Page 23 of The Orc's Bonded Bride (The Five Kingdoms #3)

CHAPTER 23

E gon came to a halt on the ridge behind the village and gently placed Lyric on the ground before transforming back. The Beast receded, a painful shudder rippling through his body as his bones realigned and his claws retracted. The transformation always hurt—like being turned inside out—but he’d learned to endure it silently. He drew in several deep breaths, tasting the air for any hint of danger as his senses gradually dulled to human levels.

“Are you all right?” she asked softly, her hand on his arm.

“I’m fine,” he said as he scanned the village below them. His heart had been hammering with dread the entire time, imagining what they might find—buildings ablaze, bodies in the streets, the kind of devastation he’d witnessed too many times before.

But the village lay peaceful in the afternoon sun. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys. A dog barked somewhere. Children played in the square.

“I don’t understand.” Her voice wavered with relief and confusion. “There’s nothing wrong.”

He narrowed his eyes, studying every corner of the settlement. No blood. No signs of struggle. No Beast warriors lurking in shadows. No trace of that unnatural scent lingering in the air.

“Could we have misread the signs?”

“No.” He shook his head. “That camp was abandoned in a hurry and the Beast warriors were free. Something happened.”

They made their way down the hill, his muscles coiled tight despite the apparent calm. Villagers nodded at Lyric as they passed, some eyeing him warily but without the terror he’d expect if they’d faced an attack.

When they reached her cottage, everything remained exactly as they’d left it—the garden untouched, the door still latched from inside.

She unlocked the door and they stepped inside as the familiar scent of herbs and flowers enveloped them.

“This makes no sense,” he muttered, pacing the small room. “If not here, then where? Why abandon the camp?”

She sank into a chair at her table. “Maybe they were called elsewhere? Another village?”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration building. “Or maybe this was never their target at all. But I didn’t see anything else nearby on those maps.”

He caught the sound of approaching hoofbeats and tensed. He moved to the window, positioning himself so he could see without being easily spotted. A single rider approached—the old captain, his weathered face set in a grim expression.

“Stay inside,” he told her, his hand already reaching for the knife at his belt.

“Egon, wait?—”

But he was already out the door, placing himself between the approaching rider and Lyric’s cottage. The captain reined in his horse, his eyes narrowing when he recognized Egon.

“I thought we had an agreement,” the captain said, dismounting with a weary sigh. “You were supposed to be gone.”

He crossed his arms. “Things changed.”

The captain shook his head, looking more resigned than angry. “I can see that.” He glanced past Egon towards the cottage where Lyric now stood in the doorway. “Miss Everhart. Good to see you’re well.”

“What happened to the training camp in the northern woods?” he demanded, not bothering with pleasantries.

The captain’s brow furrowed. “Training camp? What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play games. Beast warriors. Lasseran’s men. The camp was abandoned when we got there.”

Understanding dawned on the captain’s face.

“Ah. That explains your return.” He gestured around at the peaceful village. “As you can see, there’s been no attack. Lord Trevain and his men departed two days ago—called back by Lasseran himself.”

“Called back?” he repeated suspiciously.

“Direct orders. They packed up and left within the hour.” The captain shrugged. “I don’t know anything about Beast warriors or a training camp. Whatever you found, it wasn’t connected to our garrison.”

He studied the man’s face for deception but found none. His years in the fighting pits had taught him to read men—to anticipate their strikes before they landed—but the captain’s weathered features revealed nothing but exhaustion.

“If what you say is true, then where did they go?” he pressed. “And why abandon the camp so suddenly?”

The captain spread his hands. “I’m just a soldier following orders, same as most. Lord Trevain might have confided in me once, but not after Lasseran’s men arrived.”

Remembering the calculated brutality of Lasseran’s men, he didn’t find that surprising.

“So, you’re back in our village,” the captain added, breaking the silence. “Are you planning to stay this time?”

He hesitated, feeling Lyric’s gaze on his back. He hadn’t allowed himself to think that far ahead. Every moment since discovering the abandoned camp had been consumed by urgency and dread.

“I don’t know yet,” he answered honestly.

The captain nodded, seemingly satisfied with the response. “Fair enough.” He mounted his horse with the stiff movements of a man who’d spent too many years in armor. “Just keep the peace. That’s all I ask.”

He watched him ride away, uncertainty gnawing at his gut. Something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t place what.

“Do you believe him?” Lyric asked, moving to stand beside him.

Before he could answer, a familiar voice called out.

“Lyric! Egon!”

Samha raced toward them, his thin legs pumping as fast as they could carry him. The boy’s face lit up with pure joy, a stark contrast to the suspicion that had been weighing on him.

“You came back!”

Samha crashed into him, wrapping his arms around his waist in an unexpected hug. He froze, unused to such casual affection, especially from a child, then awkwardly patted the boy’s shoulder.

“We did,” Lyric said, ruffling Samha’s hair. “How have things been here?”

“Good!” Samha pulled back, bouncing on his toes. “The captain kept his promise. No one’s bothered us since you left.”

He exchanged a glance with Lyric. “The lord’s men have all gone?”

Samha nodded vigorously. “They packed up real quick. The innkeeper said it was strange, them leaving so sudden-like.”

“And the village has been peaceful?”

“Yep! Everything’s been normal.” Samha looked around, then leaned closer, lowering his voice to what he clearly thought was a whisper but was barely quieter than his normal speech. “But I think something happened at the lord’s estate.”

He crouched down to the boy’s level. “What do you mean?”

“My cousin works in the kitchens there,” Samha confided. “She said there was a big commotion the night before they left. Lots of shouting. And the next morning, the lord was acting real strange. Wouldn’t look nobody in the eye.”

Egon frowned, watching Samha run off to join his friends. The pieces weren’t fitting together—abandoned training camps, a sudden retreat, and now rumors of disturbances at the lord’s estate. His instincts hummed with warning.

“I need to see the estate for myself,” he said quietly, turning to Lyric.

Her face fell. “We just got back.”

“I know.” He reached for her hand, surprised by how natural the gesture felt now. “But if something happened there, I need to know what. This could be connected to Lasseran’s plans.”

Lyric’s fingers tightened around his. “Then I’ll come with you.”

“No.” The word came out sharper than he intended, and he forced himself to soften his tone. “Please, stay here. Talk to the villagers. See what else you can learn. Samha’s cousin, anyone who might have information.”

“You want me to spy for you?” A hint of amusement crept into her voice.

“I want you to be safe.” He brushed a strand of hair from her face. “And yes, gather information. You have their trust. They’ll talk to you.”

She searched his face, concern evident in her eyes. “And what if you find trouble?”

“Then I’ll handle it.” He tried to sound confident, though uncertainty gnawed at him. “I’ve faced worse.”

She sighed, relenting. “Be careful, Egon. And come back to me.”

He nodded, unable to voice the promise aloud. Instead, he pressed his forehead to hers briefly before turning away.

The lord’s estate lay several miles from the village, a journey he made in grim silence, his senses alert for any sign of danger. As he crested the final hill, the stench hit him first—blood and smoke and something else, something foul that made his Beast stir uneasily.

What lay before him was devastation.

The grand manor house stood in partial ruins, its eastern wing collapsed into charred rubble. Bodies littered the courtyard—guards mostly, their weapons still clutched in lifeless hands. Claw marks scored the stone walls, deep gouges that no human weapon could make.

He approached cautiously, every muscle tense. The silence was absolute—no birds, no insects, not even the whisper of wind through the trees. Just death and destruction.

He knelt beside one of the fallen guards, examining the savage wounds that had torn through armor and flesh alike. These weren’t the methodical kills of trained warriors. This was slaughter—wild, frenzied, bestial.

Moving deeper into the estate, he found more evidence of the rampage. Doors ripped from hinges. Furniture shattered. And everywhere, the distinctive scent of Beast warriors—but wrong somehow, fouler, more corrupt than any he’d encountered before.

He knelt beside a fallen guard, examining the savage wounds that had torn through armor and flesh. The man’s face was frozen in an expression of terror, eyes wide and staring at whatever horror had descended upon him in his final moments.

Rage bubbled in his chest, hot and familiar. He’d seen this pattern of destruction before—the wild, uncontrolled savagery of Beast warriors lost to bloodlust. But these wounds were different. Deeper. More vicious. The claw marks weren’t just meant to kill; they’d torn apart their victims with unrestrained fury.

He stood, scanning the courtyard with narrowed eyes. Bodies everywhere, but not a single noble among them. Just guards, servants, stable hands—ordinary people who had no chance against such monsters.

“Cowards,” he growled, his voice echoing in the empty courtyard.

The lord and his inner circle had fled, abandoning everyone else to face whatever horror Lasseran had unleashed. They’d saved themselves while leaving their people to die. The thought made his Beast stir, hackles rising in fury.

He forced himself to study the carnage, reading the story of the attack in the spilled blood and broken bodies. The Beasts had come from the north, the same direction as the abandoned training camp. They’d struck at night, overwhelming the guards at the gate before swarming the estate.

But these weren’t the controlled warriors he’d encountered before. These were something worse—mindless killing machines driven by nothing but rage. No strategy, no coordination, just pure destructive fury.

The scent was at least a day old. Whatever had done this was long gone, but the stench lingered—a foul, corrupted version of the Beast warrior smell he knew. Something had gone wrong with these males. Terribly wrong.

He made his way back to the village, his mind churning with dark thoughts. The stench of death clung to him despite his efforts to wash in a stream. He’d seen brutality in the fighting pits, had witnessed the worst men could do to one another, but this was different. This was slaughter without purpose—or rather, with a purpose too terrible to contemplate.

When he reached Lyric’s cottage, she was waiting at the door, her face tight with worry. The relief in her eyes when she spotted him quickly gave way to concern as she read his expression.

“What did you find?” she asked, pulling him inside.

He sank heavily onto a chair, suddenly aware of the bone-deep weariness that had settled into his body. “Death. Destruction. The estate is in ruins.”

Her hand flew to her mouth. “Everyone?”

“The guards, the servants… all dead. Torn apart.” He couldn’t soften it, couldn’t find gentler words. “The lord and his inner circle escaped. Left everyone else behind.”

She sat across from him, her face pale. “What could have done such a thing?”

“Beast warriors.” His jaw tightened. “But not like any I’ve encountered before. These were… wrong. Corrupted somehow. The scent was fouler, the kills more savage.”

“Lasseran’s work?”

He nodded grimly. “I believe he unleashed them on the estate deliberately, as a test of their power. The timing is too convenient—the abandoned training camp, the sudden departure of the lord’s men.”

“But why attack his own allies?”

“Because he needed to see if they would kill on command.” His hands clenched into fists, fighting to suppress his own rage. “And they did. Efficiently. Brutally. They’re mindless killers now, but Lasseran must have some way of controlling them if he intends to use them as a weapon.”

Her eyes widened with horror. “Where are they now? Are we in danger?”

“I followed their trail for several miles. They’ve moved north, away from here.” He reached across the table, taking her hand. “They’re gone, Lyric.”

For now. The unspoken truth hung heavily in the air between them.