Chapter 7
In the two weeks since the rut, we'd fallen into an unexpected rhythm.
Mornings in his garden, where I was learning to tend the plants Vera and my mother had loved.
Afternoons in the training yard—my ankle fully healed, Vorak had insisted on teaching me orcish fighting techniques "in case you need to defend yourself.
" Then we spent evenings reading, him practicing Common while I struggled through Orcish texts.
And nights... nights were ours. The desperate need of the rut had faded into something deeper.
We made love with the knowledge of each other's bodies that only came from surviving something primal.
His knot still swelled sometimes when we were particularly passionate, joining us while he whispered Orcish endearments I was beginning to understand.
This morning started like any other—until it didn't.
I woke with my stomach churning violently. Strange. The rich orc food agreed with me. I tried to ignore the nausea, but it rose like a tide.
I just made it to the chamber pot before emptying my stomach.
"Kaela?" Vorak was beside me, holding my hair back. "What's wrong?"
"I don't know." I gasped between heaves. "Maybe the meat from last night was bad?"
"I ate the same. I'm fine." He rubbed my back, but I noticed him inhaling near my neck. His body tensed. "You smell different."
"I smell like vomit."
"No. Under that. Your scent has been changing for days. Sweeter. Richer." His hands stilled on my back. "Like..."
Another wave of nausea hit before he could finish. When it finally passed, I was shaking.
"This isn't food poisoning," I said, fear creeping in. "What if something's wrong?"
Vorak lifted me, carried me back to bed. His movements were careful, but I noticed how his hands lingered on my waist, how he kept breathing me in like he was trying to solve a puzzle.
"You've been tired too," he said, almost accusingly. "Falling asleep during evening reading. And yesterday you said your breasts were tender."
"The training yard is exhausting. And you're not exactly gentle with them at night," I countered, but worry gnawed at me. "Vorak, what if I'm ill?" What if I’d been poisoned by one of his enemies?
"You're not ill." But his voice was strange. Wondering. His hand hovered over my stomach. "Kaela... when did these symptoms start?"
"A few days ago. Maybe a week? It's been gradual except for this morning."
He was already moving to the door. "I'm calling the healer."
"Vorak—"
"Now." The possessive growl in his voice stopped my protest.
When the healer arrived, she took one look at me, then at Vorak hovering protectively, and started laughing.
She was older than Akara, with gray-green skin that had wrinkled around her eyes and mouth from decades of smiling.
Her tusks were worn smooth with age, and she moved with the confidence of someone who'd delivered countless babies and survived countless battles.
A necklace of small bones—finger bones, I realized with a start—clicked against her leather chest piece.
She set down her healing bag. Old scars crisscrossed her knuckles.
This was someone who'd fought for her position and held it through skill alone.
"Let me guess," she said, her voice gravelly with age. "Morning vomit, tender breasts, you are tired, and the general here has been acting more possessive than usual?"
"How did you—"
"You're pregnant, girl. The rut took."
The world stopped.
Vorak's hand found mine, gripped almost painfully tight.
"That's… It can’t be possible," I said. "It's only been two weeks. Humans don't even know they're pregnant this early."
"Two weeks since a warrior-class rut with fertility symbols and a mate bond already forming.
" She began examining me with practiced hands.
"The magic accelerates things. You're pregnant.
I'd say... same as about six weeks in a normal human pregnancy.
Your body knew before your mind did. And so did his.
Orcs can smell the change in their mates. "
"That's why you've been..." I looked at Vorak, understanding dawning.
"Following you everywhere. Snarling at any male who comes near. Needing to touch you constantly." He looked dazed. "My instincts knew you were carrying my child."
I laughed, shakily. "I came here to die as a spy, and now I'm pregnant with an orc's child."
"Life's sense of humor."
"Or justice." I covered his hand with mine over my stomach. "This child is proof our peoples can coexist."
"It also makes you a target. Both sides might—"
"Then we protect each other. And our child."
He pulled me onto his lap, careful of my soreness. "Never thought I'd have this. A mate. A family."
"Neither did I." I traced the scratches I'd left during the rut—I'd marked him as thoroughly as he'd marked me. "My mother died when I was four. Barely remember her. And now..."
He rose, lifting me. "Let me care for you. Bath, then we must tell the king."
The bath was huge, filled with steaming water and healing herbs. Vorak climbed in with me, settling me between his thighs, my back to his chest.
"Let me," he said, picking up the soap.
I turned in his arms, straddling him. The position made me aware of every ache, but also put me in control. "I need you."
"You have me."
"Show me."
He lifted me, positioned me over him. "You control this. Take what you need."
I sank down, taking him inch by inch. The stretch was familiar now, my body shaped to his after the rut. When fully seated, we both sighed.
"No rushing," he said. "No frenzy. Just us."
I rode him, savoring the slide of him inside me. His hands roamed over my marked skin. When he leaned forward to capture a nipple in his mouth, careful of his tusks, I gasped.
"Love you," he murmured against my breast. "Love you so much it terrifies me."
"Love you too. Beast and all."
I came, clenching around him. He followed, groaning my name against my skin.
Two days later, Vorak insisted on a formal announcement to the court.
"They're already whispering," he said, watching me dress. "Your scent has changed. Every orc in the Keep knows something's different."
"So let them whisper."
"No. We announce it properly. Establish our child's legitimacy from the start." His hands settled on my still-flat stomach. "No one will question what's mine."
The walk to the throne room felt different from that first time in chains. Now I walked freely beside my husband, wearing orcish leathers that marked me as the general's wife. The marks from his rut had faded to faint scars—badges of honor, Akara called them.
The hall fell silent as we entered. Every eye tracked us, nostrils flaring as the orcs caught my altered scent.
King Gromar leaned forward on his throne, intrigued. "General. Lady Kaela. You requested a formal audience?"
"We bring news, my king," Vorak said, his hand possessive on my lower back.
"Oh?" The king's eyes sharpened. "The whispers have been interesting. Something about changes in your wife's scent?"
I stepped forward. "I carry General Vorak’s child."
The hall erupted. Cheers, gasps, money changing hands—apparently betting on my pregnancy had replaced betting on my survival.
King Gromar stood, genuine shock on his face. "Pregnant? Already? It's not even three weeks since your marriage."
"The rut was... effective," Vorak said with satisfaction that made several orcs chuckle.
"A half-breed," the king said, quieting everyone. "First in three generations. This changes everything entirely."
"My king," someone called from the back. "The humans mass at our borders. They demand her return, claiming she's been corrupted against her will."
"Then they'll be disappointed." Vorak's arm tightened around me. "She bears my marks, my scent, my child. She's mine by every law."
"And I'm his," I added. "Let them know the one they once called spy has become something more—a bridge between our peoples."
The king grinned. "A pregnant bridge. Your child will be proof that peace is possible, that our kinds can create together rather than destroy."
"They won't swallow it," I warned. "They'll call me traitor. Corrupted. Race defiler."
"Let them. You're under our protection now." The king's expression turned serious. "Anyone who tries taking you or your child faces the full might of the orcish clans."
"And me," Vorak added, his growl making several orcs step back.
"The child is due when?" the king asked.
"The healer says six months, maybe less," I answered. "The magical pregnancy progresses faster than normal."
"Then we have six months to secure peace before the first half-orc in generations arrives." King Gromar’s smile was calculating. "This child changes the game. Send word to the human kingdoms—their diplomat lives, thrives, and carries new life. Let them chew on that."
Later, in our quarters, Vorak tended me like I was made of glass. Fed me by hand. Held me while I talked—about my mother, the orphanage, Mark's training.
"I had a friend once," I said. "Another orphan Mark selected when we were seven. Elena. She was kind and funny. We trained together for seven years."
"What happened?"
"When we were fourteen, Mark decided attachment was weakness. He sent Elena on a suicide mission to prove his point. She didn't return."
"He killed a child to teach you a lesson?"
"He made me a weapon. Weapons don't have friends."
"You're not a weapon anymore."
"No? Then what am I?"
"Mine. My wife. Mother of my child. Yourself."
That night, despite soreness, I needed him again. Not the desperate claiming of rut but connection. It was an affirmation that we'd survived and this was real.
"Please," I whispered, kissing him.
"You need healing—"
"I need you more."
He made love to me with heartbreaking tenderness. Slow, deep, whispering apologies for every mark and promises for our future. When we came, it was quiet and profound.
After, wrapped in his arms, I asked, "Any regrets?"
"Only not meeting you properly. Without chains and politics."
"We might never have noticed each other."
"I'd have noticed you anywhere. The defiance. The strength. I'd have pursued you."
"Arrogant."
"Confident."
"I might have run."
"I'd have chased."
"And if I kept running?"
"Then I'd keep chasing. Forever if necessary."
"That's either romantic or creepy."
"Both, probably."
We fell asleep, his hand protective over my stomach where our child grew.