Ozork jumps out of the wagon, lowers a set of steps, and offers me a hand. I take it—I would much rather exit by myself but I don’t trust my legs right now.
Not with the mass of strangely quiet orcs watching my every move.
“Come on,” Ozork says. “Don’t be afraid.”
Easy for him to say.
He’s as large, brutish, and green as the rest of them. Unlike me. I’m not a small woman, but every orc warrior I’ve met so far has towered over me, taller by a head or more. They could crush me with those big fists, break me with thick arms.
Ozork positions himself at my front, Neekar at my back, and we move through the crowd and deeper into the forest. Orcs part for us, but some of them linger, leaning in for a quick sniff of me. Neekar bats them back with sharp words of reprimand and keeps them from touching me.
At first, I don’t understand what’s so special about this part of the forest—why we stopped here or why all these orcs have gathered to wait for us in this exact spot.
The uneven ground is hard to walk on, moss-covered boulders dotting the forest floor. It would be quite beautiful and serene if it wasn’t for the throng of shuffling, murmuring orcs following us.
Then I see it. A wooden hatch built into the side of a small rise, the wood camouflaged so well, it melds with the forest almost seamlessly. Only the faint glimmer of a black iron keyhole betrays it for what it is. An entrance to an orc dwelling.
Suddenly, similar doors appear all around us—or rather, I know what to look for now, so I see them clearly. More orcs peer from those openings. An orc woman stands with a baby on her hip, her face lit up in curiosity, and an elderly orc couple gaze at me with what I can only assume is hostility.
They’ve brought me to a forest settlement. And everywhere I look, more orcs are gawping at me. It’s true, then. Every story I’ve heard. They’re hulking, uncouth barbarians who live in holes in the ground.
I don’t know why I’m surprised.
We continue upward until we reach a dip in the slope. I squint at it—in the twilight, it’s hard to make out anything among the lichen-covered trees and rocks. Then the door swings outward, a massive, thick slab of oakwood reinforced with black iron. And in the opening stands a male with an iron crown on his head.
The orc king.
I didn’t even know orcs had kingdoms. Or any sort of political structure apart from ruthless bands that pillage the human lands. But the deep bows of my guards—strong warriors both—and every orc who followed us in a procession to this place tell me they either respect or fear their ruler.
Silence descends on the forest, marred only by the occasional sniff from behind me. It’s as if the gathered orcs are still trying to smell me.
The king steps forward. He’s taller than Neekar and broader in the shoulders. Where Neekar is young for a warrior, the male in front of me has clearly seen battle and hardship—scars pepper his arms, and even though he’s wearing a sleeveless linen tunic over his leather pants, he looks uncivilized.
“Welcome, warriors of the Black Bear Clan.” His voice booms over the crowd. “Thank you for bringing back this woman and the provisions for our city.”
Ah, so the other wagons in our guarded convoy must have been filled with purchases from Ultrup. Considering the fact that their settlement seems to be situated in the middle of the forest, I can’t imagine they’re a farming people. I wonder what they have to trade for the things they need. Furs, maybe?
“Tonight, we will feast,” the king continues. “But first, let us see if our new guest might be matched with one of you.”
His dark gaze lands on me, and I stiffen. What does he mean, matched with one of them?
The orcs roar in answer, though, their eyes all trained on me. Some are hopeful, some downright leering, but all are monstrous and horrible.
All my suspicions are coming true. They’ve brought me here to be a slave to one of these brutes.
I tense, wondering if I could outrun them. If I caused some sort of distraction and bolted for the deep forest, could I make it far enough for them to lose my trail?
No.
They’re stronger, larger, and know the territory much better than me. My poor choice of clothing and shoes would also be a hindrance, compared to the orcs’ heavy boots.
There seems to be some sort of order to what’s happening around me. The male orcs—and several women—form two lines facing each other. They create a corridor with roughly four feet of space between them, extending from me toward the king.
Neekar gives me a gentle push from behind. “Go on.”
I peer up at him. “Why? What will they do?”
“Nothing. Unless one of them is your mate,” he mutters. “It is a great honor to become mated.”
“Great honor for whom?” I squeak.
But all the orcs are staring at me expectantly, and I know I only have two options. I can either walk down the double line on my own or someone will carry me.
I step forward, putting one foot in front of the other. The first pair of orcs, one on either side of me, lean in and inhale deeply. I can’t imagine the experience is pleasant, what with my dirty gown and unwashed body, but no one is forcing them to do it.
I lift my head higher. They could at least have had the decency to allow me to bathe. But no, they wanted to do this straight away. Serves them right if they get a good whiff of my sweat.
Slowly, I advance down the line. No one touches me, and with every pair of orcs I pass, my hope grows a little stronger.
Maybe I won’t get matched with anyone.
If that happens, maybe they’ll let me go. Or maybe they’ll chain me up somewhere and force me to be their slave anyway, for all I know. But at least I won’t have to endure being bound to one of these creatures.
With that thought in mind, I quicken my steps, almost tripping in my hurry. Orcs around me grunt with displeasure, taking quick, hasty sniffs of me, but I don’t care. If I can make it to the end of the line, I’ll be free.
The orc king grows larger the closer I get to him. He’s waiting in front of the door, arms crossed, an almost bored expression on his rough-hewn face. No matter the speech he gave his people, their ruler doesn’t think much of me—or the idea of being matched. He doesn’t put himself in the line, doesn’t lean forward eagerly to catch my scent.
So I keep my gaze on him. If I can make it to him…
The last pair of orcs step in, inhaling. They’re large warriors, with weapons belts bristling with steel. But neither of them seems affected. They retreat, their faces reflecting twin expressions of disappointment before they mask it quickly. So they want this—they want me. Whatever this mating thing is, it’s desirable enough for them to show emotion.
Mere steps separate me from the orc king now. I slow down, panicked breaths quieting. I’ve made it. I walked through the crowd, and no one claimed me, so I’ll—
The king’s nostrils flare.
My belly tightens at the fierce expression on his face. But not in fear—no, this isn’t the response I’m used to. What…?
He lurches forward, then stops himself as if the movement was involuntary. He inhales deeply through his nose, and a loud growl reverberates from his chest.
“Mine.”
