Page 30 of Savage Devotion (Orc Warrior Romances #2)

"Every human secret hoarded while orcs develop superior techniques becomes a disadvantage we can never overcome."

"Superior techniques." Heldrik's laugh carries bitter amusement. "What can orcs teach humans about warfare that we haven't known for centuries?"

"Mountain combat. Desert survival. Siege engineering. Metalworking. Beast handling. Scouting. Logistics. Should I continue?"

"Primitive methods suited to primitive minds."

"Methods that work. Results that save lives. Techniques that win battles."

He's losing ground. I can see it in his posture, hear it in his voice. The absolute moral certainty that drove him to draw steel is cracking under the practical considerations. Military commanders live and die by results, and the results don't support his ideology.

But cornered animals are the most dangerous.

"Even if temporary cooperation provides tactical benefits," he says slowly, "it cannot justify betraying fundamental principles. Human loyalty belongs to humanity. Human strength serves human interests. Human honor demands human victory."

"Human honor." Ressa's voice drops to deadly quiet. "What honor is there in butchering civilians? What loyalty exists in abandoning allies? What strength comes from refusing to learn?"

"The strength that comes from maintaining clear lines. From knowing who we are and what we stand for. From refusing to compromise our nature for momentary advantage."

"Our nature." She shakes her head slowly. "You think hatred and fear represent human nature?"

"I think survival and dominance represent natural law. The strong rule the weak. The clever exploit the foolish. The ruthless eliminate the merciful."

"And love?" The question emerges quietly, but it fills the tent like thunder. "What place does love have in your natural law?"

Love. The word is impossible to ignore or dismiss. Everything that's developed between Ressa and me—trust, loyalty, affection, desire—reduces to that single syllable.

Heldrik's expression hardens into absolute disgust. "Love is weakness. Love is compromise. Love is the luxury of those who can afford sentiment over survival."

"Love is strength," Ressa says firmly. "Love is choosing someone's welfare over your own comfort. Love is fighting for something beyond immediate self-interest."

"Love is delusion. Romantic fantasy disguised as philosophy."

"Then I choose delusion over your version of reality."

Ressa steps forward, moving closer to me and further from her uncle, making her choice visible to everyone in the tent.

"I choose cooperation over conquest. I choose growth over stagnation. I choose hope over hatred." Her voice grows stronger with each word. "I choose Kaelgor Ironspine over everything House Vaelmark represents."

She chooses me. The words resonate in me like struck metal. Not just tactical alliance or temporary cooperation, but a personal commitment that transcends politics and practicality.

"You choose to betray your bloodline for an animal."

"I choose to honor my principles over my bloodline's prejudices."

Heldrik's face contorts with rage so profound it looks like physical pain. The blade in his hand quivers with barely contained violence, and I see the moment he stops caring about consequences or witnesses or maintaining any pretense of civilization.

"Then you die a traitor's death."

The sword moves faster than thought, angling toward Ressa's chest with killing intent. She's too close to dodge, too surprised to block, too committed to her declaration to step back.

But I'm already moving.

My blade intercepts his inches from her heart, steel ringing against steel with enough force to send shock waves up both our arms. The impact staggers him backward, but he recovers quickly, following through with a slash aimed at her exposed side.

This time I don't just block—I attack.

My sword sweeps his aside and continues in a rising arc that would split him from hip to shoulder if he didn't throw himself backward. The movement saves his life but costs him his balance, and he stumbles into one of the tent's support poles.

"Enough! Draw steel against her again and I'll kill you where you stand."

"Touching." He recovers his stance, but wariness replaces the wild rage in his eyes. "The savage protects his prize."

"The savage protects someone who matters to him."

"Someone who matters." His expression shifts from rage to something colder and more calculating. "Tell me, orc, how much does she matter? Enough to watch House Vaelmark burn? Enough to see human forces shattered while you pursue your romantic fantasies?"

He's changing tactics. Instead of direct confrontation, he's trying psychological warfare, looking for leverage that might separate us where violence failed.

"House Vaelmark grows stronger through alliance, not weaker."

"House Vaelmark dies the moment word spreads that our commanders take orders from orcs. No human force will follow leaders who've compromised with the enemy."

"Then maybe the definition of enemy needs updating."

"Maybe the definition of treason needs enforcement."

The threat carries weight beyond personal violence. He's talking about formal charges, military tribunals, public executions. The machinery of official justice turned against anyone who questioned traditional authority.

"Treason against what? Against policies that have failed for generations? Against leadership that values ideology over results?"

"Treason against humanity itself."

"Humanity benefits from peace. From trade. From shared knowledge and mutual prosperity."

"Humanity benefits from victory. From dominance. From ensuring that human interests always take precedence over alien concerns."

Alien. Another word designed to create distance, to make cooperation seem unnatural rather than practical. If orcs are alien, then working with us becomes a betrayal of human nature rather than an expansion of human potential.

"What you're describing isn't human interests," I say quietly. "It's human supremacy. There's a difference."

"The difference between survival and extinction."

"The difference between growth and stagnation."

"Pretty philosophy from someone whose people have spent centuries trying to exterminate mine."

"Ugly reality from someone whose people have spent centuries trying to exterminate everyone else's."

The accusation hangs in the air like smoke from burning bridges. Around us, guards shift nervously, hands still on weapons but uncertainty growing in their faces. This isn't the simple moral clarity they expected when they drew steel.

"You want to know what your alliance costs?" Heldrik's voice drops to a deadly whisper. "House Threnwick has already withdrawn support. House Aldrich questions our reliability. House Blackwater considers us compromised. Your romantic delusions are destroying everything our family built."

Political consequences. The one argument that might actually affect Ressa, since it goes beyond personal cost to encompass everyone under her command.

"Houses that refuse adaptation deserve whatever fate that brings," she says, but I hear uncertainty creeping into her voice.

"Houses that maintain their principles deserve respect and support."

"Houses that cling to failed strategies deserve replacement."

"By whom? By orc chieftains? By savage warlords who understand nothing about civilization or honor or the delicate balance that keeps human society functional?"

"By leaders who value results over rhetoric."

"Results." Heldrik's smile carries no warmth. "Your results have made House Vaelmark a laughingstock among the nobility. Your methods have cost us allies we needed and gained us enemies we can't afford. Your choices have doomed everyone who depends on our protection."

The words reach their target. Ressa's shoulders tighten, and I see doubt flickering behind her eyes. Not about me or us, but about the broader consequences of our choices.

"Cooperation requires risk," she says, but her voice lacks its earlier certainty.

"Cooperation requires trust. And trust requires proof that the other party shares your fundamental values and objectives."

"Which they do."

"Do they?" He looks directly at me, challenge clear in his gaze. "Tell her, orc. When your clan interests conflict with human welfare, which takes precedence?"

The question I've been dreading. Because the honest answer is that clan loyalty runs deeper than personal affection, that bonds forged in blood and battle can't be broken by newer connections no matter how powerful they feel.

But honesty isn't always the same thing as truth.

"When Ressa's welfare conflicts with anything else," I say slowly, "she takes precedence."

"Pretty words. But what about when her welfare conflicts with her people's survival?"

"Then we find solutions that protect both."

"And if no such solutions exist?"

"Then we create them."

"Naive."

"Determined."

"Doomed."

The single word carries absolute finality. Heldrik straightens, and his blade rises again, but this time he doesn't direct the threat at me or Ressa specifically.

"This ends here," he says quietly. "One way or another."

But before anyone can respond, Ressa steps forward again. Not between us this time, but beside me as our shoulders touch.

"You're right," she says, voice carrying absolute conviction. "This does end here."

Her hand finds mine, fingers intertwining with the certainty of someone who's made a choice that can't be unmade.

"I stand with Kaelgor Ironspine. I stand with the possibility of peace between our peoples. I stand with hope over hatred, growth over tradition, love over fear."

Love. She said it again, this time without prompting or challenge, making it part of her formal declaration.

Heldrik's face goes white with rage so profound it looks like illness. "You doom us all."

"I save us all."

"You betray everything our family represents."

"I transform what our family represents."

"You choose an animal over your own blood."

"I choose my heart over your hatred."

The blade in his hand trembles with barely controlled fury. Around us, guards watch with the fascination of people witnessing something unprecedented and possibly catastrophic.

"Then you die as you lived," he says quietly. "A fool."

The sword moves in a silver arc aimed at Ressa's exposed arm—not a killing blow, but a marking one. The sort of cut that would leave permanent scars to remind her of the cost of betrayal.

My hand shoots out without conscious thought, fingers closing around the blade just below the hilt. Steel bites into my palm, but momentum stops as if hitting stone.

"No."

I twist my wrist, leveraging the weapon from his grip with the sudden violence of someone who's had enough. The sword flies across the tent, embedding itself in a support pole with a sound like breaking bones.

Heldrik stares at his empty hand, then at the blood dripping from my closed fist, then at my face.

"This is what happens," I say quietly, "when someone threatens what I protect."

Around us, the tent erupts into chaos. Guards surge forward, weapons raised, voices shouting orders and threats. But none of that matters because Ressa sways against me, her face pale with exhaustion or shock or the choices that can't be undone.

"It's done," she whispers, so quietly only I can hear. "There's no going back."

"Then we go forward."

Heldrik backs toward the tent entrance, his face twisted with disgust and something that might be grief. "You've killed us all," he says, voice carrying the hollow certainty of prophecy. "But at least you'll die first."

He turns and storms from the tent, taking most of the guards with him. The sudden silence feels heavier than the chaos that preceded it.

Ressa collapses into my arms, not from injury but from the sheer emotional weight of what just happened. She's severed ties with her family, defied military authority, chosen personal loyalty over institutional obligation.

For me.

"What happens now?" she asks.

"Now we face whatever comes together."

"The camp will divide. Some will follow Heldrik's orders, others might stay with me. It could mean civil war within our own forces."

"Then we deal with civil war."

"Kaelgor." She looks up at me, eyes bright with unshed tears. "What if he's right? What if this destroys everything?"

"Then we build something better from the pieces."

Outside, I can hear the camp responding to news of the confrontation. Voices raised in argument, weapons being checked, horses being saddled. The aftermath of revelation spreads through the ranks like ripples from a thrown stone.

Some will see this as betrayal requiring punishment. Others might view it as evolution demanding adaptation. Most will probably just want to survive whatever comes next.