Page 4 of The Princess and the Orc (Cursed Kingdoms)

Chapter Four

A malia settled into her seat at the banquet table, after having carefully bathed and dressed for dinner. Her body still hummed from her afternoon with the orc, but she had to put him firmly behind her. There was no way the guards would let him into the castle. Orcs had been conducting raids along the borderlands, sadly leaving few survivors. Prince Frederich had told her of his own country’s woes with the orcs, which he admitted was one of the reasons he sought her hand in marriage. He wanted an alliance with Sherith to join forces and defeat the orcs once and for all.

Only, her orc hadn’t seemed warlike or nasty or evil at all. He had saved her from sure death, or at least a kidnapping, the outcome of which she didn’t know and feared. Being a princess wouldn’t save her from harm. She wasn’t na?ve enough to think that would make any difference. In fact, it would probably put her in more danger. She was a valuable hostage, being the daughter of the king and the only heir to his throne. The brigands could have held her prisoner and forced her father into any manner of things, or forced her into a marriage to take over the kingdom. Stranger things had happened elsewhere.

Amalia knew her behavior had been impetuous and reckless. She should have listened to her father, heeded his warnings. At least no one needed to know about her adventure.

She picked at the roast pig, normally one of her favorites, especially the way Cook made it. But she had no appetite this evening. Her stomach was tied in knots, worried as she was that somehow her dalliance would come back to haunt her. As the meal progressed, her father and his chief advisor discussed matters of state. Normally, Amalia tried to pay attention, learn from them. Her father had been involving her in the running of the kingdom more and more, telling her that she could not rely on her husband-to-be. She thought it would be boring, but she liked it, enjoyed being needed and involved. It was better than sitting in her solarium and stitching useless things. Besides, no one liked her needlework. It was atrocious.

Finally, a soldier came to speak to Sir Cadvael. He frowned and excused himself. Her father turned his attention to her and they spoke of Prince Frederich and his reasons for refusing the marriage.

A commotion at the door roused their attention. Sir Cadvael stood there with the captain of the guard behind him and another figure looming over both of them. A green hulking beast of a creature. Her stomach plummeted. It was the orc. How had he gotten in despite her orders?

She clenched the arms of her chair, her heart freezing in her chest. Sir Cadvael shot her a sympathetic look, then refocused on her father. “Your majesty. We have a visitor who says he knows Princess Amalia. He says he is her… fiancé.”

Everyone turned to stare at Amalia. A servant dropped a platter to the floor, shattering the silence that had gripped the hall. Her father stood, still looking uncertain.

“Please, come in. Join us, sir.”

The orc pushed past Sir Cadvael. “I’m Drogath, representing the Broken Fang clan. I have been trying to speak with you for three days, your majesty.”

King Henrik arched his eyebrows, but when he spoke, his tone was mild. “And instead you accost my daughter? How did that happen, exactly?”

He turned to Amalia, and she squirmed in her chair, avoiding his penetrating stare. “I went for a ride today and got separated from my escort. Brigands attacked me, but this orc saved my life.”

His expression turned thunderous. “I expressly forbade you to go riding. You are a target, Amalia. I told you this could happen.”

“You didn’t tell me this. You only asked me to stay close to the castle. How was I to know that I would be attacked?”

King Henrik rolled his eyes and looked at Drogath. “Are you sure you want to marry a headstrong female such as this?”

Drogath only smiled. “We made a bargain, your majesty. I escorted her safely back to the castle in exchange for her hand in marriage.”

“You can’t mean to hold me to that. I was coerced!” Amalia cried out.

Her father exchanged glances with Sir Cadvael and his expression turned cagey. “Will you join us for dinner?”

* * *

D rogath sat on the red velvet cushioned chair across from King Henrik and immediately servants began laying plates in front of him, piled high with food. Roasted pork. Fresh warm bread. Creamy butter. Cold ale. Spiced wine. It was a feast for the senses, and he was starving. Yet the only thing he wanted to devour was his mate, Princess Amalia. She had bathed in something floral that masked her own sweet scent, but he could still smell her underneath it all. And her courtly dress covered more than he would like, hiding her from his eyes. It was the orc way to show off their mates and flaunt their treasures, for that was what a mate was—a veritable treasure that not all males were honored to find, but he wasn't ready to share his.

“What brings you to my kingdom?”

Drogath smothered a smile. “Orcs used to roam freely across your lands, your majesty. But we have restricted ourselves to the mountain regions for safety in recent decades. I came because I believe we have an enemy in common.”

The king exchanged glances with his chief advisor. “We do? I was under the impression that your people were our enemy.”

Drogath frowned. “You have been misled. We are not your enemy. We only wish to live in peace with you and your people. We have not attacked your borders or your people. Instead, we have been the victims of foul attacks and slander against our name.”

Sir Cadvael spoke up. “We have evidence of your attacks on our villages.”

“Lies,” Drogath spoke flatly. “We have never attacked your villages or anyone else. Anyone killed has only been in response to attacks on our homes.”

“You’re saying that someone left orc weapons and clothing in our villages and used your techniques to kill humans?”

Drogath wanted to slam his hands on the table. Why wouldn’t they listen? But he had to maintain his composure to save his people. He was his clan’s, no, all the orc clans’ only hope of defense against their dishonorable enemies. He had to persuade King Henrik to ally with them and stand against their enemies before it was too late. Other orcs were attempting to reach out to other kings, but Sherith had always been friendly to orcs and they were in the direct line of attack. Drogath had no doubt that once the orcs were removed, Sherith would be next, whether from the enemy within or the one they could not see on their borders.

He knew the neighboring kingdom of Darea had been attacking his people, but he had no proof. They used uniforms from Osna or none at all, appearing as brigands or outlaws to throw his sentries off the scent. But he’d caught sight of their prince with his distinctive white-blond hair, watching the attack from a distance, even coming close enough to take part at one point. Darea was involved up to their prissy little necks, and he suspected they were behind the attack on the princess earlier that day.

But Drogath met the king’s gaze evenly. “Yes, I am saying exactly that.”

The king frowned and his advisor looked troubled. “These are serious accusations. I assume you have proof?”

Drogath scowled. “Not enough for a human court.”

The king made a sound and focused on his food for a few minutes. Drogath waited but, when nothing else was said, he also began eating. The food, while delicious, felt like dirt in his mouth. The only positive side was that his mate was also picking at her food, avoiding his gaze, though occasionally stealing glances at him, her eyes darting away when he caught her.

The king didn’t miss the exchange. “Explain how you think you’re worthy of my daughter’s hand in marriage.”

Drogath heard the steel in the king’s tone and had a choice to make. He could kowtow to the king, as many of the human courtiers would, or he could act as a warrior and stand up for himself.

He met the king’s gaze. “Your daughter pledged herself to me in exchange for her safety. This is between us.”

The king’s white eyebrow raised. “She needs my permission to marry.”

“I’m not asking to marry her. In the eyes of my people, we’re already mated.”

“What?” Amalia screeched, half rising out of her seat. “You didn’t tell me that.”

He smirked at her. “You didn’t ask, nor did you stay around long enough for me to enlighten you.”

“You are under the impression that you and my daughter are already mated?” The king asked, his tone mild.

“Not an impression, a fact,” Drogath corrected. “She accepted my terms. We are mated. Though there is still a ceremony we will perform with my clan. Amalia is of an age to make her own decisions. We do not rely on family permissions, like humans do. We allow the parties involved to make their own decisions.”

The king pursed his lips and glanced at his advisor, who looked consideringly. They put their heads together and spoke quietly for a few moments.

Meanwhile, Drogath felt Amalia's glare upon him, her hands fisted around her knife as if she envisioned stabbing him with it. He liked a female with fire. She’d make a fine mate and mother for his young.

She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Why didn’t you tell me that you thought we were mated? I would have never agreed to that.”

He leaned back in his chair and narrowed his eyes. “So you had no intention of honoring your word?”

Her jaw snapped shut. Anger flashed in her eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”

“So you running away and blocking me from entering the castle was a misunderstanding?” He challenged, almost laughing at the frustration coming off of her in waves.

Amalia turned to her father, who studied them thoughtfully. “Daddy, you can’t make me marry an orc.”

“I admit, this is not the marriage I had envisioned for you. However, it appears that your recklessness has actually made that point moot. You are mated to an orc. You made a deal with him and you must honor your word, Amalia. And I believe an alliance with the orcs might be in our best interest.”

“But daddy, I’m supposed to marry Prince Frederich!” she wailed.

“I told you once before that I will never allow that. I don’t trust him and would never want you tied to him,” her father said sternly.

Amalia stood and raced from the room, crying. The men watched her leave. Her father sighed. “She may give you trouble, Drogath.”

Drogath nodded solemnly. “I can handle her, sir. And I think your distrust is well placed. I believe Prince Frederich is behind the attacks on both of our people.”

The king stood and extended his hand. “Then we have a common enemy. For now, be our guest for a few days.”

Drogath stood, relief loosening the muscles in his shoulders. The king believed him. The alliance was still possible. “Thank you. But I must return to my people as soon as possible.”

“I understand. But we must have a wedding ceremony, so everything is legal on our side as well. I will hurry it along as soon as possible. One of our servants will escort you to Amalia’s rooms, since you are mated, as you call it.”

Drogath bowed. “I can find her, your majesty. Thank you.”

He left the room, following the scent of his sweet mate, ready to finish what they had started earlier that day.