Page 33 of Savage Devotion (Orc Warrior Romances #2)

"True," Thrakul acknowledges. "But if you don't sign it, there's also no moving forward. No building on what you've already created. No transformation of possibility into reality."

Forward or backward. Growth or stagnation. Change or familiar suffering.

I trace the treaty's text with my finger, noting the careful language that protects both peoples' interests while creating framework for genuine cooperation. This isn't surrender disguised as peace, but genuine partnership built on mutual respect and shared benefit.

"There's more," Thrakul says, producing a second document from his scroll case. "A personal addendum, if you're willing to consider it."

This parchment carries different markings, more intimate somehow despite its formal structure. The text is shorter, simpler, but the magical seals are more complex, binding not just political entities but individual souls.

A marriage contract.

The words blur as I read them, not from tears but from the sheer magnitude of what they represent. Formal bonding between Orc warrior and a human noble, the alliance that transforms choice into a political symbol, that makes private relationship into a public statement.

"You're proposing that Kaelgor and I..." I can't finish the sentence, the implications too vast to articulate.

"I'm providing a legal framework for what already exists," Thrakul corrects gently. "The bond between you carries weight whether formally recognized or not. This simply makes it official, gives it political protection, transforms personal unity into diplomatic tool."

I look at Kaelgor again, searching his face for a reaction to this unexpected development.

His expression shows surprise but not dismay, consideration rather than rejection.

Something in his eyes suggests this possibility has occurred to him, even if he never expected it to arrive in such formal terms.

Marriage. The word carries different weight among our respective peoples, but the core concept remains consistent. The binding of lives and futures, the choice to face whatever comes together rather than separately.

"What do you think?" I ask him quietly.

"I think," he says carefully, "that what matters isn't what others call our partnership, but what we make of it."

Practical as always. But beneath the pragmatic response, I sense deeper currents of hope and fear in equal measure, the formal bonding would protect what we've built while also exposing it to greater scrutiny.

"The clans would accept this?" I press Thrakul. "A formal bond between their warrior and enemy noble?"

"The clans sent me here precisely because they already accept it," he replies. "What you've accomplished together speaks louder than tradition. Honor recognizes honor, regardless of species or heritage."

Honor recognizes honor. The phrase resonates with something deep, the same certainty that drove me to trust Kaelgor with my life, to choose partnership over isolation, to stand beside him against my uncle's blade.

"And my people?" I glance toward the watching camp. "What happens when word spreads that I've bound myself to Orc warrior?"

"Some will call it betrayal," Thrakul acknowledges. "Others will call it wisdom. Time will judge which assessment proves correct."

Time will judge. But time requires surviving the immediate consequences, weathering the storm of reaction and response, building something strong enough to endure pressure from all sides.

I fold both documents carefully, feeling their weight in my hands. Not just parchment and ink, but possibility and consequence, the transformation of private choice into public commitment.

"I need to consider this properly," I say. "Discuss it with..." I glance at Kaelgor. "With my partner."

"Of course." Thrakul nods approvingly. "Decisions of this magnitude shouldn't be made hastily. But remember—opportunity rarely waits for perfect timing."

Opportunity rarely waits. How long before opposition merges? How long before those who profit from conflict organize resistance to peace? How long before fear and tradition reassert dominance over hope and possibility?

"How long do we have?" I ask.

"Three days," Thrakul replies. "Then I return to the Gathered Clans with answer, one way or another."

Three days. Enough time to consider implications, to plan for the consequences, to prepare for whatever follows. Not enough time to eliminate risk or guarantee success, but perhaps enough to choose wisely rather than hastily.

"Very well. Three days."

Thrakul remounts his destrier with fluid grace, ceremonial banners catching torchlight as his delegation prepares to withdraw. But before departing, he leans down, voice pitched for my ears alone.

"Commander Vaelmark. What you've built here, what you've chosen, it matters more than you know. Don't let fear make choices for you."

Then he's gone, hoofbeats fading into darkness, leaving me standing in the courtyard with documents that could reshape the world and a choice that will define everything that follows.

Kaelgor steps closer, his presence warm and steady beside me. "Well," he says quietly. "That was unexpected."

Unexpected. The understatement draws a laugh from me, sharp and slightly hysterical. "That's one way to describe it."

I look down at the folded parchments in my hands, feeling their weight extend far beyond mere paper. The treaty represents hope for ending centuries of suffering. The marriage contract represents hope for protecting what we've built together.

Both represent the transformation of private choice into public commitment, the willingness to stand before our respective peoples and declare that unity serves better than division.

Forward or backward. Growth or stagnation. Fear or hope.

"Come on," I say, tucking both documents inside Kaelgor's breastplate, close to his heart where warmth will keep them safe. "We have choices to make and consequences to consider.”