Page 18 of His Noble Savior (Folk of Vale #3)
Lilian
Lilian couldn’t help eavesdropping on Richard’s conversation with Bellerose. He’d watched from behind an ajar door how Bellerose made her way to the drawing room. As soon as she’d disappeared inside, he’d tiptoed after her and listened to their exchange.
Lilian had known there was no love between them, but the cold and calculated way they spoke to each other revealed how unhappy Richard would be with her. It wasn’t smart to tie one’s soul to somebody one didn’t like.
Lilian was in almost physical pain at the five yards between him and Richard. It didn’t matter. With last night’s developments in Ellesmere, Richard had all the more reason to marry the princess. He needed those knights. Lives depended on it. He couldn’t afford to say no to Bellerose. With a bit of time, he might come to like her. She was beautiful, rich and influential—everything Lilian wasn’t. He was nobody, a lesser fae who’d been tarnished by orcs. Bellerose possessed all the things Lilian would never have—including Richard’s hand in marriage.
Their wedding was going to be a cold formality. It would happen; Lilian was under no illusion. The political cost of not going through with it was prohibitive.
Lilian’s shoulders sagged. He had no future at Somerdale Castle. In a few weeks, the only thing that’d bind him to Richard was a mountain of debt. If Lilian returned to the Spring Court, he could create beautiful pottery to gift Richard for his wedding. It’d take a lot of vases and plates to repay him, but Lilian had to start somewhere.
He better get used to being without Richard. This was the right time—Richard was engrossed in negotiations with his future bride, and Lilian didn’t want to listen anymore.
Dejected, he trudged down the central staircase. With Richard otherwise occupied, Lilian would go for a quick walk around the castle perimeter. He wouldn’t go far, but he had to take the first steps in doing things alone. And thus, he controlled the tremors threatening to descend on him as he put distance between himself and Richard.
It was a bright morning. The sun kissed his face as he stepped into the inner courtyard. He crossed the drawbridge and followed the path to the outer gate. The knights let him through, and when the heavy gate closed, Lilian was alone.
Strangely, he wasn’t afraid, just a bit shaky. Being with Richard had revived his confidence. Nothing would happen to him this close to the castle.
Lilian smiled as he descended the hill, butterflies swirling through the air, the greenery beneath his feet wet with dew. At the bottom of the hill, the grass gave way to a loosely forested area. A bee buzzed past him as he stepped into the shade. Everywhere smelled of fresh earth and new beginnings.
Lilian threw a glance at the castle. Behind one of those windows, Richard was negotiating with Bellerose. Lilian hoped he could work out favorable terms.
He descended further into the trees when a branch snapped behind him. Lilian tore around, eyes flitting from side to side. Where had the noise come from?
A shiver raced down his back. Memories of his captivity flashed before his inner eye. The pain. The fear. The blood. Lilian shook. His senses registered the smallest gust of air. His heart pounded in his ears, but that didn’t drown out the soft rustling of leaves.
The first thing to hit him was the smell. Orc. Panic surged. There was only one of them—Lilian had become attuned to their odor and could tell them apart by their stink. He didn’t know this one. Cold sweat beaded on Lilian’s brow.
Where was the stench coming from? Lilian prayed the orc wasn’t approaching from the trees up the hill, cutting off his path to the castle.
He didn’t dare to move. He was out of sight, and the smallest sound might draw the beast’s attention. Lilian held his breath. Had the orc picked up his scent?
Up the hill, a figure peeled out of the shrubbery. Seven feet tall. Skin the color of dark mint. Long, silver hair. He was packed with muscles and wore nothing but a broad sword belt from which hung two straps of leather that barely covered him. Icy dread coiled up Lilian’s legs. The orc hadn’t seen him. Yet. If he stood still, there was a chance the beast wouldn’t notice him.
Running toward the safety of the castle wasn’t an option—the orc was further up the hill, between Lilian and the outer walls. He was a gigantic, violent barrier between Lilian and Richard. The only path of escape was downhill, away from Richard.
Lilian’s heart beat so loud, he feared the orc would hear it. He wanted to suck down air but didn’t dare for fear the orc would hear him breathe. His chest was about to explode with pain. His insides cramped. He couldn’t go through this again. He’d die if the orc caught him.
The orc stilled as if listening. Oh no. Oh please, no. Vertigo seized Lilian, nausea threatening to bring him to his knees. Black spots danced before his eyes.
Slowly, the orc turned in his direction. He was a mountain of muscle. It’d take him no effort to rip into Lilian. Gray eyes found Lilian’s, their expression unreadable. But Lilian knew orcs.
Terror slammed into him. All the breath Lilian had held burst free, and he let loose a blood-curdling scream. No use being quiet now.
The orc took a step toward him, hand outstretched, and driven by fear, Lilian tore around, running blindly through the forest. He had to prevent getting caught. He wouldn’t survive this nightmare a second time.