Page 111 of Her Orc Protector

And then—to prove me right—she planted both feet, wobbled upright, and took two steps toward us before promptly sitting down with a soft grunt and a face full of determination.

Uldrek laughed. “There it is.”

“Oh no,” I muttered, grinning as I half-reached forward to grab her.

“She’s off,” Hobbie called from somewhere behind us, arms crossed and mouth twitching at the corners. “Seven help us all.”

Uldrek shifted beside me and, without thinking, reached over and brushed his fingers across the hollow of my collarbone.

I felt it as it happened—the claiming mark answering with a low, steady thrum beneath my skin. Not a flare. Not a burning pulse. Just warmth. Presence. Like the steady beat of a heart long healed but still strong.

He felt it, too. His hand stilled against my skin. We looked at each other. No words. We didn’t need them.

I raised an eyebrow. “Careful, or I’ll start thinking you’re getting sentimental.”

He laughed—soft, full, real. “Stars help me, I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I said. And it wasn’t breathless or new anymore. It was settled. Strong. Like stone laid into foundation.

We sat there a little longer, sunlight warming our shoulders, Ellie babbling to a beetle she'd cornered under a dandelion. Somewhere behind us, the bells of the civic tower chimed the hour. A scribe called out a greeting to someone just outside. Life moved on—quiet and unremarkable.

And maybe that was the whole point.

Once, I had run toward silence because it was the only place I could breathe. Now I sat in it, not as an escape, but as a life I had built. A life I had chosen and kept choosing, every day.

Not because I had to. Not because I owed survival to anyone but myself—but because I saw the shape of peace within my reach, and I reached back.

The ache was still there sometimes—ghosts didn’t vanish just because the house was warm—but they no longer ran the place.

I was no longer made of fear.

I was made of names spoken freely, of sunlight on stone, of letters signed in ink under my own name.

Of baby's breath against my neck and a grumpy brownie refolding my wash.

Of a hand steady on my back and a voice that asked instead of commanded.

Of a kiss shared between bites of honey bun and the soft thrum of a bond that burned not to control, but to connect.

"I'm happy," I said aloud to no one in particular.

Uldrek didn’t answer. He just leaned in, pressed his forehead to mine, and breathed me in like he believed it, too. Ellie squealed at something only she could see, sticky hands flapping with triumph. And I sat between them—my daughter, my love,my peace—watching the light shift across the stone. Not waiting for the next thing. Not guarding against the past. Just... here. Finally.

Home.

Epilogue

"For the Seven's sake, you great lummox, get out of the way," Gruha barked, her sturdy dwarven frame somehow filling the entire doorway as she shouldered past Uldrek. She carried a stack of fresh linens, her expression a familiar blend of annoyance and efficiency. "Pacing won't help her, and you're blocking the light."

"I'm not—" Uldrek began, then stopped when another contraction gripped me. His eyes met mine across the room, and I watched his hands clench helplessly at his sides.

"Go," I managed once the wave passed. "Just for a while. Check on Ellie."

He hesitated, looking so utterly torn that I almost laughed despite the discomfort. My fierce warrior, undone by something as natural as birth.

"Leilan has her in the garden," Dora supplied from where she sat beside me, wringing out a cool cloth. The halfling's normally cheerful face was tense with concentration. "Making flowercrowns for the baby. Though I suspect most of the flowers are going in her mouth."

"Go," I repeated, softer this time. "She needs you too."