Page 7 of The Orc's Bonded Bride (The Five Kingdoms #3)

CHAPTER 7

E gon stood in Lyric’s garden, watching her gather vegetables. The soft light of the morning sun burnished her hair and skin, giving her an otherworldly glow. She moved with an easy grace between the rows, her fingers brushing gently over the leaves and stems as she selected the ripest offerings.

She hadn’t noticed him watching her—a rare moment of peace in her usually busy day. He’d woken before dawn, a habit formed from years on the road. When he’d seen her slip out the cottage door, he’d followed, curious.

The garden was her domain, that much was clear. The careful placement of plants, the trellises and supports for the vining varieties, the neat rows and paths—all spoke of careful planning and constant maintenance. Yet the results looked anything but rigid. Flowers bloomed in riotous colors and shapes, drawing bees and butterflies to their pollen-laden depths, and birds sang from the branches of the small fruit trees.

She moved as if she were part of the garden itself, her presence natural and right among the verdant growth. She belonged here in a way she had never belonged in Kel’Vara. He’d hoped for a better life for her, but he’d never pictured this. Then again, he was a product of the city—he’d hadn’t known that such a life existed.

When she looked up and found him watching her, she smiled, her face soft and open for a moment before it shuttered once again.

“I’m taking these to the tavern,” she said, holding up the basket, and he had to bite back a protest. The village was safe, and she was in no danger just because she was out of his sight.

And I gave up the right to protect her, he reminded himself as he retrieved the post digger and set to work—but he still watched her slender body move gracefully down the path until she was out of sight.

He hefted the post digger, his muscles bunching as he drove it into the ground. He was determined to finish repairing the chicken coop before the end of the day, the memory of her smile yesterday when he’d fixed the fence lingering in his mind.

A twig snapped behind him and he whirled, cursing himself for his inattention.

A small boy stood at the edge of the clearing, perhaps seven or eight years old, with a mop of unruly brown hair and clothes that had seen better days. His face was smudged with dirt, but his eyes were bright with curiosity.

He froze. Children always feared him. His size, his tusks, his scars—they took one look and ran screaming. He braced himself for the inevitable terror, the shouts that would bring angry villagers with pitchforks and torches.

Instead, the boy grinned, revealing a gap where his front teeth should be.

“You’re really big!” The child approached without hesitation. “Are you helping Miss Lyric?”

Egon lowered the post digger slowly, unsure how to respond. “I am.”

“I’m Samha.” The boy stuck out his hand with the confidence of someone twice his size. “Miss Lyric gives me honey candy sometimes. Are you her friend?”

He carefully extended his hand, gently engulfing the boy’s tiny fingers in his big palm. “I’m Egon.”

“Your teeth are amazing!” Samha pointed at Egon’s tusks. “Can you eat really tough meat with those? My sister says I can’t have a knife yet, but you don’t need one, do you?”

A startled laugh escaped before he could prevent it.

“They can be… useful,” he admitted.

He watched the boy bounce on his toes, eyes wide with curiosity. Children had always given him a wide berth—their instincts telling them to fear the scarred orc warrior, but this one seemed to have missed that lesson entirely.

“What are you doing?” Samha peered at the half-dug post hole. “Is that for the chicken coop? Miss Lyric said the foxes got in last week.”

“Yes.” Egon gripped the digger tighter, unsure how to navigate this unexpected conversation. “I’m reinforcing the fence.”

“Can I help?” Samha was already rolling up his sleeves, revealing skinny arms that looked barely capable of lifting a wooden spoon, let alone a shovel. “I’m really good at digging. Once I found a buried treasure in the creek bed. Well, it was just an old horseshoe, but Lina said that’s lucky.”

He hesitated. The boy would only slow him down, but there was something in those eager eyes that made him nod. “You can hold this steady while I dig deeper.”

Samha’s face lit up as if Egon had offered him the moon. He grabbed the post digger’s handles, his entire body tensing with the effort to keep it straight.

“Are those battle scars?” Samha asked, eyeing the jagged mark across Egon’s forearm. “Did you fight in a war?”

“Something like that.”

“How many men have you killed? A hundred? Two hundred?”

Egon frowned. “Killing isn’t something to boast about.”

“Oh.” Samha’s brow furrowed. “But you protect people, right? Like in the stories?”

The question caught him off guard. “I… try to.”

“That’s what warriors do.” Samha nodded sagely, as if confirming a universal truth. “Are you protecting Miss Lyric now?”

He paused, the digger halfway into the earth. “I’m just helping with chores.”

“Where’d you get your sword? Can I see it? Can you teach me how to fight? Do orcs eat different food than humans? Why are your teeth so big? Can you?—”

“One question at a time,” he said, surprised to find his lips twitching toward a smile.

Two hours later Samha finally departed, the boy’s boundless energy still not exhausted after helping—or trying to help—with every task Egon undertook. Despite himself, he’d grown fond of the child’s endless questions and earnest attempts to assist, even when those attempts created more work.

“Can I come back tomorrow?” Samha asked.

“If you want.” The words surprised him as much as they seemed to delight the boy.

“Really? I can help you sharpen your sword?” Samha bounced on his toes.

“We’ll see.”

He ruffled the boy’s hair, marveling at how natural the gesture felt, and went back to work.

As evening settled over the valley, he washed up at the outdoor basin, scrubbing dirt from beneath his nails. The day’s labor had been satisfying in a way that battle never was. Creating rather than destroying. Fixing instead of breaking.

Inside, Lyric had prepared a savory dish of grains and roasted vegetables. The rich aroma filled the small cottage, making his stomach growl appreciatively. They ate in companionable silence for a while, the awkwardness of the previous night somewhat diminished.

“Samha seemed to enjoy himself,” she said finally, breaking the quiet. “I think he looks up to you.”

He grunted, uncomfortable with the implication. “He’s a good kid.”

“He is.” She smiled at him, and something in his chest tightened.

A sharp knock at the door cut through the moment. She frowned, setting down her spoon, as she rose to answer.

“Who could that be at this hour?”

He tensed, his hand automatically dropping to the knife at his belt, and shifted his weight, ready to move if necessary.

Lyric opened the door to reveal two elderly villagers—a gray-haired man with a face like weathered leather and a thin woman whose sharp eyes immediately fixed on Egon.

“Evening, Lyric,” the man said, his voice neutral but his posture rigid. “Word reached us that you’re housing a… visitor.”

“Elder Tomas, Elder Harta.” Lyric’s voice remained calm, though he could see her tension in the set of her shoulders. “This is Egon, an old friend of mine. He’s helping with repairs around my holding.”

He stood, conscious of how his height forced him to duck beneath the ceiling beams, and nodded politely. He did his best to keep his expression neutral, though he recognized the fear and suspicion in their eyes. He’d seen it countless times before.

“We don’t often see orcs in these parts,” Elder Harta said, her thin lips pressing together. “Especially not since Lord Trevain aligned with Lasseran.”

“I’m just passing through,” he said, keeping his voice low and non-threatening. “Helping Lyric with some work before I move on.”

The elders exchanged a look that spoke volumes, then politely asked Lyric to step outside. Once again he bit back a protest and simply moved to one side as they left. They didn’t close the door completely, and fragments of their conversation drifted back to him. He remained perfectly still, his enhanced hearing catching every word.

“—harboring an orc?” Elder Harta’s voice was sharp with disapproval. “Have you lost your senses, girl?”

“He’s not just any orc,” Lyric replied, her tone clipped. “I’ve known Egon for years.”

He moved closer to the door, careful to keep his footfalls silent. He didn’t want to eavesdrop, but he needed to know what they were saying about him.

“You can’t trust his kind,” Elder Tomas said. “Just last month, the Hollowbrook settlement was?—”

“You said yourself that no one knew what happened there,” Lyric cut him off. “And anyway, he’s from Norhaven.”

“That makes it worse!” Harta hissed. “They’ve turned their backs on civilized ways.”

His jaw tightened, his tusks pressing against his lower lip. The ignorance stung, but he’d heard worse. Far worse.

“He knows all about your so-called civilized ways,” Lyric snapped. “I met him in Kel’Vara, long before I came here. And he helped me when no one else would.”

“Kel’Vara?” Elder Tomas’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You never speak of that place.”

“I don’t have many pleasant memories,” she said firmly. “Bug Egon is one of them. I know him. He poses no threat to this village.”

“The council will want assurances,” Harta insisted. “Especially with Lord Trevain’s men watching our every move.”

“Then I’ll give them assurances,” Lyric said. “But I won’t turn away a friend because of your prejudice.”

He stepped back from the door, something warm unfurling in his chest at her defense. Friend. The word shouldn’t have meant so much, but it did. He had so few of them.

Egon quickly returned to his seat at the table as the door creaked open. Lyric stepped inside, her cheeks flushed with anger. She closed the door with more force than necessary, the wooden frame shuddering against its hinges.

“I apologize,” he said quietly. “I’ve brought trouble to your door.”

Lyric shook her head, lips pressed into a thin line. “You heard?”

“Enough.” He traced a finger along a knot in the wooden table. “Your elders have reason to be cautious. Especially with Lasseran’s influence spreading.”

She dropped into her chair with a sigh. “They’ve never even met you. They have no right to judge.”

Egon’s chest tightened at her defense of him, even as guilt gnawed at his conscience. The last thing he wanted was to cause problems for her in a community she’d worked so hard to build a place in.

“Perhaps it would be best if I left tonight,” he suggested, the words bitter on his tongue. “I can make camp in the forest. Continue my journey tomorrow.”

Her head snapped up, her green eyes flashing. “Absolutely not.”

“But your standing here?—”

“Is my business.” She crossed her arms. “I still have work for you to do. The chicken coop isn’t finished, the north field needs clearing, and the roof leaks when it rains.”

He studied her face, searching for any sign of doubt or hesitation. He found only stubborn determination. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure I need help with those chores,” she said, her tone softening slightly. “And I’m sure I don’t care what the village council thinks about who helps me with them.”

Their eyes met across the table. The firelight caught in her hair, turning the chestnut strands to burnished copper. He swallowed hard, hope flickering dangerously in his chest. Was it possible she wanted him to stay for reasons beyond manual labor?

“Then I’ll stay,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended. “For as long as you need me.”

Her expression softened. She stood and began clearing the dishes. Egon rose to help, their hands brushing as they worked side by side in comfortable silence.

When the kitchen was clean, she paused beside him. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “For understanding. And for staying.”

Before he could respond, she rose on her tiptoes and pressed a quick, gentle kiss to his scarred cheek. His skin burned where her lips had touched.

“Goodnight, Egon,” she whispered, then turned and disappeared into the bedroom.

He stood frozen for a long moment, his fingertips touching the spot where her lips had been, his heart thundering in his chest. Eventually he made himself move and went to the pallet she’d prepared for him, but he couldn’t sleep. He stared at the ceiling beams instead, his mind racing. The warmth of her lips against his cheek lingered like a brand. Such a small gesture, yet it had shaken him to his core. No one had shown him such tenderness in… he couldn’t remember how long.

The cottage creaked and settled around him, but beneath the familiar night sounds, he thought he detected movement outside. Whispers. Footsteps that approached, then retreated.

He rose silently, years of warrior training allowing him to move without sound despite his size. Careful not to wake Lyric, he slipped his tunic over his head and buckled his sword belt, the weight of the weapon reassuring against his hip.

Outside, the night air carried the scent of wood smoke and damp earth. He scanned the perimeter of her property, his night vision picking out details that human eyes would miss. Nothing seemed immediately wrong, but the prickling sensation between his shoulder blades told him they were being watched.

“Fools,” he muttered, circling the cottage. What did they think he would do? Attack in the night? Steal their children? The old prejudices ran deep, and he’d been naive to think he could stay here without consequence.

He did another circuit, then settled on a stump near the edge of the property, positioning himself where he could see both the cottage and the path leading to the village. He would stand guard tonight. Not because he feared for himself, but because he wouldn’t let harm come to her because of him.

The memory of her fierce defense before the Elders warmed him against the night’s chill. She had stood her ground, refusing to bend to their prejudice. For him. A scarred, broken orc warrior who had no business bringing trouble to her door.

And that kiss…

He shook his head, trying to clear it of foolish thoughts. It had been a gesture of friendship, nothing more. He had no right to hope for anything beyond that. Still, his hand drifted to his cheek, tracing the path her lips had taken.

What was he doing here? He should be tracking Lasseran’s influence, gathering intelligence for his brothers. Instead, he was fixing fences and digging post holes, pretending he could belong in this peaceful corner of the world.