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He glimpses me at the edge of the meeting and holds up a hand to pause the conversation. The warriors exchange glances, some scowling as I approach. I force myself not to shrink under their gaze.

“Lirienne,” Ghorzag says, voice calm but tinged with concern. “Is something wrong?”

My throat feels tight. “I need to speak with you.” My eyes flick to the watching warriors. “Privately.”

A faint tension ripples across his jaw. He nods, dismissing them with a curt gesture. They retreat, though not without suspicious glances at me. Ghorzag leads me to a quieter alcove near the hall’s corner, where a flickering torch casts warm light on the stone walls.

“What is it?” he asks, crossing his arms. Though he tries to appear stoic, I sense the underlying worry in his eyes.

I swallow. “Your cousin—Gaurbod. He’s plotting with some warriors, stirring them against me. They’re saying I’ve bewitched you. That every calamity is the War God’s punishment for your decision to keep me.”

His expression darkens, tusks gleaming under the torchlight. “Gaurbod,” he growls, voice laced with disdain. “I suspected he might try to use the clan’s fear for his own gain. But to openly threaten you…?”

“They want me exiled,” I whisper, recalling the orc’s vicious grin. “At best. At worst, they’re discussing more violent solutions. I overheard them say you’re being ‘too soft’ and that I’ve enthralled you with human magic.”

A muscle in Ghorzag’s jaw flexes. His hands ball into fists. “They dare?”

I exhale sharply. “I’m telling you because I need to know—can you truly protect me from them? If Gaurbod gathers enough support, will you stand alone against your own clan?”

His eyes bore into mine, an unspoken challenge. “You doubt me?”

I flinch, shame coiling in my gut. “I don’t want to. But the clan’s hostility grows daily. And I saw how big that group was. They called for my exile. Some demanded blood. If it comes to an open revolt…”

His nostrils flare in a harsh exhale. “I’ll fight them if I must.”

A swirl of emotions—relief, fear, gratitude—wars inside me. “You can’t do this alone,” I say softly. “And I can’t keep living in fear of every shadow. Maybe… maybe I should leave, to keep the clan from falling into civil war.”

The thought of leaving him, after the bond we’ve forged in adversity—and in the throes of raw passion—feels like a blade slicing through my chest. Tears prick my eyes. I don’t want to be the cause of strife between him and his people, but I also fear becoming a scapegoat for all their woes.

“No,” he snaps, voice harsh. “Don’t speak of leaving. It would only confirm their suspicions. Besides…” He hesitates, gaze flicking away. “Besides, I won’t lose you so easily.”

A trembling breath escapes me. Part of me soars at his protectiveness, the unspoken hint of something more in his words. Another part worries that by staying, I’ll push the clan closer to rebellion. “Then what do we do?”

He falls silent, brow furrowed. Torchlight reveals the tension etched into every line of his face. He’s struggling with this. Possibly for the first time, Ghorzag faces a threat that can’t be solved with brute force alone. The sabotage only fuels the clan’s paranoia, and Gaurbod stokes the flames from within.

At length, Ghorzag speaks. “I’ll gather loyal warriors—those who see reason. We’ll double patrols, watch for any sign of infiltration. We will catch this saboteur. Once we prove the misfortunes are man-made, not divine, the clan will have no grounds to blame you.”

“And Gaurbod?” I press.

His jaw hardens. “If he’s behind this, I’ll deal with him.” A subtle quiver in his voice betrays the personal pain of confronting a cousin. But he sets his shoulders. “He won’t move openly without more proof you’re a curse.”

I nod, though my mind still roils. “He’s cunning, Ghorzag.”

“I know,” he mutters. Then he reaches for my hand, a gesture that nearly brings tears to my eyes. His palm is rough, calloused from years of wielding weapons, yet his touch is warm. “Trust me, Lirienne. We’ll weather this.”

I want to trust him. But the lingering memory of orcs whispering my name in hate-filled tones refuses to vanish. My heart aches with uncertainty. “I’ll try,” I whisper, voice trembling. “But if it comes down to your clan or me… I know your duty lies with your people first.”

He tenses. “Don’t pit me against them.”

“I’m not,” I say softly, sorrow lacing my tone. “But Gaurbod is, and so are the others calling for my blood. If they force a confrontation…” I trail off, leaving the grim possibility hanging in the torchlit space.

His hand tightens on mine. “No one touches you while I breathe.”

For a moment, we cling to that vow, precarious as it is. The fortress’s hum of activity seeps back in: distant footfalls, the grind of stone on stone, the muffled ring of a blacksmith’s hammer. The orcs in the main hall, wary of me, might be just a few steps away.

When we finally separate, Ghorzag returns to the group of warriors with a resolute expression, telling them to intensify the watch and watch out for conspirators. I hover nearby, observing the way orcs stiffen or avert their gazes whenever my presence registers. Rumors about me must have reached every corner of the fortress by now: the “human witch,” controlling the chieftain with spells or potions.

In the hall’s echoing expanse, I turn away to avoid another wave of suspicious stares. My heart feels heavy, thoughts circling the possibility that all my efforts—cooking, healing, forging connections—are unraveling under the weight of superstition. The clan is on the brink, sabotage continuing unchecked, and Gaurbod’s manipulative plot threatens to spark outright rebellion.