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Thyri leaned in, a mischievous glint in her eye. “And is that all he does for you?”

I felt my cheeks grow warm. “Thyri!”

She laughed, the sound bright and infectious in the busy kitchen. “Oh, come on, Sor. I've heard the way you talk about him.”

I opened my mouth to protest but couldn't quite form the words. How could I explain the complexity of my feelings for Vorgath? The way my heart raced when he was near, the comfortI found in his quiet strength, but also the fear that threaded through it all. I’d come to rely on him, as a mentor, yes, but wasn’t there more to it? I couldn’t deny the way my gaze lingered or how a single look from him made my skin hum. Yet the thought of letting him in, of allowing myself to feel more, threatened to unravel everything I’d carefully built. What if I lost him, as a teacher and as… as something more?

“It's complicated,” I finally managed, my voice soft. “There's Elias to think about, and the forge, and...” I trailed off, gesturing vaguely with the spoon.

“And the fact that he's an orc?” Thyri finished gently.

I sighed, setting the spoon down on the table. “That's part of it, yes.” I leaned closer to Thyri, my voice dropping to a whisper. “And, well, how would it even work?”

Thyri's brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

I glanced around, making sure no one was eavesdropping. “You know... physically. He's so... big.”

Thyri's eyes widened, and she stifled a laugh. “Soraya! Are you talking about...?”

I nodded, feeling my face burn hotter than the forge. “I mean, have you seen the size of his hands? They're like dinner plates!”

Thyri snorted, trying to keep her composure. “Well, you know what they say about men with big hands...”

“Thyri!” I hissed, half-scandalized, half-amused.

She grinned wickedly. “What? I'm just saying, where there's a will, there's a way. Besides, I hear orcs are very... adaptable.”

I buried my face in my hands, peeking out between my fingers. “Seven save me, I can't believe we're discussing this in the middle of the councilman’s kitchen.”

Just then, a loud crash echoed through the room. We both jumped, turning to see the scullery boy sprawled on the floor, surrounded by a sea of potatoes. Thyri and I looked at eachother, then burst into laughter, the tension of our conversation breaking like a dam.

“Well,” Thyri said, wiping tears from her eyes, “at least we know one thing for certain.”

“What's that?” I asked, still giggling.

She picked up the spoon, waving it in front of me. “If all else fails, you can always make him tiny utensils.”

I chuckled at Thyri's jest, but the laughter faded quickly, replaced by a familiar ache in my chest. My fingers found the spoon again, tracing its delicate curves as I spoke softly, almost to myself.

“That's assuming he'd even want anything I make, let alone... more.”

Thyri's smile softened, her eyes filling with concern. “What do you mean?”

I sighed, struggling to put my swirling thoughts into words. “It's just... Vorgath is so... composed. Stoic. Half the time, I can't even tell what he's thinking.” I paused, swallowing hard. “What if I'm reading too much into things? What if he's just being kind?” The bustling kitchen seemed to fade away as I voiced my deepest fears. “I'm a widow with a young son, Thyri. I'm not exactly... desirable.” My voice cracked on the last word, and Thyri's warm hand covered mine.

“Oh, Sor,” she said, her voice gentle. “You don't see yourself clearly at all, do you?”

I shrugged, unable to meet her gaze. “I see the truth. I'm not the young girl I once was. I have responsibilities, baggage. Why would he choose me?”

Thyri squeezed my hand. “Because you're strong, beautiful, and brilliant. You're raising a wonderful boy on your own, and you've taken on a trade that most would run screaming from.” She paused, tilting her head. “And from what you've told me, it sounds like Vorgath sees all of that in you.”

I looked up, hope warring with doubt in my chest. “You think so?”

She nodded firmly. “I do. And while I haven't seen you two together, I've seen how your eyes light up when you talk about him. That's not nothing.”

I bit my lip, considering her words. “But what if—”

“No more 'what ifs,'” Thyri interrupted, her tone brooking no argument. “Stop overthinking everything.”