Page 10 of The Passionate Orc (The Teddy Orcs #1)
Emryn
I never imagined my wedding day would include a soaked veil, a leaking tent, and a storm that threatened to wash away the entire ceremony. But then again, I never imagined falling in love with an orc warrior who painted landscapes in secret either.
"Stop fidgeting with your hair, Em," my best friend Lila said, slapping my hand away from my curls. "The stylist will murder me if you mess up her masterpiece."
I glimpsed myself in the mirror. I pinned up some of my brown curls, leaving the rest to fall over my shoulders. The veil, a delicate piece of lace that had belonged to my grandmother, was secured with tiny pearl pins.
"Do you think Nar will like it?" I asked, my stomach doing that flippy thing it always did when I thought about my soon-to-be husband.
"Like it? Emryn, that orc is going to swallow his own tusks when he sees you."
The wedding planner, Veronica, poked her head into the tent. "Five minutes, ladies! The musicians are ready, and the guests are seated."
I took a deep breath. Six months ago, I'd met Nar at an art gallery where one of my paintings was being displayed.
He'd been standing in front of it, so still and focused that I thought he was judging it harshly.
Turns out, he was memorizing every brushstroke because he'd seen no one capture emotion through color the way I did.
Two weeks later, he showed me his own paintings, a secret he kept from his clan. One month after that, he proposed.
"Ready?" my dad asked, appearing at the entrance of the tent. His eyes went misty when he saw me. "You look beautiful, sweetheart."
I smoothed down the front of my dress, a simple, flowing gown that complemented my petite frame without drowning me in fabric. "I'm ready."
They transformed the park by the river. Rows of white chairs lined either side of a flower-strewn aisle.
On the left sat my family and friends—a sea of humans in bright colors.
On the right, Nar's clan members, imposing orcs dressed in their finest, many wearing traditional Red Blade clan symbols.
The contrast should have been jarring, but somehow, it felt right.
The music started—a melody that combined traditional orc drumbeats with classical strings, just like our two worlds coming together. As Dad and I began our walk, the wind picked up. I felt a tug at my head and watched in horror as my grandmother's veil lifted off my head, caught in a sudden gust.
"Oh no!" someone gasped as the delicate lace sailed through the air like a graceful ghost before settling gently onto the surface of the river.
For a second, everyone froze. I looked to where Nar stood at the altar, his broad shoulders tense, probably ready to dive into the river to retrieve it. But instead, I just shrugged and laughed.
"Guess Grandma wanted to be part of the river ceremony too," I called out.
My laughter broke the tension. Soon everyone was laughing, and Nar's shoulders relaxed, his tusked smile widening. His eyes never left mine as I continued down the aisle, veil-less but happier than I'd ever been.
At the altar stood both officiants: Elder Grommash from Nar's clan, his weathered green skin and ceremonial battle scars making him look fierce despite the smile on his face, and Reverend Coleman from my parents' church, who'd known me since I was a child.
Nar took my hands in his. His were massive compared to mine, calloused from warrior training but gentle as they always were when he touched me.
"You're beautiful," he rumbled quietly, for my ears only. "My artist."
"And you clean up nice, warrior," I whispered back. His formal clan attire, a combination of leather, metal, and deep red fabric—made him look even more imposing than usual, but I could see the softness in his brown eyes, the vulnerability that he showed only to me.
The ceremony was a beautiful blend of both traditions. Elder Grommash spoke of strength through union, while Reverend Coleman talked about love and commitment. We exchanged rings, mine a delicate band with small diamonds, his a sturdy metal band engraved with both orc runes and human writing.
"By the power of the Red Blade Clan," Grommash intoned.
"And by the power vested in me," added Reverend Coleman.
"We pronounce you husband and wife," they finished together.
Nar gently cupped my face in his hands as if I were a delicate crystal glass and kissed me with such tenderness that it made my heart ache. The cheers from both sides of the audience blended together—human whistles and orc war cries creating a symphony of celebration.
As we broke apart, I noticed the sky had darkened considerably. Our wedding planner was frantically signaling to the staff, who were quickly ushering people toward the giant reception tent.
"Looks like we're in for a storm," Nar said, looking up. "Good thing we planned for this."
The first fat raindrop hit my nose just as we made it to the tent.
The wedding planner transformed the space inside into a magical wonderland. The ceiling twinkled with fairy lights; they arranged wildflowers in mismatched vintage vases as table decorations, and Nar added a small replica of one of his paintings to each centerpiece after he finally shared his art.
"Not bad for a backup plan," I said, squeezing Nar's hand.
"Our planner deserves a raise," he agreed.
The Cluckin' Good catering team, Nar's absolute favorite fried chicken place—was setting up their stations.
We'd decided against a formal seated dinner, opting instead for food stations where people could mingle and try different things.
The choice had raised some eyebrows among my more traditional relatives, but when they saw the spread from gourmet fried chicken to fancy canapés they quickly came around.
My new husband (husband!) leaned down to whisper in my ear. "My clan elders are already on their third plate of spicy chicken wings. I think we've won them over."
Rain drummed on the tent roof as we cut the cake—a three-tiered creation with one layer of orc blood orange cake (not actual blood, despite what my younger cousins believed) and two layers of human vanilla-raspberry.
As tradition dictated, Nar fed me a bite gently, and I did the same for him before playfully smearing frosting on his nose.
His clan roared with approval. Apparently, food fights were a sign of a blessed marriage in orc culture. Who knew?
The DJ announced our first dance just as lightning flashed outside, followed by a boom of thunder so loud it made some guests jump. Nar led me to the center of the dance floor, one hand at my waist, the other holding mine.
"Ready, Mrs. Humperdink?" he grinned, showing his tusks in that way that never failed to make my heart skip.
"Lead the way, Mr. Humperdink," I replied, still getting used to my new last name.
We'd chosen a song that meant something to both of us—one we'd danced to in my tiny apartment the night he'd first shown me his paintings. As Nar spun me around the floor (he was surprisingly graceful for someone so large), I noticed something dripping from the tent ceiling.
"Um, Nar..." I began, just as a fat droplet of water landed squarely on his forehead.
He blinked in surprise, then looked up. Several places in the tent were now leaking, creating a polka-dot pattern of wet spots on the dance floor.
The wedding planner looked like she might faint. My mother was already reaching for her emergency sewing kit (as if she could sew up rain), and several of Nar's clan members were scanning the ceiling as if they might battle the water itself.
Instead of panicking, Nar did something unexpected. He laughed—a deep, full-bellied laugh that seemed to shake the tent itself—then spun me through one of the dripping spots, making me squeal as cold water hit my bare shoulder.
"Dance in the rain with me, Emryn," he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
And so we did. Soon other couples joined us, dancing between (or sometimes directly under) the leaking spots.
Someone, I suspect it was my cousin Michael, started a game of "dodge the drip," which had everyone laughing hysterically.
Nar's clan members got into it too, turning it into a contest of agility that had everyone cheering.
What should have been a disaster turned into one of the most joyful moments of the day.
Later, as we sat at our table, watching our families mingle, Nar's arm around my shoulders, I couldn't help but think how perfect our imperfect wedding had been.
"What are you thinking about?" Nar asked, pressing a kiss to my temple.
"Just that when we tell our kids about today, they'll never believe half of it," I replied.
His eyes softened at the mention of children. "Our little half-orcs will think we're making it up."
"The Great Veil Escape," I said dramatically. "The Tentpocalypse."
"The Battle of the Leaking Roof," he added with a grin.
"The Cluckin' Good Invasion," I countered, nodding toward his clan elders, who were now challenging my uncles to a chicken wing eating contest.
As if on cue, another drop of water landed in Nar's drink, splashing both of us. We looked at each other for a beat before dissolving into laughter.
"I love you," he said, suddenly serious despite the water dripping on his formal wear. "Human customs, orc traditions, storms, sunshine—none of it matters as long as I have you."
I touched his face, tracing the firm line of his jaw. "I love you too. Every stubborn, protective, secretly artistic inch of you."
The tent might have been leaking, my veil might have been floating down the river, and our perfect day might have been full of mishaps, but as Nar pulled me close for another kiss, I knew one thing for certain, our life together was going to be an adventure worth every unexpected moment.