Page 14 of The Orc Chief’s Baker (Orc Mates Of Faeda #4)

Chapter

Nine

TRINIA

S he pushed down her irritation and embarrassment by guiding the warrior orc deep into the woods, far enough away that she couldn’t hear the clamoring of gossip anymore.

She stopped them right next to a fallen log underneath the canopy of a bright red oak tree.

The gentle autumn breeze rustled the leaves, raining them down and dappling the bright sunlight through them.

The dazzling blue of the sky peeped through, and the smell of crisp, clean air and decaying foliage flooded her senses.

The beautiful scenery did little to improve her nerves.

Her breath exhaled hard to push out her frustration as the orc regarded her with a calm, almost passive, expression. “I’m sorry about that.”

He nodded, clearly unaffected by the mistrust. She didn’t know what things were like outside the Rove Woods. It was probably far worse than how he was treated here. But it didn’t matter. She still wasn’t keen on him feeling unwelcome.

Especially when she wanted so much from him. She needed him to be willing to come back.

“Uh, do you want to sit down?” She gestured to the fallen log, and he rose a brow questioningly. “I guess it’s too wet, isn’t it?”

He nodded.

“Oh, here.” She held out the cream bun to him. “Another apology.”

He took them, expression going slack before a wide grin stretched his face. His eyes twinkled with delight. Almost reverence .

Her heart fluttered. Fades, that felt good. Folks usually enjoyed her baking, but not this much. Watching him fall all over himself with glee made her whole body tingle.

His mouth opened wide to place the whole bun on his tongue, and she suddenly knew exactly why Ulia had wished her luck.

The tusks were one thing, as long as her palm and as thick as three fingers at the base, but at least those had been filed to a blunted end, so they didn’t skewer him in the cheek when he was chewing.

His fangs were a whole other story. They were nearly as long as her pinky finger and deadly sharp. It was a wonder his green tongue hadn’t been skewered.

She’d seen the Rove Wood orc’s teeth when they ate her pastries, but they were nothing like these teeth. She swallowed hard.

Then he closed his mouth and began to chew.

And his eyes fluttered shut with delight, his lips curled, his whole body went a little limp as he savored the treat.

Her blood heated up in a way that was far too telling.

She needed to get control of herself, or she was going to be too flustered to trade with him!

“Thank you.”

Her heart plunged with shock.

He quirked a smile. “Thank you, Trinia.”

She clenched her thighs together as a zing of pleasure shot down her spine. Oh Fades, his voice sounded like the blissful combination of a thunderclap and the crunch of footsteps on icy snow.

“Y-you can talk,” she said stupidly, and his amusement was clear from the grin on his face. “S-sorry, I just really didn’t think you could. You didn’t talk at all yesterday...”

“I am Brovdir. Sorry, talked too much yesterday. Ran out of words.” He tapped the jagged scar at his neck with two of his thick fingers.

Trinia swallowed though her mouth had gone dry. His blasted voice was so low and rough and yet it suited him perfectly.

She wanted him to keep talking, but his statement finally processed in her mind. “Does it hurt to talk?”

He nodded.

Her stomach twisted. “Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have...”

“I am fine.” He used a tone that was so firm it was almost tangible. “Been saving for you.”

Her cheeks heated despite herself. “You’ve been saving your words for me?”

He nodded.

A flush of pleasure shivered from the top of her head all the way down to her toes and she was certain she was blushing as bright as the sun right now. The male’s expression softened into something so tender it only made the sensation worse.

She had to stop looking at him or she was going to turn into a bumbling ninny. Her tongue already felt tied.

But she managed to get back to the matter at hand anyway.

“I’m not really one for small talk, so I’ll get right to it.

I really just wanted to talk to you about creating these.

” She pulled the parchment out of her basket of sweets and passed over the first one.

It was a simple diagram. Just a flat pan with slightly raised edges with measurements.

It would be easy for any blacksmith worth his salt to make.

But the amount of metal needed was a whole other story.

Her heart clenched as Brovdir took the book from her hand.

He examined it inquisitively and her anxiety forced her into unusual babble.

“My sister... well... let’s just say I don’t have my baking pans anymore.

It’s made getting the loaves done almost impossible.

I’ve been basically cooking all night in order to get them done.

Which is fine since that’s where I live anyway but. ..”

The male rose a brow at her.

“It’s far better to live there than my former home.

Believe me. My sister can be a nightmare.

” And her childhood home was basically in shambles anyway.

After years of being neglected by her drunkard of a father who traded every extra scrap he had on mead, it was a wonder the whole thing hadn’t caved in.

He rose both brows now and blinked with surprise.

“I know what you’re thinking, but trust me, sleeping behind the oven is preferable to sleeping in the same room as Yerina. She can be...”

Conniving. Manipulative. Petty... how she’d convinced their father to write a will specifically saying she inherited their childhood home was beyond her. Their father may have been fallen over drunk half the time, but he was usually somewhat fair.

It didn’t matter now and judging from the orc’s shocked expression, she’d been rambling about this far too long.

“I just need to get my pans replaced. And since the goblins abandoned the surface world two decades ago, there hasn’t been any metal trade. The supply we’ve got here in the Rove Woods is so limited. That’s why... well... I was hoping you had some extra where you are from?”

“Much.”

The single word sent a cascade of relief and delight through her. “Really?” She breathed. “So, you have enough to make that pan? Perhaps a few of them? And maybe these too?” She pulled the other sketches out of her basket and passed them over.

He purposefully brushed her hand with the pads of his fingers as he took them, and a little shiver raced down her spine. Fades, his hands were huge .

“Those”—he pointed to the basket she still had on her arm—“for these?”

A zing of delight burst through her. She’d done it! This was actually going to work!

She pulled a bun back out of her basket and handed it to him. He took it carefully. “You mean these, right? Because I can actually make you anything. If you tell me what flavors you prefer, I can bake goods specifically for you.”

The male tipped his head in thought as he considered this. It made his shaggy hair flop over his forehead and her fingers twitched with the want to brush it back.

“W-we should discuss quantity too.” She hoped the flush of her cheeks wasn’t noticeable. “How many do you think is fair?”

His brows furrowed as he considered before he ventured carefully. “Three?”

Trinia tried to stop her laughter. She really did, but it came anyway, and before long, she was wiping her eyes and trying to get words out. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just thought you meant you only wanted three buns in exchange for a pan.”

“Three pans, three buns.”

Her laughter died out.

He was serious? “That is not a fair trade.”

His brows came together and disappointment flashed on his face. He carefully tapped the bun as if testing its softness. “Two pans for one?”

“By Fades, no . Brovdir, you cannot be serious.” She searched his face and found no humor there. “You are serious. Brovdir, have you traded with someone before?”

“Yes.”

“Really? And that trade still seems fair?” He nodded his head, and she was instantly flummoxed. How bad were things outside of Rove Wood?

Now was not the time to ask.

“Brovdir, look here.” His eyes snapped right to her face and held so powerfully she felt a zing of warmth shoot through her entire body.

His full attention gave her confidence. “Brovdir, three of my cream buns are not worth metal working like this. Metal is incredibly valuable these days, and the skill to bend it to your will is so much more difficult than baking.”

His expression shifted, mouth quirked, brows gentled. His posture loosened as his eyes mirrored disbelief.

Her stomach erupted into butterflies all over again.

“Not to me,” he rumbled in such a low, exquisite tone she felt it all the way down in the balls of her feet. It made her want to shift from side to side. “For me, these sweets are worth a lifetime.”

A . . . lifetime?

She didn’t understand his meaning, and she was afraid to ask. Nor could she find her voice. The earnest praise for her baking combined with the heated gaze Brovdir was giving her made her almost giddy.

“W-we should still make it fair , Brovdir,” she said, pointing to the drawing. “Can you tell me what you think this pan would be worth in... let’s say... dried meat?”

He nodded and looked down at the drawing for a moment before his brow screwed up and he rose his hand to look at it in confusion.

“You want . . . seven hand widths?”

She burst into embarrassed laughter. “Oh, no, no! Why didn’t I think of that? I used my own hand as a measurement! I didn’t mean any hand.” She looked down at his massive hands. “Fades, if you built it off yours it wouldn’t even fit in my oven.”

A grin flitted across his face and her stomach flipped over. “H-here. Hold out your hand for me.” He did so, and she sat her own hand flush over his.

Biscuits and jam, his hand was huge. Almost twice the size of her own! Her middle finger barely made it up to his first knuckle.