Page 47 of The Shadow Orc's Bride

He simply sat across from her, silent. Watching.

Not taunting, not threatening.

Just staring.

Studying her openly. No furtive glances, no attempts to conceal his expression. His fascination was laid bare, and shecould feel it—pressing, heavy, a touch without touch. It was almost intrusive, and yet… strangely, subversively addictive.

Eliza wasn't used to being the center of such undivided attention.

She had endured her share of suitors over the years, noblemen and warriors vying for her hand, each of them desperate to impress her. Lord Tarrick with his meticulously arranged gifts and sonnets written by hired poets. Commander Eldon who'd strutted like a peacock, retelling battle stories that grew more elaborate with each telling. Prince Dorian from the eastern provinces who'd barely looked at her face, his gaze always sliding to her crown. They'd boasted of titles and lands, of conquests and battle prowess. They'd told her what they thought she wanted to hear, rehearsed speeches wrapped in false charm, their courtship as formulaic as a dance.

It had bored her. It had frustrated her father to no end, who had wanted her married and settled, bound into alliance. But she had seen through every insincerity, every mask.

This orc prince was different.

He didn't try to convince her of anything. He didn't wrap his words in silk or beg for her approval.

He was simply sure of himself—quiet force, dangerous, without pretence.

And that… unsettled her far more than all the empty suitors who had come before.

She ate every last morsel, though her stomach had knotted with anger. She forced herself to take each bite, knowing she had to keep her strength. When they returned—when she faced her people, when she dealt with the orcs and their unpredictability—his unpredictability—she would need every shred of control.

Strength was survival. And if she could not be in control, then at the very least, she must make it appear so.

When she finally set the spoon down, his expression shifted, bordering on something dangerously close to a smile. Not cruel, not mocking. Indulgent. Patient. His eyes lingered on the hollow of her throat, the way her fingers curled around the spoon—studying her like a text in a language he was determined to master.

"You eat differently than orc women," he observed, his voice a low rumble. "Smaller bites. Slower. As if savoring each taste rather than simply fueling your body."

"I've prepared a bath," he announced at last, his deep voice breaking the silence. "You can bathe, and then dress in something more suitable. I've fetched attire for you."

Her head snapped toward him in surprise.

A glimmer of amusement flickered across his face. "You didn't think our kind bathed?" he asked, the words touched with a lightness she hadn't expected—mocking, but not unkind.

Part of her was tempted to retort, to meet his tone with sharpness, even with humor. But she pressed her lips together, unwilling to give him the satisfaction. She wouldn't show him that she might soften, even slightly. No. She wasn't that weak.

Yet the thought burrowed into her mind anyway: a bath. Here. In his private sanctuary. With him so close. The idea of lowering herself into water, vulnerable, exposed, while he lingered somewhere near…

Her skin prickled.

But if he had wanted to do something untoward, surely he already would have.

He rose, the motion fluid and powerful, and gestured. This time it wasn't forceful—an order wrapped in steel—but something else. An invitation.

"Come with me."

Chapter

Eighteen

She thought about defying him. About remaining seated at the table, stubbornly wrapped in the blanket, still dressed in her thin nightgown and his black shirt—his scent lingering faintly in the fabric, unsettlingly warm.

But the thought of water—of being clean again—was stronger.

So she rose and followed him.

They passed down the corridor, past the study where she had found him sprawled unconscious, then down another stairwell. These steps were different—narrower, spiraling, cut deep into a solid, curved wall of stone. The coolness seeped up through her bare feet, sending a shiver through her body.