Page 9 of The Orc's Bonded Bride (The Five Kingdoms #3)
CHAPTER 9
E gon carried a wooden crate filled with jars of honey to Lyric’s cart, his muscles flexing easily under the weight. Three days had passed since their early morning conversation, and each hour felt like stepping into a dream he’d never dared imagine.
“Is this the last one?” He set down the crate, careful not to disturb the meticulously arranged goods.
She smiled up at him, her fingers brushing against his as she adjusted the jars. “Perfect. I think we’re ready.”
Ready for the harvest festival—the type of gathering he would have avoided at all costs just days ago. Now, watching her growing excitement, he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.
“You’ll outshine every other vendor there.” The words slipped out before he could stop them, and she blushed.
“It’s just honey and vegetables.”
“Nothing about you is ‘just’ anything.”
Their eyes locked, and he felt that familiar pull—the one that had drawn him to her years ago and somehow found him again. His Beast stirred within, hungry and impatient to claim their mate, but he quieted it. This fragile thing between them deserved time to grow properly.
She went to check on the bees and he picked up his axe just as he heard a chorus of high-pitched voices and the unmistakable sound of small feet trampling through the underbrush. Samha emerged first, his unruly hair sticking up in all directions, followed by three other village children. The boy’s face lit up when he spotted him.
“I told you he was real!” Samha announced triumphantly to his companions, who huddled behind him with wide eyes, and Egon suppressed a smile.
“Back again, trouble?”
“We came to help!” Samha declared, puffing out his chest. “These are my friends—Nia, Tomas, and Beni.”
The children stared up at him with expressions ranging from awe to trepidation. He’d grown accustomed to Samha’s fearless curiosity, but these new faces reminded him how unusual his presence truly was in this small village.
“I’m splitting wood,” he explained, keeping his voice gentle. “Not a task for small hands.”
“We can stack it!” Samha insisted, already moving toward the pile of split logs.
Nia, a girl with braided hair and skeptical eyes, stepped forward. “Are you really an orc warrior? Samha says you fought a hundred men at once.”
He shot Samha a look, and the boy grinned sheepishly.
“I’ve fought when necessary,” he said carefully. “But I prefer peaceful work, like this.”
He gestured to Lyric’s garden and the repaired fence.
Tomas, the smallest of the group, finally found his voice. “Can we see your tusks up close?”
Before he could respond, the children crowded around him, their initial fear forgotten. He knelt down, allowing them to examine his features with unabashed curiosity. Their innocent acceptance loosened something in his chest—a knot of tension he’d carried for so long he’d forgotten it was there.
“Right,” he said finally, standing up. “If you’re helping, there are rules. Stay clear when I’m swinging the axe. Stack only what you can carry safely. And no climbing on the woodpile.”
The children nodded solemnly before scattering to their self-assigned tasks, chattering among themselves. Samha stayed closest to him, mimicking his stance as he worked. He looked over and found Lyric smiling at him from beside the bee hives. He smiled back and returned to work, keeping a careful eye on his new assistants.
The children departed just before sundown, glowing from his praise and clutching the honey drops Lyric had given them in small, grubby fists.
“You’re gathering quite a group of helpers,” she laughed as they watched them go.
“I enjoy their company. But do you think we’ll get another visit from the Elders tonight?”
She shrugged as she led the way into the cottage.
“I don’t think so. Everyone knows you’re here. And from what Harta told me this morning, Samha has been singing your praises all over the village.”
He winced.
“I hope that doesn’t include more stories about me fighting a hundred men at once.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me, but your kindness to him is more important—it says more about your character than a thousand apocryphal battles.” She smiled up at him and squeezed his hand. “Now how about slaying some vegetables for me? I thought we could make some stuffed peppers for dinner.”
He nodded, and they worked together in companionable silence. He’d always enjoyed cooking, but it was different with Lyric at his side. The domesticity of it all struck him as both foreign and achingly familiar—as if he’d been waiting his entire life to experience this simple peace.
She caught him watching her and smiled, that easy, unguarded smile that had been appearing more frequently these past few days. His chest tightened. He’d never imagined anyone, especially Lyric, could look at him that way.
“You’re staring again,” she said, but there was no reproach in her voice. Instead, she crossed the room and brushed her fingers across his arm as she passed, the casual touch sending warmth through his entire body.
“It’s hard not to,” he admitted.
She laughed, the sound clear and bright in the cottage’s warm air. She’d been doing that more too—laughing. Each time felt like a gift he hadn’t earned but treasured nonetheless.
“Set the table?” she asked, her hand lingering on his arm.
He nodded, going to fetch the wooden plates and cups and marveling at how easily they’d fallen into these rhythms together, as if the years apart had been nothing but a momentary interruption.
Throughout their meal, her knee pressed against his beneath the small table. She reached across to wipe a crumb from his shirt without hesitation, her fingers gentle against his skin. These small touches—unthinking, natural—meant more to him than she could possibly know.
After dinner, they sat on her porch, their shoulders touching as they watched the sunset paint the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks and fireflies came out to dance across the garden. When she leaned against him, his heart thundered so loudly he wondered if she could hear it.
“This is the first time I’ve ever been to the festival,” she admitted. “It never felt right before.”
“And now?”
“Now I have someone to come with me.”
She turned her face up to his, and he couldn’t resist bending down to kiss her. Each kiss they’d shared over these past days felt like reclaiming something lost—something he’d convinced himself he didn’t deserve. Her lips were soft against his, her hand coming up to rest against his chest.
When they broke apart, he traced a finger along her jawline. “I’ll be there as long as you want me.”
“That might be a very long time.”
His Beast growled with satisfaction, but he kept his touch gentle. They had weathered years apart. Now, they had the luxury of patience—of discovering each other slowly, deliberately. His brothers had found their mates, but he’d found something he’d thought impossible: a second chance.
She leaned her head against him again and he carefully wrapped his arm around her, still half-expecting her to pull away. Instead, she nestled closer.
“This is nice,” she murmured.
The simple words struck him deeper than any battle wound. This—her warmth against him, her contentment in his presence—was more than he’d ever allowed himself to hope for.
His thumb traced lazy circles against her shoulder as the evening breeze drifted past carrying the scents of her garden—lavender, thyme, and the sweet perfume of late summer blossoms. For the first time in his life, he allowed himself to imagine a future beyond battle and duty. A future with her.
“I’ve been thinking about expanding the garden next spring,” she said, her voice soft against his side. “Maybe plant some fruit trees on the eastern side.”
“I could help clear the land,” he offered, already picturing himself working the soil, building something lasting instead of destroying.
She tilted her face up to his. “You’d still be here in spring?”
The question hung between them, fragile and hopeful. He opened his mouth to answer—to tell her he’d stay as long as she’d have him—when his enhanced hearing picked up a new sound.
Hoofbeats. Multiple riders approaching at speed.
He tensed instinctively, and she must have felt the change because she straightened, pulling back to study his face.
“What is it?”
“Riders coming,” he whispered, already scanning their surroundings. “At least four, maybe five.”
He gently disengaged from her and melted into the shadows beside the cottage. The movement was fluid, practiced—the product of years spent learning how to disappear despite his size. He pressed his back against the wall, automatically positioning himself where he could still protect her if needed.
“Egon—” she began, but he raised a finger to his lips, eyes fixed on the road, and the question died on her lips.
The riders appeared moments later—five armored men on horseback, their mounts lathered from hard riding. Even in the fading light, he could make out the emblem on their shields: Lasseran’s falcon insignia.
His jaw tightened. These weren’t simple messengers or travelers. These were soldiers—elite guards, judging by their equipment and bearing.
They passed her cottage without slowing, but he remained motionless in the shadows, counting their weapons, assessing their formation. Old habits. Necessary habits.
The peaceful bubble he’d allowed himself to inhabit these past few days burst. Reality crashed back with the thunder of hoofbeats and the glint of steel in the dying light. His muscles coiled with tension as she rose from the porch and gave him a sharp look.
“Stay here,” she whispered. “I need to know what they want.”
Before he could protest, she was heading down into the village, following the path the riders had taken. He growled low in his throat, his instincts screaming that those men brought nothing but danger. The emblem alone told him enough—High King Lasseran’s elite guard didn’t ride into backwater villages for pleasant conversation.
He gave her a ten-count head start, then followed her. Years of training had taught him how to move silently and invisibly despite his size. He kept to the deepest shadows, using buildings and trees as cover, tracking her while remaining invisible to casual observers. His heart hammered against his ribs—not from exertion but from fear for her safety.
The riders had stopped in the village square, their horses’ flanks still heaving from hard riding, and he positioned himself behind the tanner’s shed, close enough to hear but hidden from view. Lyric stood at the edge of the gathering crowd, her posture deliberately casual, but he could read the tension in her shoulders.
“By order of High King Lasseran,” the lead rider announced, his voice carrying across the square, “you are required to provide information on any strangers passing through these lands.”
The crowd murmured, and he saw several villagers glance up the hill towards Lyric’s cottage. His hand instinctively moved to where his weapon would normally hang but no one spoke up.
“Anyone failing to report such information,” the captain’s voice hardened, “will face High King Lasseran’s justice.”
He watched Lyric’s spine stiffen at the threat, and every protective instinct in his body roared to life. These men would cut her down without hesitation if they believed she stood between them and their quarry. The cold calculation in their eyes told him everything he needed to know about how little they valued human life.
He pressed his back against the tanner’s shed, nostrils flaring as he caught the distinct scent of expensive oil used to polish high-quality armor. These weren’t ordinary soldiers—they carried themselves with the arrogance of men accustomed to power. The kind of men who took what they wanted without consequence.
Elder Tomas stepped forward and bowed his head respectfully. “We’re preparing for our harvest festival, my lords. We have few travelers through our humble village.”
“I’m glad you mentioned that. Lord Trevain sends his… regards.” The pause made it clear these were anything but well-wishes. “He reminds you that festival taxes are to be collected in full this year.”
His jaw tightened. So these were the local noble’s men, not Lasseran’s direct forces as he’d first thought—though the falcon insignia confirmed the alliance. The crowd’s collective tension told him everything he needed to know about Lord Trevain’s reputation.
“But we’ve already paid our seasonal dues,” someone protested from the crowd.
The captain’s hand moved casually to his sword hilt. “Lord Trevain has determined that previous collections were… insufficient given the abundance of this year’s crops.”
He watched villagers exchange worried glances. Tables half-decorated with festival bunting stood forgotten in the square. Women pulled children closer. Men looked at the ground, anger and helplessness etched in their faces.
The man’s gaze swept the crowd again, lingering on Lyric. His Beast snarled, recognizing the predatory assessment in the man’s eyes. His muscles bunched, ready to spring forward despite every rational thought screaming against it.