Page 5

T he walk back to Tinderpost House felt ten times longer than the journey to the market.

Leilan kept glancing between me and the orc, her steps quick and light as if she might need to run.

She'd recovered faster than I had, gathering our purchases while I stood frozen in the aftermath of my own lie.

"You never mentioned a mate," she said finally, breaking the silence that had stretched between us for three blocks.

I shifted Ellie higher against my chest. "I never mentioned a lot of things."

The orc—my supposed mate—walked a half-step behind us. Close enough to hear, far enough to give us space. I could feel his presence like heat at my back.

I'd expected him to be angry. To demand answers immediately, perhaps even threaten to expose my lie. Instead, he'd simply fallen into step with us, carrying Leilan's basket without being asked, his face unreadable in the fading light.

"Does he have a name?" Leilan whispered.

"Uldrek," the orc answered before I could admit I didn’t know it. His voice was a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in the air between us. "Uldrek Wolfsbane."

Leilan's eyebrows rose slightly. "That's... dramatic."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "My grandsire killed a direwolf once. It stuck.”

Tinderpost House came into view, its weathered gray stone softened by lantern light spilling from narrow windows.

Smoke curled from the chimney, carrying the scent of rosemary and cooking meat.

Usually, the sight of it settled something in me—a temporary shelter, yes, but one with solid walls and locked doors.

Tonight, I felt the weight of what I'd done pressing against my chest. I'd brought danger here. I'd dragged a stranger into my mess.

I hesitated at the door, hand hovering over the latch. Leilan glanced at me, questioning. The orc—Uldrek—waited, his face still neutral. Resigned, I pushed the door open.

Warmth hit us first, then the rich smell of stew and fresh bread.

The common room glowed with hearth light, the long table already set for evening meal.

Mrs. Gruha emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.

She took one look at Uldrek's massive frame filling the doorway and stopped dead.

"We don't usually do plus ones," she said, voice flat.

Uldrek lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. "I'm house-trained."

I couldn't tell if he was joking. His face gave nothing away—just those golden eyes watching, waiting. Patient as stone.

Gruha's gaze swung to me, sharp with questions I wasn't ready to answer. Leilan slipped past us both, her silver hair catching the light as she moved.

"He's with us," she said as she disappeared up the narrow stairs with her basket, leaving me to face Gruha's scrutiny alone.

Dora leaned around the doorframe, wooden spoon still dripping. Her eyes widened when she saw Uldrek, then narrowed with a knowing look that made heat climb up my neck.

"Well," she said, "hope you're not here to sweep Miss Fairbairn off her feet. She just started sleeping through the night."

Uldrek's mouth curved in the faintest suggestion of a smile. He didn't bother explaining or defending his presence. There was a stillness to him that drew attention but didn’t ask for it—like he’d learned long ago that quiet made people talk first.

I shifted Ellie higher against my shoulder, grateful that she was still sleeping. "It's not—we're not—" I started, but the words tangled on my tongue.

Gruha snorted and turned back toward the kitchen. "Come on, then. Might as well eat before the interrogation."

We followed her to the long wooden table, worn smooth by years of hands and elbows. Uldrek moved with surprising quiet for someone his size, settling onto a bench that creaked under his weight. He sat opposite me, leaving deliberate space between us that felt both polite and pointed.

Gruha returned with a worn clay bowl, which she placed in front of him with a solid thunk.

She ladled stew into it—turnips and carrots and chunks of something that might have been rabbit, swimming in broth thick with herbs.

Then she gave Uldrek a hard, assessing look, as if judging his soul, before adding a second helping without asking.

"You fight, don't you?" she asked bluntly.

Uldrek looked up, that slight smile returning. "Only when spoken to."

Gruha snorted again, but this time there was a hint of approval in it. “You’ll fit right in, then.”

She filled the rest of our bowls and returned to the kitchen. The other residents had gone quiet, stealing glances at our end of the table. I could feel their curiosity like a physical weight.

"So," Dora said, breaking the silence. She'd never been one for subtlety. "Where did you two meet?"

I tensed, my spoon halfway to my mouth. We hadn't had time to agree on a story. There hadn't been time for anything except walking back in taut, awkward silence.

Uldrek took a deliberate bite of stew before answering. "The market," he said. "Today."

Dora blinked. "Wait, today? But you're—"

"What do you do for work?" Leilan interrupted, having returned from upstairs. She slid into the seat beside me, her knee bumping mine under the table—a silent signal I couldn't quite interpret.

Uldrek set his spoon down. "Temporary things," he said. "Guard a caravan, track a thief, pretend to be mated to terrified women in public markets."

I froze, my spoon suspended in midair. The table went silent.

Uldrek just sipped his stew like he'd said nothing unusual.

After a moment that seemed to stretch for hours, Gruha let out a bark of laughter. "Practical," she said, returning from the kitchen with a loaf of bread. "I like practical."

The tension broke. Conversations resumed, though quieter now, more careful.

I could feel eyes on us still, but the immediate shock had passed.

I picked at my food, suddenly not hungry, though the stew was as good as always—rich and warming, thick with root vegetables and wild herbs.

Ellie slept on in her sling, oblivious to the chaos I'd created around us.

Uldrek ate steadily, methodically. His eyes occasionally met mine across the table, unreadable and calm. I had to remind myself that I barely knew him—this man I'd claimed as mine in the middle of a crowded market. This stranger who now held my safety in his hands.

When the meal was finished and the bowls cleared away, I knew we couldn't avoid the conversation any longer. Ellie was starting to stir against my chest, making those small sounds that meant she'd be fully awake soon, hungry and demanding.

"I need some air," I said, standing abruptly. I glanced at Uldrek, hoping he'd understand. "Would you join me?"

He nodded once and rose, following me toward the back door. I felt the weight of stares as we left—Gruha's assessing gaze, Leilan's concern, Dora's naked curiosity. The heavy wooden door closed behind us with a solid thunk, shutting out the warmth and whispers of the house.

The backyard was little more than a small, overgrown garden patch enclosed by a low stone wall.

A single lantern hung by the door, casting long shadows across herbs gone to seed and the gnarled branches of an apple tree that had seen better summers.

The air was sharp with the coming frost, our breath rising in small clouds between us.

Uldrek broke the silence first, his voice casual, almost wry.

"So. Do I get a thank-you or a formal apology for being conscripted into fake monogamy?"

"You were just... there," I said lamely.

"I do that." His mouth quirked. "Lurk. Loom. Heroically glower."

Despite everything, I felt the ghost of a smile touch my lips. "Not many heroes these days."

"No," he agreed, his voice softening. "Just people trying to start over."

The simple truth of it stole my breath for a moment. I looked down at Ellie, still drowsing against my chest. Her dark lashes fanned against her cheeks, and one tiny fist curled near her mouth.

"The man who approached me..." I began, unsure how much to reveal. How much was safe. "He works for the Order of Renewal. They... believe in traditional values. The old ways."

"I know what the Order is," Uldrek said. "Religious zealots with political ambitions. They think orcs, elves, and anyone who isn't human should return to their own lands. That magic should be controlled by those who were 'born worthy.'" His mouth twisted around the last two words.

I nodded slowly. "My former husband is one of them. High-ranking now. The tracker was sent to bring us back."

"Your name isn't really Fairbairn."

It wasn't a question. I shook my head anyway.

"It's Duskryn. Isolde Duskryn." The name felt strange on my tongue after months of silence. "But I filed my entry papers as Issy Fairbairn, my maiden name. The Hearth Office allows it—veiled filing, they call it. For... safety."

"And the baby?"

"Ellie." I brushed a finger across her soft cheek. "Short for Elanor. She's... she's the reason I had to leave. Once I understood what he was capable of—" I stopped, swallowing hard. "I couldn't stay."

Uldrek's expression didn't change, but something in his eyes darkened. "What kind of man hunts his own wife and child across a kingdom?"

"The kind who believes in legacy above all else." I kept my voice steady, though the words tasted like ash. "The kind who sees his wife as a prized possession and his daughter as nothing but a bloodline to continue his work."

Ellie stirred against me, making a small sound of protest. I shifted her slightly, rubbing her back in slow circles until she settled again.

"I thought claiming you might be the only way to stop things from escalating," I continued. "Everwood law recognizes natural bonds—orc claiming rites, elven heart-oaths—as superseding old contracts. Even marriage vows."

Uldrek watched me for a long moment, his face unreadable in the dim light. "You know a lot about Everwood law for someone who just arrived."

"I do my research," I said. No point explaining how many nights I’d spent memorizing legal statutes, reading scrolls, and mapping escape routes while Gavriel slept beside me. "But I never meant to drag you into this. I can fix it. Tomorrow, I'll go to the council and explain that it was a mistake—"

"And tell them what?" he interrupted, his voice calm but firm. "That you panicked and pretended to be mated to the most visibly armed man in Everwood?"

I lifted my chin slightly. "Yes. If that's what it takes."

Uldrek's eyes held mine, steady and serious now. "People saw. And the man who grabbed you—he's not going to let this go. He'll dig. And I don't think you have much left to hide behind."

I stared down at my hands, hating that he was right. The tracker would report back to Gavriel. Papers would be filed. Inquiries made. The protection I’d built with careful lies was already starting to collapse.

Uldrek's voice softened slightly, losing its edge. "I don't like being lied to. But I really don't like men who make women afraid to speak their own names."

He shifted his weight, broad shoulders blocking the breeze that had started to pick up, sending dead leaves skittering across the garden stones.

"So yeah. I'll go along with it."

I looked up, wary of hope after so many months without it. "Why?"

Uldrek shrugged, the movement almost casual. "Felt like the kind of mess I'd regret not stepping into."

I studied his face in the lantern light—the strong lines of his jaw, the faint scars that marked his skin, the quiet steadiness in his golden eyes. He wasn't safe. But neither was silence.

"Thank you," I said finally, meaning it.

He nodded once, accepting. "So. What's our story, then? Since I apparently wandered into a marriage this afternoon."

I hadn't thought that far ahead. "We need something simple. Easy to remember."

"Met when you arrived in town," he suggested.

"Why would you be interested in me?" I asked, thinking practically. "An orc warrior with a human woman and child—people will question that."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Orcs aren't exactly known for our logical mating choices. We follow instinct."

His gaze held mine for a moment longer than was comfortable, something unspoken passing between us. I looked away first.

"You don't know me," he said finally. "I could be anyone. Worse than the man you're running from."

"I know enough," I countered. "You didn't have to help me today. You could have walked away. You didn't."

"Low bar."

"But mine to set."

Uldrek fell silent again. The night had grown colder around us, our breath visible in small clouds between our faces.

In the distance, I could hear the muted sounds of the house—dishes being cleared, voices murmuring, the creak of floorboards as people moved unseen behind warm windows.

A world continuing, oblivious to the choice we faced in this small, forgotten garden.

"Like I said, I’ll go along with it," he repeated, "but there are conditions."

I nodded, waiting.

"You tell me the truth. Always. I don't need all of it—you're entitled to your privacy—but what you do share needs to be real." He held my gaze, unwavering. "I won't be caught in a lie I don't understand."

"Fair," I agreed.

"And I train you." His eyes flicked to Ellie, then back to me. "Combat basics. How to defend yourself and the little one. If someone comes for you again, you need to know how to fight back."

I didn't answer right away.

The thought of learning how to fight should have terrified me. Of wielding anything sharper than a kitchen knife, of calling on muscle memory I didn't yet have. But what lodged itself in my chest wasn’t fear.

It was something closer to relief.

Not rescue. Readiness.

“Alright,” I said. “You train me. No lies, no pretending beyond what’s necessary—and we keep Ellie safe. That’s the boundary.”

Uldrek nodded once, solemn. “Deal.”

We stood there for a moment longer, the silence between us not quite companionable but not hostile either. A wary truce. A beginning forged from necessity and something quieter, something almost like trust.

Behind us, the back door creaked open.

It was Mrs. Gruha, holding a faded wool blanket in one hand and a stern look in the other. “If you’re going to stay out here all night, at least take this. The frost’s coming early.”

She tossed the blanket at Uldrek. Without missing a beat, he caught the blanket midair and draped it over my shoulders. He didn’t speak, just gave Gruha a single, respectful nod.

The door shut again.

Ellie stirred with a soft sigh, her warmth pressing closer to my skin. I adjusted the blanket tighter around us both and finally let my shoulders relax.

“Tomorrow,” I said.

“We start with footwork,” Uldrek replied, almost mockingly serious.

A flicker of a smile ghosted across my lips.

Tomorrow. We'd see what it brought.