Page 8 of The Orc's Bonded Bride (The Five Kingdoms #3)
CHAPTER 8
L yric tossed in her bed, sheets tangled around her legs from hours of restless turning. Moonlight streamed through the window, casting long shadows across her small bedroom. The Elders’ concerned faces kept appearing in her mind, their thinly veiled warnings about harboring an orc in their peaceful village.
She hadn’t planned the words that tumbled out in Egon’s defense. They simply emerged, fierce and certain. But now, staring up at the ceiling beams, she realized every syllable had been true. The Egon she’d known in the capital had been reckless and wild, but even then, he’d shown flashes of the gentleness she witnessed now. The way he handled her bees with such care. How patiently he’d answered Samha’s endless questions.
Something rustled outside her window, and she sat up, straining to listen. Through her window, she caught a glimpse of Egon’s broad silhouette pacing the perimeter of her cottage, his movements precise and watchful. He was guarding her home.
Her chest tightened. How many nights had she lain awake in this bed, feeling utterly alone? She’d built walls around herself even in this village, kept everyone at a careful distance. Yet in mere days, he’d slipped past those defenses.
“What are you doing?” she whispered to herself, pressing her palms against her eyes.
The kiss she’d planted on his cheek burned in her memory. It had been impulsive—a gesture of gratitude for his willingness to leave rather than cause her trouble. But the warmth of his skin, the startled look in his eyes afterward…
She slipped from bed and padded to the window. Egon had stopped moving and stood facing the forest edge, alert and watchful. The moonlight silvered his scars, transforming them into something almost beautiful, as if ancient runes were etched upon his skin.
The villagers were wrong about him. They saw only what they expected to see—a dangerous creature from frightening tales. They couldn’t see what she did: the male who fixed her fence without complaint, who made her laugh for the first time in years, who now stood guard while she slept.
“They don’t know you,” she whispered against the glass. “But I do.”
She watched him for a while longer before finally returning to bed and falling into a restless sleep.
Some time later she woke with a start, unsure what had roused her. The cottage lay silent, wrapped in the peculiar stillness that came just before dawn. Remembering Egon pacing outside her window in the moonlight, she slipped from her bed, pulling a shawl around her shoulders against the morning chill. The floorboards creaked beneath her bare feet as she approached her bedroom door. Pushing it open just enough to peer through, she froze.
The pallet she’d made for him beside the hearth lay empty, blankets neatly folded.
Her heart sank. He’d left without saying goodbye—just like before. A familiar hollowness spread through her chest, the same emptiness she’d felt years ago when he disappeared.
“Not again,” she whispered, pushing the door wider, her eyes fixed on the abandoned sleeping space. After everything—after the way she’d defended him to the Elders, after that impulsive kiss—he’d simply vanished. Perhaps he’d decided the village’s suspicion wasn’t worth enduring, or perhaps he’d never intended to stay at all.
She wrapped her arms around herself, fighting against the ache of disappointment. She’d been a fool to let herself believe things could be different this time. A fool to imagine that the connection between them might be strong enough to overcome the barriers of their separate worlds.
“I should have known,” she murmured, moving toward the cold hearth.
Her fingers traced the edge of the folded blanket, catching a hint of his familiar scent. Had he left during the night after guarding her home? Or waited until first light to slip away unnoticed?
It didn’t matter. The result was the same. Once again, she stood alone in a space that suddenly felt too large, too quiet.
She sank onto the pallet, pulling one of the blankets around her shoulders and breathing in his scent. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself one moment of weakness, one moment to acknowledge how much his presence had meant to her.
When she opened her eyes again, her gaze caught on something in the corner. His pack leaned against the wall, partially hidden by the shadows. Relief washed through her so powerfully that her knees nearly buckled. He hadn’t left after all.
Climbing quickly to her feet she rushed to the door and pushed it open. The early morning air chilled her bare feet as she stepped onto the porch, quickly scanning her property.
He stood near the fence he’d reported, his massive body silhouetted against the pale dawn sky, his shoulders hunched slightly as if under an invisible weight. He hadn’t heard her open the door, lost in whatever thoughts consumed him.
She watched him for a moment, studying the way the rising sun highlighted the contours of his face, the scars that hadn’t been there when she’d known him before. What battles had he fought? What pain had carved those marks into his skin?
When she took a step forward, a porch board creaked beneath her weight and he turned instantly, his posture shifting from contemplative to alert in a heartbeat. As soon as he saw her, something in his eyes softened, though the wariness didn’t completely fade.
“I thought you’d left,” she said, hating the vulnerability that crept into her voice.
He shook his head. “I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”
The simple statement settled something inside her. Of course he wouldn’t—not this Egon, who repaired her fences and guarded her home while she slept. This wasn’t the impulsive male she’d known in the capital. The years had changed them both.
“What are you doing out here?” she asked, wrapping her shawl tighter around her shoulders against the morning chill.
His gaze drifted back to the forest. “Thinking.”
She went to join him, the dew-soaked grass chilling her bare feet. “About what?”
“About the past, I suppose.”
“You never answered my question,” she said quietly, staring out at the same tree line that held his attention. “Why did you leave me all those years ago?”
The question had burned inside her since the moment she recognized him in her garden. Every shared meal, every casual conversation had only intensified her need to know. She’d built a life from the ashes he’d left behind, but the wound of his disappearance had never fully healed.
His jaw tightened, but his eyes remained fixed on the horizon, as if the answer lay somewhere in the distance.
“I didn’t have a choice,” he said finally, his voice low and rough, but she shook her head emphatically.
“Everyone has a choice, Egon.”
She turned to face him fully, no longer content to share his view of the forest. The morning light revealed new scars she hadn’t noticed before—a thin line across his neck, another near his temple.
“I searched for you,” she continued, the words spilling out before she could stop them. “I thought something terrible had happened. Then I was told you’d become a fighter, and I realized you’d simply… left me.”
He finally looked at her, his expression pained. “It wasn’t simple.”
“Then explain it to me,” she demanded, crossing her arms. “I deserve that much, don’t I? After all this time?”
The wind rustled through the nearby trees, filling the silence between them as she watched emotions war across his face—reluctance, regret, and something deeper she couldn’t name.
“Yes,” he finally conceded. “You deserve the truth.”
Despite his agreement, he seemed to be struggling to find the words. The morning light caught in his amber eyes, revealing depths of pain she hadn’t seen before. Whatever he was about to tell her, it cost him something to speak it aloud.
“I made a deal,” he finally said, his voice so low she had to lean closer to hear him. “A deal I thought would protect you.”
“Protect me?” Her breath caught. “From what?”
His gaze dropped to the ground between them. “From the life we were living. From me.”
The words hung in the air between them, and she shook her head, not understanding.
“I was broken, Lyric.” His big hands clenched at his sides. “Broken and angry. You were growing up and you deserved better than what I could offer you then.”
A strange ache bloomed in her chest. All these years, she’d imagined countless scenarios—that he’d grown bored of the city, that he’d found someone else, that she simply hadn’t mattered enough for him to say goodbye. Never once had she considered that he’d left because he thought it was best for her.
“You didn’t think I deserved to make that choice for myself?” she demanded, and he flinched as if she’d struck him.
“I was trying to do the right thing.”
“The right thing would have been to talk to me,” she said, wrapping her arms tighter around herself as the morning chill seemed to seep into her bones. “Not disappear without a word.”
“I know that now,” he admitted. His eyes finally met hers again, filled with a regret so raw it made her throat tighten. “I’ve learned many things since then. Too late for it to matter, I suppose.”
She wanted to stay angry—anger was safer than the other emotions swirling beneath her ribs—but something in his expression made it impossible. The Egon who stood before her now was not the same one who had left her all those years ago. The scars that marked his skin seemed to extend deeper, to places she couldn’t see.
She studied the lines of his face, seeing both the boy she’d once known and the male he’d become. The anger she’d nursed for years began to dissolve, replaced by something more complicated—a recognition that they’d both been shaped by pain and circumstance.
“Did you ever think of me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “After you left?”
His expression softened, vulnerability replacing the guarded look he usually wore. “All the time. I… I hoped you were happy.”
The simple admission sent warmth spreading through her chest. She took a step closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body.
“I thought of you too,” she confessed. “Even when I tried not to.”
His eyes searched hers, as if looking for some trick in her words. Finding none, he exhaled slowly, his breath visible in the cool morning air.
“I never meant to hurt you, Lyric.”
She sighed, then reached up hesitantly, her fingers hovering near the scar that ran along his neck. “May I?”
He nodded, almost imperceptibly, and she traced the raised line of tissue with gentle fingertips. His skin was warm beneath her touch, and she felt him tremble slightly.
“What happened?” she asked softly.
“A reminder,” he murmured, “of the price of carelessness.”
Her hand drifted up to another scar near his temple. Each mark told a story of survival, of battles fought and endured, and she found herself wanting to know them all.
“We’ve both changed,” she said, her hand coming to rest against his cheek.
He leaned into her touch, his eyes closing briefly. When he opened them again, the vulnerability there took her breath away.
“Some things haven’t,” he said, his voice rough with emotion, and she felt the truth of it down to her bones.
Despite the years and distance between them, despite the pain and misunderstandings, the connection that had drawn them together was still there.
“No,” she agreed softly. “Some things haven’t.”
But their connection was no longer quite the same. It was no longer the worshipful admiration of a child for her protector—it was something more. Her heart hammered against her ribs as her thumb feathered across his scarred cheek. The morning air seemed charged with something electric, a current she could no longer resist. His eyes held hers, filled with a longing that mirrored her own.
Without allowing herself to overthink, she rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. The instant their mouths met, heat exploded through her body. What she’d intended as a gesture of understanding transformed into something far more powerful, years of unspoken feelings igniting between them like dry tinder catching flame.
He froze for a heartbeat—just long enough for doubt to flicker at the edges of her mind—before his arms encircled her, pulling her against the solid wall of his chest. His mouth moved over hers with an intensity that made her knees weak, a low growl rumbling from deep in his throat.
Her fingers threaded through his hair, anchoring herself to him as the kiss deepened. He tasted like her honey and something uniquely him that made her head spin. The gentleness she’d witnessed in his care for her bees and patience with Samha contrasted sharply with the barely restrained passion in his kiss. Her body responded with a hunger that shocked her, every nerve ending suddenly, gloriously alive.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, she kept her eyes closed for a moment, afraid to see regret on his face. But when she finally opened them, she found only wonder in his gaze, as if he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened between them.
“I didn’t—” she began, then stopped, unsure what she meant to say. She hadn’t planned this, hadn’t allowed herself to imagine crossing this line with him. Yet now that she had, it felt inevitable—as if every moment since his reappearance had been leading them here.
His hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip with a tenderness that made her heart ache. She should step back, should reconsider what she was doing, but her body refused to move away from his warmth.
“I didn’t expect this,” she whispered, finding her voice at last. “When you appeared in my garden, I thought…”
She trailed off, unsure how to explain the tangle of emotions his return had sparked. Anger, hurt, confusion—and beneath it all, a stubborn, persistent hope she’d tried desperately to extinguish.
His eyes searched hers, uncertainty flickering in their depths. “Do you regret it?”
The question hung between them. She considered the years of hurt, the abandonment, the life she’d carefully built without him. All the reasons she should step away.
Instead, she shook her head. “No.”
The simple truth of it surprised her. Despite everything, despite the rational voice in her head warning her to protect her heart, she couldn’t regret the kiss they’d shared.
A tentative smile transformed his face, softening the harsh lines of his scars. His hand slid from her cheek to the nape of her neck, fingers threading through her hair with exquisite care, as if she were something precious he feared breaking.
“Neither do I,” he murmured.
The admission sent warmth flooding through her chest, and she leaned into him, resting her forehead against the solid plane of his chest. His heartbeat thundered beneath her ear, as rapid and unsteady as her own.
“What happens now?” she asked, the question muffled against his shirt.
His arms tightened around her. “I don’t know.”
The honesty in his voice was oddly comforting. Neither of them had expected this, neither had a plan for what came next. They stood together in the growing light of dawn, surrounded by uncertainty but unwilling to let go.