Page 107 of The Shadow Orc's Bride

“I’m thinking.”

“Of what?”

“That you’re… different,” she admitted softly. “Changed. And yet—” Her voice faltered. “You’re still you.”

He studied her face for a long time, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he turned his hand palm up, a silent request.

Eliza hesitated only long enough to feel the danger of the choice, then placed her hand in his. His skin was hot—unnaturally so—and the heat spread through her, a slow burn that had nothing to do with fear. The trembling in him stilled. The shadows under his skin pulsed once, then quieted.

“See?” he murmured, voice low and hoarse. “They know you.”

She almost laughed. “You make them sound like pets.”

“They’re older than that,” he said. “But they like you.”

Her pulse quickened. “And you?”

His thumb brushed the back of her hand, deliberate, gentle. “I’m not sure I remember how to like,” he said. “But I remember wanting.”

The words hung there, dangerous and tender.

Her throat felt tight. “And now?”

He looked at her for a long moment. The darkness between them seemed to breathe. Then he released her hand with slow care. “Now,” he said softly, “I learn not to let wanting burn the world.”

Eliza exhaled, unsure if it was relief or disappointment that loosened her chest. She watched him breathe—slow, deep, disciplined. Every movement in him was controlled, yet beneath that control she could sense the heat waiting, like an ember under ash.

The forest around them began to breathe again. Wind sighed through the branches, a few distant birds stirred. It was enough to make the night feel almost human again.

She reached for his arm, brushing her fingers lightly over the old scars. “Does it ever stop whispering?”

He shook his head. “No. But it’s quieter when you’re near.”

Her voice softened. “Then I’ll stay near.”

He turned to her, eyes catching the light again, and for a moment she thought he might say something else—something that would undo them both. Instead, he only breathed out, slow and deep, the rhythm steadying.

“Endure,” he said quietly.

She smiled faintly. “I am here.”

And the shadows themselves seemed to settle.

Eliza stayed beside him until the fire at the edge of the clearing faded to embers. When he finally slept—head bowed, breath even—she rose, pulling her cloak around his shoulders.

The earth beneath him still pulsed faintly, alive and listening. The shadows curled closer to her, curious, almost gentle. She rested a hand lightly against his hair and whispered,

“Rest, my shadow prince. I’ll keep watch.”

The forest did not answer, but it didn’t resist her either. It simply listened, and for the first time since Maidan, Eliza felt that the dark was not her enemy.

Chapter

Fifty-Six

The forest woke reluctantly. Mist hung low between the trees, curling through the camp like breath. The orcs moved quietly—disciplined, efficient, their rhythm more like soldiers than raiders. Somewhere nearby, Shazi barked an order, her voice low and sharp, and the faint sound of steel being sharpened threaded through the quiet.

Eliza stood at the mouth of the shelter and let the chill morning air brush her face. Her body still hummed faintly from the night before. Sleep had come only in fragments, restless and heavy with dreams—his warmth, the scent of rain and smoke, the way his voice had wrapped around her name like a promise. When she had woken, the ache had still been there, low in her chest, a reminder of something dangerous and alive.