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She closed her eyes, but the image remained and she pressed her face into the pillow, frustrated with herself. She’d built this life carefully, brick by brick, creating safety where there had been none. The last thing she needed was to let herself get drawn into his orbit, knowing he would disappear just as suddenly as he’d arrived.

No matter how familiar his eyes were. No matter how gentle his hands could be.

CHAPTER 7

Egon stood in Lyric’s garden, watching her gather vegetables. The soft light of the morning sun burnished her hair and skin, giving her an otherworldly glow. She moved with an easy grace between the rows, her fingers brushing gently over the leaves and stems as she selected the ripest offerings.

She hadn’t noticed him watching her—a rare moment of peace in her usually busy day. He’d woken before dawn, a habit formed from years on the road. When he’d seen her slip out the cottage door, he’d followed, curious.

The garden was her domain, that much was clear. The careful placement of plants, the trellises and supports for the vining varieties, the neat rows and paths—all spoke of careful planning and constant maintenance. Yet the results looked anything but rigid. Flowers bloomed in riotous colors and shapes, drawing bees and butterflies to their pollen-laden depths, and birds sang from the branches of the small fruit trees.

She moved as if she were part of the garden itself, her presence natural and right among the verdant growth. She belonged herein a way she had never belonged in Kel’Vara. He’d hoped for a better life for her, but he’d never pictured this. Then again, he was a product of the city—he’d hadn’t known that such a life existed.

When she looked up and found him watching her, she smiled, her face soft and open for a moment before it shuttered once again.

“I’m taking these to the tavern,” she said, holding up the basket, and he had to bite back a protest. The village was safe, and she was in no danger just because she was out of his sight.

And I gave up the right to protect her, he reminded himself as he retrieved the post digger and set to work—but he still watched her slender body move gracefully down the path until she was out of sight.

He hefted the post digger, his muscles bunching as he drove it into the ground. He was determined to finish repairing the chicken coop before the end of the day, the memory of her smile yesterday when he’d fixed the fence lingering in his mind.

A twig snapped behind him and he whirled, cursing himself for his inattention.

A small boy stood at the edge of the clearing, perhaps seven or eight years old, with a mop of unruly brown hair and clothes that had seen better days. His face was smudged with dirt, but his eyes were bright with curiosity.

He froze. Children always feared him. His size, his tusks, his scars—they took one look and ran screaming. He braced himself for the inevitable terror, the shouts that would bring angry villagers with pitchforks and torches.

Instead, the boy grinned, revealing a gap where his front teeth should be.

“You’re really big!” The child approached without hesitation. “Are you helping Miss Lyric?”

Egon lowered the post digger slowly, unsure how to respond. “I am.”

“I’m Samha.” The boy stuck out his hand with the confidence of someone twice his size. “Miss Lyric gives me honey candy sometimes. Are you her friend?”

He carefully extended his hand, gently engulfing the boy’s tiny fingers in his big palm. “I’m Egon.”

“Your teeth are amazing!” Samha pointed at Egon’s tusks. “Can you eat really tough meat with those? My sister says I can’t have a knife yet, but you don’t need one, do you?”

A startled laugh escaped before he could prevent it.

“They can be… useful,” he admitted.

He watched the boy bounce on his toes, eyes wide with curiosity. Children had always given him a wide berth—their instincts telling them to fear the scarred orc warrior, but this one seemed to have missed that lesson entirely.

“What are you doing?” Samha peered at the half-dug post hole. “Is that for the chicken coop? Miss Lyric said the foxes got in last week.”

“Yes.” Egon gripped the digger tighter, unsure how to navigate this unexpected conversation. “I’m reinforcing the fence.”

“Can I help?” Samha was already rolling up his sleeves, revealing skinny arms that looked barely capable of lifting a woodenspoon, let alone a shovel. “I’m really good at digging. Once I found a buried treasure in the creek bed. Well, it was just an old horseshoe, but Lina said that’s lucky.”

He hesitated. The boy would only slow him down, but there was something in those eager eyes that made him nod. “You can hold this steady while I dig deeper.”

Samha’s face lit up as if Egon had offered him the moon. He grabbed the post digger’s handles, his entire body tensing with the effort to keep it straight.

“Are those battle scars?” Samha asked, eyeing the jagged mark across Egon’s forearm. “Did you fight in a war?”

“Something like that.”