My feet won’t move. No matter how hard I try to tell myself to pick up my skirts and run, my body won’t obey me. I’m frozen in place, pinned to the spot by the intensity of the king’s stare.
His black eyes widened with shock a moment earlier, but right now, he’s glowering at me, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
As if I’m the problem.
As if I willingly came here and foisted myself upon him.
Since I can’t escape, I do the next best thing. I throw back my shoulders and glower.
He steps closer, angling his head to the side. Even from a distance, I guessed he was tall, but the reality of just how much taller he is than me hits me when I’m suddenly face-to-face with the laces of his tunic.
I refuse to crane my neck to look up at him. If he wants to speak to me, he should—
His big, green-skinned hand comes up to my face. He grips my chin, the hold gentle but firm, and tilts my face up.
“Hello, little mate.”
His voice is meant for me only, and it doesn’t carry. It’s a rough caress against my sensitive nerves, and I bristle.
I draw in an outraged breath, ready to chew him out.
And I stop. Because the most delicious scent washes over me, an aroma so inviting and powerful, I sway on my feet. It reminds me of deep forests, washed by spring rains, of crackling fires and safety.
I want to wrap myself in it and forget about all my troubles.
It’s him.
The orc king smells like home.
I jerk away from him, slapping a hand over my nose and mouth.
“What are you doing?” I gasp past my fingers. “Stop it.”
The orc squares his shoulders, and a coldness descends on his handsome features. In a blink, he’s next to me. He drapes one strong arm around my shoulders and tucks me against his side. Then he turns us both to face the waiting crowd.
“Tonight, we celebrate. I have found my queen.”
Cheers erupt in the silent forest. Orcs crowd around us, pressing in, slapping the king’s shoulders and shaking my hand. A young orc woman with tears in her eyes even wraps me in a bone-crushing hug and pats my cheek as if I’m everything she’s been hoping for. I cringe back more and more, overwhelmed, until the king squeezes me more firmly and holds me away from the pressing throng.
He peers down at me. “Are you all right?”
I can only stare at him, wide-eyed. He grumbles something unintelligible under his breath, and suddenly I’m being escorted through the door, into the Hill. A tall entrance chamber narrows to a hallway barely wide enough for us to walk side by side. Given how the king glared at me earlier, I thought he was going to dismiss me once we weren’t surrounded by his people anymore, but he keeps his arm around my shoulders and leads me deeper into the underground dwelling.
Corridors branch out on both sides, and doorways lead to chambers big and small, and soon, I get lost trying to count the twists and turns we take. The Hill must be completely hollowed out, and what I thought was a simple burrow seems to be a complex warren, an anthill of epic proportions.
“Where are you taking me?” I manage to force out.
He pulls me forward, and I stumble in the dimming light, tripping over some stone or tree root or whatever litters these musty corridors. No lanterns light the way, and I realize the orcs must have better eyesight than humans because soon, I can no longer see anything past the faintest outlines.
The king stops, and I think he’s about to answer me, but he clicks his tongue impatiently, the sound so human it confuses me. Then he swoops down, hooks one arm beneath my knees, and picks me up as if I weigh nothing. Wordlessly, he strides forward, and now that I don’t have to watch my feet, I sense two guards following close behind us.
“Let me go,” I demand.
He doesn’t listen. Of course not. He’s the orc king, and I’m the woman his warriors bought at the slave market.
At last, we stop at another door, not too different from the one at the entrance to the underground village. The guards silently take their places, one on each side of the door, and neither look at me.
They probably know what’s going to happen to me now.
The king has found his mate, and he intends to take me.
I struggle in his arms, pushing against his broad chest to get him to release me, but he’s much too strong. All the while, the insidious scent of his skin invades my senses, driving me out of my mind. One of the guards throws open the door, and I curse at him. He knows what the king will do to me, and yet he stands there, staring at the wall like nothing is going on.
“Savages!” I shriek. “You’ll all pay for this!”
The king kicks the door shut behind us and dumps me unceremoniously on the bed. I scramble away from him and fall over the edge on the other side. My ass lands on something soft—the floor of the king’s bedroom is lined with furs.
Luxurious, silky pelts of some long-haired beast that the orcs apparently hunt for. I dig my fingers in on reflex. I’ve never felt anything like it before. In my previous life, such extravagant items were only meant for nobility.
But that’s not important right now. I need to get away, which means I need to find a weapon to defend myself. He may have bought me, but I’m no slave. And I’m not going down without a fight. I cast around for anything I can use, anything at all. A knife, a stick, or maybe scissors? Something sharp to poke him with.
But the king isn’t moving. He stands on the other side of the bed, his big fists on his hips. The white tusks jutting from his lower lip would have shocked me if I hadn’t spent the past week in the company of the other orcs. But this male is taller than all of the warriors I’ve met so far, his muscles bunching beneath his sleeveless linen tunic. His green skin looks darker in the lamplight, as do his glittering eyes. But what throws me the most is his expression. He’s watching me with a strange mixture of hopelessness and exasperation on his face.
I still. If he was going to attack me, he’d do it straight away, yes? Or would he wait for me to tire myself out? Maybe he just wants prey that struggles less.
Not wanting to wait for his decision, I stand and sidle over to the writing desk in the corner. For a moment, it strikes me as incongruous that the orc king has a writing desk, littered with quills and papers. I had no idea orcs were even literate. The stories that circulate through the taverns in the human towns certainly never mentioned anything like it. Then my gaze snags on the small knife lying on top of a stack of notes, probably used for sharpening the quills.
If I could but grab it, I might have a chance of making it out of here. The blade is short, but it doesn’t need to be long for me to stick it into his neck. Orcs might be bigger and stronger than humans, but they’re similar enough. If struck correctly, he would bleed just the same.
I prepare myself to lunge for it…
“Don’t.”
The king’s voice snaps out, rough and deep. I freeze, my hand extended to the side. All right, so he saw through my intentions. I’ll have to be faster. With all that bulk, he can’t be—
He lunges forward, quick as a snake, and snatches the blade from his desk. Then he throws the knife across the room. A loud smack, and the blade embeds itself into the closed door, vibrating with the power of the impact.
I gape at it, all my will to fight draining from me. The king’s message is loud and clear. He’s a killing machine, and if he wanted to, that knife could easily be sticking from my ribs right now.
My hands tremble, and I grip them together behind my back, refusing to let him know he has gotten to me. The movement pushes my breasts out to strain against my dress, and his gaze drops to my cleavage, so I quickly release my hands and draw back from the king, a fresh spike of fear lancing my heart.
The king reaches for his crown, places it on the desk, and rubs his forehead. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
I have only one answer to this. “Then let me go.”
He looks up, expression almost rueful. “I cannot.”
“Why?” I ask, proud that my voice doesn’t crack. “Why would you want to keep me?”
“Because you’re my mate.” His face turns grim, and he paces away from me. “For better or for worse, the gods chose you for me. I will do what I must.”
I throw my hands up. “Thank you. I’m sure this will be a comfort to me when you force yourself on me.”
He swivels around, glowering at me. The force of his anger has me retreating a step.
The big male stalks forward, and his voice vibrates with fury. “I would not do that. I told you I don’t want to hurt you.”
“And I should take you at your word?” I cry. “Your men bought me. Imprisoned me. And dragged me halfway across the continent to this hovel. So forgive me if I’m not in a trusting mood.”
“You mock my home and yet you come here smelling like you’ve been rolling in a ditch,” he sneers at me.
My cheeks heat. “It’s your guards who forced me to sleep on the ground like some animal.”
“And they didn’t give you a chance to clean yourself?” he demands.
I scoff. “In a river, yes. While they all watched me.”
He raises his eyebrows, as if to say, Yes, and?
“I couldn’t undress to wash properly,” I growl, frustration rising inside me. “I haven’t had a chance to change or clean my gown in more than a week. And before that, I was kept in the slave barracks, where they barely gave us water to drink, let alone wash ourselves.”
The orc king lets out a defeated sigh. “I forget how prudish humans are.”
“Prudish?” I straighten my shoulders, ready to defend my kin. “I’m not prudish.”
“An orc would rather go naked than wear clothes as dirty as yours,” he retorts. “Yet you insist on covering your body with filthy scraps in the name of propriety. Tell me, which is more shameful?”
And somehow, this orc—this clean, well-dressed, amazing-smelling orc—questioning my propriety, accusing me of shameful behavior, is too much for me. My throat tightens, and the tremor from my hands spreads all over my body. Suddenly, I can’t hold it back anymore—the tears, the fear, the overwhelming certainty that this is where my life will end.
I sniffle and hold the king’s gaze because I’m damned if I will look away. I also don’t want to turn my back on him, because no matter what he says about not hurting me, I don’t trust him. I can’t afford to. Whenever I’ve trusted anyone in my life, they stabbed me in the back. Beginning with my parents.
The king makes a low sound in his throat and closes the distance between us. “Don’t cry, little mate.”
He brings his hand up and swipes his thumb over my cheek. I blink hard and try to hold back the tears, but they overflow anyway. And once I start, I can’t seem to stop.
“No,” he says, almost angry now. “No crying.”
He takes my shoulders in a grip and gives me a light squeeze.
“I-I’m sorry,” I choke out and smack my hand on his chest. It’s ridiculously firm—and so, so warm. “This is what humans do when we’re upset.”
He stares down at me for a long moment. Then he wraps his arms around me and squashes me close. I yelp and stumble forward, and suddenly, I’m surrounded by muscle and warm, green skin. The cool linen of his tunic scratches against my cheek, but my mind zeroes in on one sensation only.
The rapid, steady beat of his heart.
The king might present a hard exterior, but he must feel something underneath it all. For me.
The comforting, clean scent of him invades my senses with every breath, and I let myself lean into it for just a minute. Maybe it makes me horribly naïve, but in that instant, I can almost, almost believe his words.
“What is your name?” he asks quietly.
With my cheek pressed to his chest, I feel the sound of his voice more than hear it. The sensation is not unpleasant. I’ve never experienced it before, which strikes me as unbearably sad. Instead of bursting into tears again, I focus on his question.
I could lie. The orc guards who bought me at auction didn’t press when I refused to tell them, and I’d thought that maybe my name wasn’t important if I was going to remain a slave. But the king says I’m his mate. Surely, he genuinely wants to know?
“What’s yours?” I counter.
I’m not giving away anything for free. If I’ve learned anything in all the years I’ve been taking care of myself, it’s that everything has a price. And if he wants my name, he’ll have to work for it, too.
He loosens his hold and looks down at me. A slight smile curves his lips, the white tusks gleaming. “It’s Gorvor, son of Trak.”
“Gorvor,” I repeat, savoring the name. It suits him. “I’m Dawn.”
His grip on my waist tightens. “Beautiful.”
Heat rises in my cheeks. I don’t know if he means me or the name, but the way he says it is so sincere, something fragile blooms in the deepest, most secret corner of my heart.
Stupid.
The angry voice in my head has me lowering my gaze and stomping down on any tender feelings. I have no business allowing this orc to get past my defenses.
He stiffens and lets go of me. His warmth disappears when he steps back and clears his throat. “You should change your dress. There’s no time for a bath, but you’ll find a basin and a washcloth over there.”
I squint at the other side of the underground room. Between my conviction that he brought me here to take advantage of me and my breakdown, I didn’t even notice the recessed area of the king’s bedchamber. But there’s a large pool of water, maybe six feet across, by the far wall.
“How is this possible?” I step forward, intrigued in spite of everything. “Did you have servants fill it?”
Behind me, the king’s footsteps are nearly silent on the clean-swept clay floor. “There’s a thermal spring inside the Hill,” he says. “That’s why this settlement was built here. It holds many surprises.”
I crouch by the edge of the water and dip my hand in it. “It’s warm!”
A huff of breath that could almost count as a laugh has me looking up. The king—Gorvor—stands so close to me. He could easily tip me over into the pool, and I’m a little surprised he hasn’t already, for all his insistence that I should clean myself.
“So you…bathe here?” I ask.
“Aye,” he says. “And so will you. Once we get through the celebration.”
Ah. At that, I stand again. “You keep mentioning the celebration. What’s going on?”
He spreads his arms a little. “The king has found his mate. His queen. My people will want to feast.”
The words echo in my mind for a long, silent moment. His mate. His queen.
“You mean me?” I gape at him. “A queen?”
He clicks his tongue, and I get the sense that he’s annoyed at how slow I’m being. But it’s not every day a woman gets presented to a clan full of orcs, only to be dragged to their king’s chamber. I’ve been through a lot this week, and I don’t appreciate his attitude at all.
“You’re telling me you want me to stand in front of your people and become your queen a mere hour after I arrived?” My voice rises with each word, but I don’t care. “I won’t be paraded around. I won’t! I want food and a chance to rest.”
I stomp my foot to underscore my point, feeling like a petulant child. This has gone far enough, though. But Gorvor crosses his big arms over his chest and stares at me until I dip my gaze to the ground.
Then he speaks in a low, harsh rumble. “My people expect to see their queen at the feast. You will clean yourself up and put on fresh clothes. There will be food at the celebration. But you will smile and you will behave like you’re perfectly happy to be there, or you will see a very different side of me. Do you understand?”
I jerk my chin down because what else can I do? He has finally shown his colors, threatening me with swift retribution should I disobey him. I wonder what he means to achieve by having me pretend I’m happy, though. Surely, if his people kidnap and buy women to find mates, they are used to them kicking and screaming? But maybe it’s a pride thing. Maybe he wants his people to believe I’m completely smitten with him.
“What am I expected to do?” I ask. “I don’t know how an orc bride is supposed to behave.”
“You will eat and drink and you will not be rude to my people or my guests.” He leans in, meeting my gaze. “And you will sit in my lap. All night.”
Up until that last order, I didn’t think him too demanding. But to sit in his lap all night…
“If you want me to do all that, I want something in return,” I blurt out.
He narrows his eyes at me but motions at me to speak.
“I want you to promise that you won’t touch me tonight.”
He draws back, outraged. “Impossible. Orcs touch each other all the time. And I just said you will be—”
“All right, I meant to say that you won’t, you know, force me to do anything else tonight.”
I probably shouldn’t interrupt the king, but damn propriety. I have none of it left in any case.
“I told you I wouldn’t,” he growls.
“Your word, sir,” I demand.
He stares down at me, fuming. But finally, he offers me his hand. “I give you my word.”
We shake hands, and for some reason, I believe him.
