Page 22 of The Orc's Bonded Bride (The Five Kingdoms #3)

CHAPTER 22

L yric crept through the underbrush behind Egon, carefully placing each footstep as he’d shown her. The afternoon sun filtered through the canopy, dappling the forest floor with patches of gold. She watched his back as he moved with surprising stealth for someone so large, pausing occasionally to check their surroundings.

“Stay close,” he whispered, his voice barely audible above the rustle of leaves.

“You should wait here,” he’d told her when he first mentioned scouting the camp. “It’s safer.”

She immediately rejected the idea, giving him a defiant look.

“I’m not staying behind again. Not this time.”

He hadn’t argued, and she suspected he was just as happy for the two of them to remain together. Now, as they approached the ridge overlooking the valley, she felt her old instincts stirring. Growing up in Kel’Vara’s slums had taught her how to move unseen, how to slip through shadows without making a sound. Those skills had also come into use on the road but she hadn’t had any use for them since she’d moved to the village. They resurfaced with surprising ease.

They reached a fallen log, and he motioned for her to stop. He gestured toward a small clearing below with a row of tents. Behind the tents was another row of structures and it took her a moment to realize it was a row of cages, half-concealed beneath the trees. Her heart pounded against her ribs, but she focused on controlling her breathing the way he’d instructed. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Slow and steady.

“Lasseran’s symbol,” he mouthed, pointing to the flag on the largest tent.

She nodded, studying the camp’s layout. A twig snapped somewhere to their left. Egon froze, his body tensing. Without thinking, she pressed herself against the forest floor, becoming almost invisible amongst the ferns and fallen leaves. She held her breath, remembering how she used to hide from the Dusk Guards when they swept through the slums.

There was no further sound from the forest and she cautiously raised her head again. The camp appeared to be completely empty—where were Lasseran’s men?

“I don’t understand,” she whispered, scanning the abandoned site. “There’s no one here.”

He motioned for her to stay put while he checked the perimeter, but she shook her head. She wouldn’t let him face potential danger alone, and she didn’t want to be left behind to wonder. They moved into the clearing together, every sense alert.

Up close they could see that the camp looked as though it had been vacated in a hurry. A pot of stew still hung over an abandoned fire, wisps of smoke curling upward. She pressed her palm near the coals.

“Still warm,” she murmured. “They can’t have left more than an hour ago.”

Around them, more evidence of a hasty departure littered the ground. Discarded weapons—a broken sword, a dagger with a cracked hilt—lay scattered among trampled grass. She knelt to examine footprints pressed into the soft earth, remembering how the herb woman who’d taken her in after Kel’Vara had taught her to read such signs.

“These tracks are chaotic,” she observed, tracing the outline of a boot print with her finger. “Not an orderly retreat. They were running.”

She followed the trail to the largest tent, its flap torn and billowing in the breeze. Inside, maps and documents lay strewn across a makeshift table, some half-burned as if someone had attempted to destroy them before fleeing.

“Egon,” she called softly. “Look at this.”

Her fingers hovered over a map marked with locations throughout the Old Kingdom. Several villages had been circled, including the one they’d left behind. Beside each marking was a number—a tally of some sort.

“What were they counting?” she asked him uneasily.

He shook his head grimly. “I don’t know. And I don’t know why they ran.”

Warning her to be quiet, he edged cautiously around the tent to examine the cages. Ten of them, the doors forced open.

“Do you notice anything about these cages?”

When she gave him a puzzled look, he went and stood next to one.

“It’s designed for someone your size,” she said in a horrified whisper, and he nodded.

“Beast warriors.”

Her heart stuttered as she studied the chaotic footprints in front of the cages, following their direction beyond the abandoned camp. South. Definitely south. Her fingers trembled as she pressed them against the damp earth, confirming what her eyes already told her.

“Egon,” she whispered, her voice catching. “These tracks—they’re heading toward my village.”

The realization crashed down over her in an icy wave. Images flashed through her mind: Samha’s gap-toothed smile, the old willow tree where children played, her cottage with its climbing roses and beehives. All of it vulnerable, unprotected, even more so now after the fires.

“Are you certain?” He knelt beside her, his big body casting a shadow over the trampled ground as he examined the signs. “They’re heading south,” he agreed, |but that doesn’t mean they are heading for your village.”

“I know, but we have to try and warn them.” She rose to her feet, already calculating how quickly they could travel. “If we cut through the eastern woods, we might?—”

“Lyric.” His hand encircled her wrist, gentle but firm. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with. If something scattered armed men…”

She pulled away from him, panic rising in her chest. “We can’t abandon them. Not when I—we—might have drawn Lord Trevain’s attention. We have to try.”

His face hardened as he scanned the abandoned camp, a muscle twitching beneath the scarred green skin. He swore under his breath, the harsh sound carrying in the eerie silence.

“Damn it all,” he muttered, crouching to examine a set of tracks that diverged from the others. His massive fingers traced the outline—deeper, wider than human footprints.

Her stomach twisted. “What is it?”

“These aren’t men’s tracks,” he growled. “They’re Beast warriors.”

The words made her blood run cold. The thought of someone with Egon’s power, but without his compassion and control, descending upon the peaceful village—upon Samha and the elders who had defended her against their own fears.

“If they’ve been unleashed on the village…” He didn’t finish the thought, but he didn’t need to.

“We might already be too late,” she whispered, completing what he couldn’t say. The possibility tore at her heart, but she refused to accept it. “But we have to try.”

He rose to his full height, towering over her. For a moment, she thought he might refuse—might insist they continue toward Norhaven with the information they’d gathered. The rational choice. The strategic one.

Instead, he gave a single, sharp nod. “We’ll need to move fast.” He glanced at the sky, calculating. “If we push hard, we might reach them by nightfall.”

Relief flooded her, so intense she nearly staggered. She reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly. “Thank you.”

His golden eyes softened for just a moment as they met hers. “Your people are important to you. That makes them important to me.”

He hesitated, looking down at her with an expression she couldn’t quite read.

“There’s a faster way,” he finally said, his deep voice barely above a whisper. “I can carry you in my… other form.”

Understanding dawned on her. The Beast. The part of himself he’d tried to hide from her, even after she’d seen him transform to protect Samha.

“Will you trust me?” he asked, his voice tense. “I won’t hurt you, but I understand if?—”

“Yes,” she said immediately, no trace of doubt in her voice. “I trust you, Egon.”

His eyes widened slightly, as if her acceptance had caught him off guard. “You’re not afraid?”

She reached up to touch his face, tracing the scar that ran across his cheek. “Not of you. Never of you.”

He nodded once, then stepped back. “Stand clear.”

He closed his, his breathing deepening. The transformation began—muscles shifting beneath his skin, bones realigning with soft cracking sounds. His already impressive height increased as his body changed, becoming something wilder, more primal. His face grew sharper, more feral, and when he opened his eyes they were solid black.

When it was done, the Beast stood before her—massive, powerful, with gleaming fangs and claws that could tear through armor. But even in this form, the eyes were his, watching her with the same tenderness and concern she’d come to cherish.

She stepped forward without fear, placing her hand against his chest where his heart thundered beneath thick layers of muscle. “Still you,” she murmured.

The Beast—Egon—lowered himself slightly, then carefully gathered her into his arms. She felt the raw power contained in his body, the strength that could easily break her, but he cradled her against his chest as gently as if she were made of glass.

Then they were moving, racing through the forest at a speed that stole her breath. Trees blurred past as Egon leapt over fallen logs and bounded across streams. The wind whipped her hair, and despite the dire circumstances, despite her fears for the village, Lyric felt a strange exhilaration.

Held securely in Egon’s arms, she had never felt safer. Not in her cottage with its sturdy walls, not behind the high gates of Kel’Vara. Here, against all reason, in the embrace of a Beast that would terrify most, she found perfect security.