Page 36 of Her Orc Healer

I yanked up a stray blade of grass between my fingers, focusing on the texture against my skin rather than the uncomfortable press of his attention.

“You remind me of a story my mother used to tell,” Kazrek said after a beat.

I glanced at him, suspicious. “Which story?”

“The Tale of the Alder Oak.” His smile was subtle, knowing—like he’d already braced for my reaction.

True to form, I rolled my eyes. “I know that story. The foolish tree that refused to bend, even in the strongest storm, and so it cracked and fell while the smaller ones survived.”

Kazrek nodded. “Every village I’ve passed through has a story similar to it. Your forests, my clanlands, even the desert traders—different trees, different storms, but always the same ending.”

Warm frustration curled in my stomach. “Let me guess,” I said. “I’m the Alder Oak.”

“Aye,” he rumbled. “I think you are.”

I drew in a breath and tore another piece from the bread in my hands. “Stubborn and foolish, then. Good to know.”

Kazrek watched me silently for a moment, then shook his head. “Not foolish,” he corrected. “Steady. Strong.” There was a pause, his gaze searching mine. “But even the strongest trees fall, Rowena.”

A lump formed in my throat. I looked away, focusing on the river, the shifting water, the steady current.

I hated how well he saw me.

Hated, too, how much I wanted that—not pity, not condescension, but simply to be seen.

“I don’t know how to be anything else,” I admitted, so softly I almost hoped he wouldn’t hear it.

But Kazrek heard.

Of course he did.

There was another pause, a long one, before he spoke. “You don’t have to be.”

The words wrapped around something deep inside me, something tight and aching that I hadn’t known was waiting to be unraveled.

I swallowed, hard. Cleared my throat. “You’re impossible,” I muttered, tossing my last bit of bread into the river.

Kazrek laughed under his breath but didn’t press further. He simply stretched out beside me, bracing one arm behind his head, and gazed up at the sky with the air of a man who wasn’t in any great hurry to be anywhere else.

I pulled my knees up to my chest and watched him for a moment. The way the afternoon light made the edges of his scars softer, the way his broad chest rose and fell with steady breaths. The way the gold flecks in his eyes caught the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves, turning ember-bright when they flicked back to mine.

And rot, that look—calm, certain, unwavering.

I dropped my gaze before my thoughts could get away from me. “We should probably head back.”

Kazrek sighed, like he wasn’t quite ready to leave, but he sat up without protest. He packed the basket methodically, tucking away the remnants of our meal, while I shook out the blanket and folded it neatly.

We walked back along the river, the silence stretching between us again—but this time, it was the good kind. The kind that didn’t demand to be filled.

The path narrowed as we neared the outskirts of town, the ground uneven where tree roots broke through the dirt. I stepped over one easily enough, but the second caught me unaware, my boot snagging against the rough bark. I stumbled forward with a sharp inhale—

And then Kazrek’s hands were on me.

One arm wrapped firmly around my waist, the other catching my wrist before I could go sprawling. My breath hitched.

We were pressed together, my hands braced against the solid warmth of his chest, his fingers splayed against my back. I could feel the heat of him, the quiet strength in the way he steadied me.

For a moment, neither of us moved. My pulse thundered in my ears. Kazrek didn’t let go. I tilted my head up, and his gaze was already on me, molten and unreadable.