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When she finally opened her eyes, she found him watching her, his amber gaze soft with an emotion that made her heart flutter.

“You’ve been awake,” she murmured, tracing the line of a scar that curved along his shoulder.

“Watching you sleep.” His voice rumbled through his chest. “I still can’t believe you’re here.”

She stretched against him, enjoying the way his arms tightened around her. “Where else would I be?”

His smile faded. “I need to meet with Wulf before he leaves for Port Cael.” His thumb brushed across her cheek. “I don’t want to go.”

“But you must.” She pressed a kiss to his palm. “Your brother needs you.”

He nodded, reluctance etched in every line of his face. “What will you do?”

She sat up, pulling the fur around her shoulders. “Explore my new home, I think.” The word felt right on her tongue. Home. Not just a place she’d built for herself, but somewhere she belonged. “Your brothers’ mates offered to show me around yesterday. I might take them up on it.”

“They like you.” He rose from the bed, his massive frame silhouetted against the morning light. “I saw it in their eyes.”

“And I like them.” She watched him dress, admiring the play of muscles beneath his scarred skin. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

He knelt beside the bed, taking her face between his hands. “I won’t be long.”

“Take the time you need.” She leaned into his touch. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He kissed her then, deep and thorough, as if memorizing the feel of her lips against his. When he pulled away, his eyes had turned black.

“I’ll find you later,” he promised, voice rough with emotion.

After he left, she remained in bed, fingers pressed to her lips, heart full to bursting. For the first time in longer than she could remember, she felt truly at peace.

She finally slipped out of the warm furs, her bare feet padding across the cool wooden floor. The cottage was simple but sturdy—much like Egon himself. She pulled on her clothes, fingerslingering over the soft fabric of the tunic he’d given her the night before. It smelled faintly of pine and leather, comforting in its familiarity.

She made a circuit across the main room, taking in the details she’d missed in the whirlwind of their arrival. The hearth dominated one wall, blackened stones speaking of countless fires. Above it hung weapons—not for decoration but readiness. Practical. Necessary. A warrior’s home.

Near the window sat a rough-hewn table with two chairs. Only two. Her heart squeezed at the thought of him sitting here alone, night after night. She ran her fingers along the wood, feeling the nicks and grooves that told stories of solitary meals.

“This needs flowers,” she murmured to herself, already imagining wildflowers in a clay pot. Perhaps herbs hanging from the rafters, drying for winter. The scent of lavender and mint would soften the masculine austerity.

In the corner stood a shelf with few possessions—a carved wooden figure of what looked like a wolf, a worn leather-bound book, and a small knife with an intricately designed handle. She touched each item gently, learning pieces of Egon through the things he chose to keep, then opened their pack and added Samha’s orc statue and the pebble he’d given Egon. With the threat of Lasseran on the horizon she didn’t expect it would happen any time soon but perhaps one day they could return to her old cottage for a visit.

The cottage had only one other room besides the main living area—a small storage space with shelves of preserved foods and supplies. Practical again, but lacking warmth. She smiled, already planning how she might organize her honey storesthere, perhaps add jars of preserves from berries she’d gather in summer.

She returned to the main room, standing in its center with hands on her hips. It needed color—perhaps a woven blanket for the bed, cushions for the chairs. Her fingers itched to create, to transform this space into something that belonged to both of them.

“It’s a good foundation,” she decided aloud. The cottage wasn’t just walls and a roof—it was the beginning of something new. Their home. A place where they could build a life together, away from the shadows of their pasts.

She was reaching for her cloak when a firm knock sounded at the door. She hesitated, suddenly aware of her unfamiliar surroundings. This wasn’t her cottage where she knew every visitor by their footsteps on the path. Here, she was the stranger.

Taking a steadying breath, she crossed to the door and pulled it open.

An elderly orc female stood on the threshold, her green skin weathered by age, deep lines framing eyes that sparkled with warmth. Her long white hair was woven into intricate braids and, despite her imposing height and the slight curve of tusks at her mouth, her smile was genuinely welcoming.

“So you’re the one who’s captured our Egon’s heart,” the female said, her voice surprisingly melodic. “I’m Merow. I serve as healer for our village.”

She found herself returning the smile. “I’m Lyric. Please, come in.”

Merow stepped inside, her gaze sweeping the cottage with obvious approval. “Jana mentioned you’re a beekeeper.”

“Yes,” she nodded, surprised at the mention of her craft. “I’ve kept hives for years.”