Page 34 of Bound By Blood (Orc Warrior Romances #1)

DROKHAN

T he stone walls of House Thorne feel strange against my weathered hands as I trace the carved reliefs depicting generations of noble lineage.

Human artistry lacks the raw power of clan-carved totems, but there's delicate beauty in these flowing lines that speaks to something deeper than mere decoration.

Three days since our arrival, and already the scrutiny presses from every corner of this place.

Servants whisper when they think I can't hear.

Nobles peer from doorways with expressions that shift between fascination and revulsion.

Even Lord Edran's forced courtesy carries an undercurrent of barely restrained hostility.

They see monster where they should see ally.

But Eirian moves through their suspicion with quiet grace, defending choices that could cost her everything.

Last night's confrontation with their Church leader revealed the depth of opposition we face.

Master Willem's accusations hang in the air like smoke from a poisoned fire, threatening to consume the fragile peace we've built.

"The solution isn't complicated."

Eirian's voice draws me from contemplation. She stands in the doorway of the small chamber Lord Edran provided for our discussions, grey eyes bright with determination that reminds me why I fell in love with this fierce healer.

"Marriage."

The word settles between us. Not unexpected, but carrying a weight that transforms everything.

"Under Church law," she continues, stepping closer. "A formal union that legitimizes our bond in human terms. It's the only way to silence Willem's accusations and provide legal protection for the alliance."

I study her face, reading the complex emotions beneath her controlled expression. Fear mingles with hope, duty wrestles with desire, and beneath it all burns the same fierce love that first ignited between us in sacred grotto light.

"You would bind yourself to an Orc chief before their altar?" The question carries more weight than mere curiosity. "Face their judgment, their scorn, their rejection?"

"I've already bound myself to you in ways they'll never understand." Her fingers find mine, intertwining with familiar warmth. "This would simply make that bond visible in terms they can't ignore."

Practical. Logical. And utterly terrifying.

Marriage under human law means accepting their customs, their definitions, their limitations on what love can be. It means standing before priests who view my people as demons, nobles who see alliance as betrayal, commoners who've been taught to fear Orc faces in children's tales.

But it also means protection for Eirian. Legal standing that shields her from charges of impropriety. Recognition that transforms rumored scandal into respected union.

And perhaps most importantly, it creates precedent.

If the daughter of House Thorne can marry an Orc chief under Church blessing, other alliances become possible. Trade agreements gain legitimacy. Cultural exchange shifts from dangerous experiment to accepted practice. The foundation stones of lasting peace.

"I accept," I tell her, watching relief flood her features. "But I have conditions."

Her eyebrows rise slightly, waiting.

"I will not abandon clan beliefs for human ceremony. This union adds to who I am, doesn't replace it." The words come slowly, each one carefully chosen. "Your Church may claim dominion over your soul, but mine remains bound by older oaths."

"Of course." She nods immediately. "I wouldn't ask you to betray your faith for mine."

"More than that." I step closer, close enough to catch her scent, to see the tiny silver threads that mark ancient wisdom in her chestnut hair.

"If we marry under human law, you must also accept binding under clan law.

Full ceremony in the Grove, surrounded by Stoneborn Elders, witnessed by the sacred stones themselves. "

The request gives her pause. Her mind works through implications, understanding what I'm truly asking.

Clan binding means more than ceremony. It means acceptance into the tribe, permanent marking that declares her Stoneborn by choice rather than birth. It means participating in rituals that her Church would label heretical, speaking vows that invoke powers her people fear.

It means choosing our love over their approval in the most public way possible.

"Yes."

The word comes without hesitation, carrying conviction that makes my heart swell with pride. This woman, who could retreat to safety, instead chooses courage. Who could preserve her old life instead embraces transformation.

She understands. She truly understands what we're building together.

"Then we move forward." I lift her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to knuckles that bear new calluses from healing work among my people. "Two ceremonies. Two sets of vows. One love binding all worlds."

The next morning brings Lord Edran's grudging cooperation.

The man clearly despises the necessity, but political reality outweighs personal preference.

A Church wedding provides cover for his controversial alliance, transforms potential scandal into strategic marriage, gives his advisors justification for supporting Orc refugees.

Master Willem proves more difficult.

"This is blasphemy." The priest's voice echoes through the chapel as we discuss arrangements. "Sacred marriage reduced to political convenience, holy sacrament twisted to legitimize unnatural union."

"Nothing unnatural about love between two people who've proven their devotion through shared struggle." Eirian's response carries steel beneath silk, noble authority asserting itself against religious condemnation.

"Love?" Willem's laugh holds a bitter edge. "You mistake physical attraction for divine blessing, political expedience for sacred calling."

The man sees only what his prejudice allows.

I step forward, letting my full height cast a shadow across the altar. "Question my lady's motives again, priest, and discover how sacred your tongue remains."

Silence stretches between us. Willem's face pales, but his eyes hold fanatic gleam that speaks to a deeper danger. This man won't accept defeat gracefully. Even if forced to perform the ceremony, he'll seek ways to undermine what we're building.

Another enemy to watch. Another threat to consider.

But Lord Edran intervenes before tension can escalate further.

"The ceremony will proceed as discussed," he declares with an authority that brooks no argument. "Simple service, minimal attendance, Church law satisfied according to proper forms."

Willem's jaw tightens, but he nods stiff agreement. Political pressure outweighs religious preference, at least for now.

Three days later, I stand before their altar wearing ceremonial armor polished to mirror brightness, clan braids woven with copper wire that catches chapel light.

The assembled witnesses, Lord Edran, Lady Jazmin, selected nobles whose support matters, watch with expressions ranging from curiosity to barely concealed horror.

Let them stare. Let them judge. History will remember this moment differently than they imagine.

Eirian appears in a traditional white gown that flows like water around her slender form, but I notice details that speak to a deeper truth.

The embroidered willow patterns honor her healing gifts.

The silver thread recalls moon-touched totem magic.

The pendant at her throat bears both cross and carved leaf, symbols of dual loyalty.

She hasn't abandoned who she is. She's expanding it.

Willem's voice drones through ritual words that hold little meaning for me, but I watch Eirian's face as she speaks responses learned in childhood. This ceremony matters to her in ways I'll never fully understand, connects her to traditions that shaped her before we met.

Just as clan binding will connect me to powers she's only beginning to comprehend.

When time comes for vows, I speak in clear voice that carries to every corner of the chapel.

"I, Drokhan of the Stoneborn Clan, take Eirian of House Thorne as wife under human law and sacred witness. I pledge protection, provision, and partnership until death releases these bonds."

The words feel strange, formal and constrained compared to clan oaths that invoke earth and fire and blood. But they serve their purpose, creating legal framework that shields our love from Church interference.

Eirian's vows ring with a conviction that makes my heart swell. "I, Eirian of House Thorne, take Drokhan of the Stoneborn Clan as husband under Church law and divine witness. I pledge love, loyalty, and partnership until death parts us."

Until death. As if death could part what the Grove has joined.

Willem's blessing sounds grudging, but rings with proper authority. "By the power invested in me by Holy Church, I pronounce you husband and wife under sacred law."

The kiss that seals our union tastes of promise and challenge, love and defiance. Scattered applause echoes through the chapel, polite acknowledgment of political necessity rather than genuine celebration.

No matter. True celebration awaits in the Grove.

Lord Edran's reception proves appropriately restrained.

Noble guests offer careful congratulations while eyeing my warriors with continued suspicion.

Conversations flow around safe topics, weather, harvest prospects, trade negotiations, while carefully avoiding mention of the alliance's deeper implications.

But I catch meaningful glances between Eirian and several younger nobles, exchanges that speak to growing support among those who see opportunity where their elders see only threat. Change often begins with the young, spreading through those unburdened by old hatreds.

Seeds planted in fertile ground. Time will show what grows.

As evening falls, we retire to chambers that now officially belong to both of us. Legal recognition transforms rumored scandal into accepted reality, provides foundation for everything we hope to build.