Page 93 of The Shadow Orc's Bride

Eliza had thought she knew forests. She had camped along their edges, fought battles beneath their boughs. This forest was different, ancient and alive. The air felt thick, humming with a silence that listened rather than emptied.

The orcs slowed their pace as they entered, reverent in their quiet. Even Shazi's usual dry remarks vanished. Rakhal moved ahead; the shadows that trailed him seemed to melt into the trees.

She rode in his arms again, too exhausted to argue. Every muscle in her body ached. The chill from the plains still clung to her skin, but he was warm—unnaturally so. His heartbeat was steady beneath her cheek, but there was something underneath it now, a low vibration that wasn't human.

When she lifted her head, his jaw was set, eyes forward. The pale light that filtered through the leaves touched his skin andmade the runes beneath it shimmer faintly, like veins of dark fire.

"What is this place?" she whispered.

He didn't look at her. "A refuge. Older than kingdoms. Older than even my people's fear."

They followed a narrow trail along a riverbank until the water widened, catching what little light there was. The forest parted around a clearing—a hollow of moss and stone, enclosed on all sides by trees so tall their tops vanished into mist.

Rakhal halted. "Here."

The others spread out in silence. Shazi barked a few low orders, and soon a small camp took shape—tents made from dark canvas, a fire coaxed to life with flint and care.

Rakhal set Eliza down, his hands slow, deliberate, as if the act itself required control. "Rest," he said. "You've done enough."

Her legs wobbled when she stood. She managed a nod, watching him move through the clearing, issuing commands in his clipped, low voice. The others obeyed without question. When his gaze flicked toward her, she looked away too quickly.

Shazi came to her, carrying a strip of dried meat and a cup of water. "He's worse than before," she said under her breath. "That darkness clings to him like breath."

Eliza took the food, though she wasn't hungry. "He saved us."

Shazi smirked faintly. "I didn't say I minded it. Just that he's changed. More... wild." Her eyes glinted. "Maybe that suits you."

Before Eliza could answer, Rakhal returned. His presence silenced everything. The shadows bent subtly toward him, drawn to his gravity. He carried a small pack, and when he crouched beside her, he handed her a wrapped bundle of food. "Eat," he said simply.

She did. The simple act felt strangely intimate under his steady gaze.

When she finished, he stood. "We rest here until dawn. Then we move deeper."

The others murmured assent. Within minutes, they had retreated into the edges of the clearing, leaving Rakhal and Eliza near the fire. The rain had stopped, replaced by a fine mist that dampened everything it touched. The sound of the river was constant—a low, rushing murmur.

Rakhal sat beside her. His hair, damp from the rain, clung to his temples. The light from the fire painted his skin in gold and shadow.

"You shouldn't be near the light," she said softly.

He turned to her. "Why?"

"In Maidan... the torches—when they burned, you flinched."

He looked toward the fire for a long moment. "The light doesn't like me anymore." His tone was matter-of-fact, but there was a tension beneath it. "It knows what I've become."

Eliza hesitated. "And what is that?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he stood, unfastening the clasps at his collar. "Come. You need to wash. There's a pool downstream."

She rose, following him down the slope. The mist grew denser, curling around them. The pool was small and clear, fed by the river's flow. The water steamed faintly, warmed by some unseen source beneath the stone.

Rakhal knelt first, dipping his hands into the surface. The shadows around him recoiled at the touch, dissolving briefly before crawling back under his skin. He shuddered, the muscles in his back tightening.

"Does it hurt?" she asked.

He didn't look at her. "The light in the water burns. But pain keeps me steady."

She took a step closer, uncertain. The air here felt different—denser, charged. His bare shoulders gleamed with droplets, hisscars stark against the dark of his skin. The marks the mages had carved into him glowed faintly beneath the surface.