep they were supposed to hunt. He shakes his head and sneers at me, then fixes a baleful glare on Gorvor.
The king’s gaze is sad when he approaches his warrior. And I know that even though Charan is his brother, this betrayal hurts him more. His people were the ones who followed him away from the old kingdom into a better life, and he thinks of them as his family. Now this male has plunged a dagger straight into that trust and ruined it.
“Why?” Gorvor asks simply.
The male moves his knees farther apart as if bracing himself on the ground. “We have enough gold to gild the whole Hill, and you have us running around the forest, chasing goats.” He spits the words out with rage, his gaze cold.
And it hits me—he resents having to work if his clan has so much wealth.
To my surprise, one of the other warriors steps forward, a hunter I’ve never been introduced to. “We all decided to keep the gold a secret. To use it only as needed. You voted the same, Bogur.”
I lift my eyebrows at this. I had no idea Gorvor had put the decision to a vote, but knowing him, it makes sense. He wanted the best for his people, and if they had decided to live a different life, he would have given it to them.
The king motions to his warrior, and the male falls back with a small bow. Then Gorvor turns back to the traitor. “You could have come to me if you were displeased. We all chose to work hard and preserve the mine for our children. Instead, you betrayed us to our enemies. You endangered my mate.”
His voice deepens to a growl, and a flicker of fury passes over his face as he says this, showing for the first time how tenuous his control is. He’s angry, yet he is holding back to pass fair judgment.
Bogur’s sneer is so different from the friendly smile he offered me this morning. “She’s just a human.”
“She is your queen,” Gorvor roars.
Silence descends on the clearing, with only the rustle of the raindrops falling on leaves disturbing the quiet. A vein throbs in the king’s neck, and he grips the head of the battle-axe at his waist.
Bogur’s chin juts out. “I do not recognize her as my queen. When I followed you here, you promised us a better life.” He spits on the ground in front of Gorvor. “Here’s what I think of that.”
Gorvor has once more regained composure, and he regards Bogur with disgust. “Did Charan approach you when he came here?”
The kneeling male shakes his head. “He isn’t fit to rule. The future king should be able to make hard decisions. He doesn’t have the stomach for it.”
“So you made the plan to kidnap Dawn?” the king presses.
I wonder why he’s asking all this when Charan has already told us, but then it hits me—he’s trying to see if Charan was telling us the truth.
“My plan was to have her killed,” Bogur answers, his voice cold. “The pain of losing your mate would have either killed you or driven you insane, and the Hill would have been an easy target. I separated her guards and gave these fools every opportunity, but they didn’t deliver her head like I’d asked.”
The knowledge that I came this close to dying sends a shiver through me. If Charan didn’t order the kill and Bogur wanted me dead—then I’m only alive because the orc who kidnapped me either thought I was more useful to him alive or he found a spark of pity for me. I can guess which one is more likely.
The way Bogur leaves nothing out, easily incriminating himself, tells me that he already knows what his sentence will be. But I still cringe back when Gorvor pulls the heavy axe from his weapons belt.
I thought he might give the order to one of his warriors, but he takes up a solid stance in front of the kneeling male and lifts the axe high.
Bogur looks at the sky, his arms still bound behind his back. Rain pelts on his face, and for a moment, he seems almost peaceful. Then his face twists with rage again, and he lets out a string of foul curses, abusing Gorvor and everyone who chooses to follow him.
The stream of filth is cut off by a single, powerful strike of the king’s axe.
Bogur’s head lands on the grass and rolls to the side, stopping facedown by a clump of late-summer oxeye daisies. The stump of the male’s neck pumps blood for several seconds, then topples over in a bloody heap.
I gasp and turn away, the image already stuck in my mind. I knew it was going to happen, yet it doesn’t make the horror any easier to bear. Then I take a deep breath through my mouth to avoid smelling the blood and face Gorvor again.
He is crouched by the body, cleaning off his axe on the dead male’s tunic. He stands slowly and hooks the weapon back through its loop. His expression is guarded, as if he thinks I might not want to touch him now he has executed one of his warriors. I step toward him, tentative, not sure if he wants me to hug and kiss him in front of his people. But the moment I move, he springs forward, wraps me in his arms, and lifts me off my feet.
He buries his face in my hair and squeezes me so hard, I let out an oof of surprise.
“I’m all right,” I murmur in his ear as I stroke his wet black hair. “I’m alive.”
“If I wasn’t here to stop them, only the gods know what might have happened.” He shudders, his shoulders shaking. “Forgive me. I didn’t protect you well enough.”
I frown and pinch his arm. I don’t believe it hurts him, but he looks at me with anguished, dark eyes.
“Don’t shame your warriors by saying I wasn’t well protected,” I growl. “Vark killed two males and injured one more, and Steagor only left us because we were safe in the Sun—”
I cut myself off, remembering Bogur’s last words. He claimed he purposefully separated my guards, so…
“Oh,” I gasp. “He must have tampered with my lantern. And Steagor went to fill it with more oil, which was when the Boar Clan orcs attacked.”
Another shudder passes through me at the idea of him watching me closely enough to know that I needed that lantern. To know where I would be the most vulnerable.
Gorvor’s nostrils flare. “His plan exposed weaknesses we cannot afford to have. How did they get you out of the Hill?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Through the sewers.”
At a flick of the king’s fingers, two more warriors separate themselves from the group and disappear into the forest, likely headed to secure that exit. I don’t envy them their job—the smell alone will make this the least desirable of all guard posts in the Hill.
“How did you know where to find us?” I ask Gorvor, looping my arms around his neck.
He scowls. “Charan and Bogur disappeared from the hunting party. In the rain, it took us a while to find the spot where they’d left the path and backtracked through the forest. Bogur knew the way well. But when we knew what to look for, we could travel faster.”
I press a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for finding me in time. But I don’t understand why Bogur hated this life so much if he chose it. He left the Boar Clan with you of his own volition, didn’t he?”
“He did.” My mate lets out a long sigh. “I think he hoped for a better position in the new clan. Back in the old kingdom, he was the youngest son of one of my father’s generals. His family enjoyed a lot of the…privileges my father handed out to his closest followers. But on his own, he didn’t have much wealth.”
The way he says privileges tells me I don’t want to ask about the specifics.
“And here he had to actually work to earn a living,” I guess. “Which bothered him even more.”
“I had no idea he was this unhappy,” Gorvor admits quietly.
I fix him with a stern look. “This is not on you. His actions are not your fault. Ask any of your other warriors, and they will tell you they are happy.”
“It’s true,” Neekar pipes up from behind me. “We are.”
“And you shouldn’t be eavesdropping,” Gorvor growls at him, but there’s no heat in his words.
I hide my smile by kissing my mate’s cheek again, and he lets out a hum I interpret as a sign of contentment. He finally lets me go, and within minutes, he dispatches four males to dig a hole for Bogur’s body—he will not get the honor of being burned on a pyre in a warrior’s funeral—and two more tie a makeshift bandage around Charan’s leg and help him to his feet. In a slow procession, we head toward the settlement, the rain obliterating our muddy tracks.
I take no more than three unsteady steps before Gorvor swings me up in his arms again and nestles me against his chest.
“I have nothing dry to wrap you in,” he mutters in dismay, “but I can give you my own warmth.”
“Thank you.” I press my chilled hands to his skin. “What will happen to Charan?”
He sighs deeply. “I don’t know yet. For now, we will patch him up and let him recover. Then we might send him back to his kingdom, but I don’t know if we can trust him to keep our secret.”
“So he’ll be your prisoner?” I ask.
“For now.” He peers down at me. “Does that bother you?”
I shake my head. “I like the idea of keeping him somewhere we can be sure he can do no harm.”
Gorvor snorts. “How vicious you are, little mate.”
“When the people I love are in danger, all bets are off,” I murmur and snuggle closer to him.
“Tell me again,” he says, falling back a step so his words are obscured from the others by our footsteps and the patter of rain.
I look up at him. “Tell you what?”
“That you love me.”
I lift my hand to his cheek and say, “I love you, Gorvor.”
“I love you, too, little mate,” he replies, a growl entering his voice. He picks up speed again, marching with a renewed purpose. “Now I want to get back to the Hill and make sure you’re comfortable and uninjured. I might have to take off all your clothes for that.”
I loop my arms around his head and pull him in for a scorching kiss that heats me up from the inside and has Gorvor stumbling a little on the uneven forest floor.
“Hurry, my lord.”
