Page 4 of The Orc's Bonded Bride (The Five Kingdoms #3)

CHAPTER 4

L yric’s world swam slowly back into focus, a kaleidoscope of green leaves and dappled sunlight above her. Something solid and warm cradled her body. Not the ground—arms. Strong arms that could crush her but instead held her with surprising gentleness.

She shifted her head and found herself staring up at a face she’d never expected to see again.

“Egon?” she whispered again, her voice barely audible.

He looked different—so different from the young orc she remembered. He looked so much older, harder, with new scars etched across his green skin. He’d been big when she’d known him but he was huge now, his shoulders broader, muscles more defined beneath the worn leather of his armor.

But his eyes… those amber eyes remained unchanged. The same intensity, the same careful watchfulness. The same hidden depth that had always made her feel as though he saw more than others.

“You’re real,” she murmured, reaching up hesitantly. Her fingers hovered near his face but didn’t touch, afraid he might dissolve into nothing. “I thought I was dreaming.”

A breeze rustled through the trees, carrying the scent of her garden—rosemary and sage, honey and earth. The familiar smells anchored her to reality. This was happening. He was here.

“How did you—” She tried to sit up too quickly, and her head spun. His arms tightened slightly, steadying her.

“Easy,” he rumbled, his voice deeper than she remembered.

Her heart hammered against her ribs as she became acutely aware of their proximity—the warmth of his body, the careful way he held her, the slight tremble in his hands that belied his unreadable expression.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” she said, finding her voice at last.

Those familiar amber eyes brought a rush of memories—a younger, less scarred version of him standing between her and danger all those years ago. For one breathless moment, joy surged through her veins like wildfire.

Then reality crashed down.

He had disappeared. Without explanation. Without goodbye.

She pushed against his chest, struggling to free herself from his arms.

“Put me down,” she snapped.

He hesitated, then carefully lifted her to her feet. His hands lingered for a moment, as if making sure she was steady, before he stepped back. The space between them felt both too vast and not nearly enough.

“What are you doing here?”

She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold despite the afternoon warmth. He’d vanished the day they dragged her out of the hideaway concealed beneath a burned down building. She’d screamed for him, called his name, even as the burly man who had hauled her away had ignored her cries.

He’d been nowhere.

For months afterwards, she’d convinced herself that he’d been dead. That it was the only possible reason he’d left her. Even then her mind had conjured a thousand images of him, bloody and wounded, dying alone in some forgotten corner of Kel’Vara. Those first few months in Lord Sarnak’s household she’d been watched too closely to escape, but eventually she’d found an opportunity to slip away and had immediately gone in search of him.

Their hideaway was still abandoned with no sign that anyone had been there. She’d combed the streets and back alleys, the Hollow Market and the Warborn District, the places she’d once called home, looking for him, looking for any trace of him.

Instead, she’d found Paxton, one of the kids who’d stayed with them for a while. Paxton told her that Egon had been alive the day she had vanished. That he was a fighter now. She’d yelled at him and run away, crying until there were no more tears left. Alone in the darkness she’d finally accepted the truth—he was gone for good.

Eventually she’d returned to Lord Sarnak’s household, knowing that it was safer than remaining on the street. Eventually she’d stopped thinking about him, stopped dreaming about him. But she’d never forgotten the pain of his betrayal.

“I didn’t know you were here,” he said finally, his deep voice stirring memories she’d tried to bury. “I was passing through.”

“Passing through,” she echoed, the words bitter on her tongue. “Like you passed through my life before?”

He flinched almost imperceptibly. Good. Let him hurt too.

“You left me,” she continued, unable to stop now that the words had started flowing. “I thought you cared about me, but you just vanished. Do you have any idea what happened after? What I had to endure?”

The years of struggle flashed through her mind—the work, the struggle, but most of all the crushing loneliness of having no one to trust, no one to turn to.

Despite her anger—despite the years of abandonment and the bitter taste of betrayal on her tongue—she found herself missing the security of his arms around her. The warmth. The strange sense of rightness that had washed over her, even in her confused state.

She hated that feeling. Hated how easily her body remembered what her mind had fought so hard to forget.

“I should go,” she said, turning toward her cottage. Her sanctuary. The place where no one could hurt her.

But her legs felt unsteady, and she stumbled slightly. He steadied her, then immediately stepped back, respecting the distance she’d created between them. The restraint in his movement made something in her chest ache.

“Lyric,” he said, her name sounding different in his deep voice than it ever had from anyone else’s lips.

How many nights had she lain awake, imagining hearing him say her name again? How many times had she convinced herself that he must be dead—because surely nothing else would have kept him from returning?

Yet here he stood, very much alive, looking at her with those intense amber eyes that seemed to see straight through to her soul.

“Why are you here?” she asked again, softer this time, hating the vulnerability in her voice.

The wind picked up, carrying the sweet scent of her apple trees towards him. Her bees hummed in the distance, going about their work, oblivious to how her carefully constructed world had just been shattered. The life she’d built—her garden, her bees, her quiet existence—suddenly felt like a fragile illusion.

She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, trying to reclaim the sense of security she’d felt in his embrace. It was foolish. Dangerous. She’d learned long ago not to depend on anyone but herself, but she couldn’t deny the treacherous longing that spread through her chest like honey—warm, sweet, and impossible to contain.

“What happened to you?” she demanded. “You disappeared without a word. I…I looked for you.”

The admission cost her, each word like a shard of glass in her throat.

His massive shoulders sagged slightly, and his tusks caught the late afternoon light as he sighed

“It’s a long story.”

“A long story?” She gave a humorless laugh. “Years of my life wondering if you were dead or alive, and all you can offer is ‘it’s a long story’?”

She turned away, unable to bear the sight of him standing there—so solid, so real—when she’d convinced herself he was lost to her forever. Her cottage beckoned, a sanctuary she’d built with her own hands. She could retreat there, shut the door, pretend this encounter had never happened.

But she couldn’t make her feet move.

“How did you end up here?” he asked quietly. “It’s so far from Kel’Vara.”

The question caught her off guard. How could she possibly explain the journey that had brought her here? The slow, painful process of building a life from nothing, not just after he left, but after Lady Sarnak had sent her away. Of eventually finding a home in this village and learning to trust—or at least to coexist—with the villagers. She turned back to face him, suddenly aware of the irony.

“It’s a long story,” she echoed, the fight draining from her voice.

Their eyes met, and something unspoken passed between them. A shared understanding that neither of their paths had been easy, that the years had changed them both in ways that couldn’t be explained in a few simple sentences.

The realization didn’t erase her anger or heal the wound of his abandonment, but it created a small crack in the wall she’d built around herself—just enough to make her wonder what forces had kept him away, and what twist of fate had brought him back into her life now.

Every instinct honed from years of self-preservation told her to send him away, to protect the fragile peace she’d built here. Yet beneath the hurt and anger, a more primal feeling stirred—a memory of trust, of safety in his presence.

“You should go,” she said, but the words lacked conviction.

The sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting long shadows across her garden. Soon darkness would fall. The thought of him disappearing into the night, perhaps forever this time, created an unexpected ache in her chest.

“At least tell me why you’re here first.”

He shifted his weight, the leather of his armor creaking softly. His eyes scanned the perimeter of her property with the watchfulness of someone accustomed to danger. Some habits never changed, it seemed.

“I’m investigating something,” he said finally. “Reports of… unusual activity in the Old Kingdom.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Unusual how?”

“Lasseran may be building an army. Beast warriors.”

The name sent a chill down her spine. Memories of Kel’Vara flashed through her mind—the towering black citadel, the Dusk Guard patrolling narrow streets, the whispered disappearances.

“And you’re doing this alone?” she asked, unable to mask her concern.

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “I work better alone.”

The statement hung between them, laden with unspoken history. Had that been his reasoning all those years ago? That whatever had taken him away from her was something he needed to face alone? What had happened to him in the years since she’d last seen him? Where had he been? What scars—visible and invisible—had he collected along the way?

Despite everything, she found herself wanting to know this older, more weathered version of the orc who had once saved her life. The realization was unsettling, like discovering a door she thought permanently sealed was actually just slightly ajar.

“You look tired,” she said abruptly. “And hungry, probably. Where were you planning to stay?”

His gaze drifted towards the darkening horizon. The sun was setting faster now, painting the sky in deep oranges and purples. Night would fall soon, and with it the chill that always seemed to seep into her bones this time of year.

He shrugged. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

Of course he hadn’t. Some things hadn’t changed. She remembered how he’d always lived in the moment, focused on the immediate task rather than what might come next.

“The village has an inn,” she offered, then frowned. “Though I doubt Marken would rent to…” She trailed off, not wanting to finish the thought.

“An orc,” he said flatly. “I’m used to it.”

The resignation in his voice tugged at something in her chest. She knew what it was like to be unwelcome, to have doors closed based on nothing more than what others perceived you to be.

She glanced at her cottage—small but sturdy, with its thatched roof and stone walls. Her sanctuary. The one place in the world where she felt truly safe.

Was she really considering this?

“You could stay here,” she said, the words tumbling out before she could reconsider. “Just for tonight.”

Surprise flickered across Egon’s face, quickly masked by his usual stoic expression. “I don’t want to impose.”

“It’s not an imposition if it’s an invitation,” she replied, doing her best to keep her voice casual despite her doubts. Was this wise? After everything, after all the years of silence, to let him into her home?

But the alternative—sending him into a night where he’d likely find no shelter—felt wrong. Whatever had happened between them, whatever explanation he owed her, she couldn’t bring herself to be that cruel.

“I have a spare pallet,” she said, making her decision. “You can sleep by the hearth.”

She turned toward her cottage, not waiting to see if he would follow, but the soft pad of footsteps behind her confirmed he had accepted her offer.

Her heart raced as she approached her door, suddenly seeing her home through a stranger’s eyes—through his eyes. The carefully tended garden, the neat stack of firewood, the small bench where she sat on warm evenings. All evidence of the life she’d built alone.

A life he knew nothing about. A life that, until today, had not included him.