12. Serah #2
Of course. Because my humiliation requires proper ritual framework.
I don't respond. Just escape to my sleeping area and pull the furs over my head, blocking out the gathering daylight and the whispered conversations starting throughout the women's quarters.
Sleep doesn't come. I lie there replaying every moment with Rakk, recontextualizing each tender gesture through the lens of last night's revelation.
The way he always asked permission before touching me—ensuring cooperation from his future mate.
The careful attention to my pleasure—securing emotional attachment.
The secrets shared in darkness—gathering ammunition.
Except. Except.
Some traitorous part of me refuses to believe it. Remembers the genuine confusion in his eyes when I asked if he'd been lying. The devastation when I told him not to touch me.
Maybe he does care. Maybe his feelings are real. But they're still tangled up with possession and breeding claims and political maneuvering. Still filtered through the reality that he's the Chieftain's son and I'm a human slave he decided to keep.
That doesn't erase the fundamental betrayal. The choice he stole. The autonomy he decided wasn't as important as his protection.
A gentle knock sounds at the entrance to my sleeping area. "Serah? It's Zurkar."
I consider ignoring him. But refusing to speak with the shaman will only delay the inevitable. I push the furs aside and sit up. "Come in."
Zurkar ducks through the entrance, his weathered face creased with concern. He settles onto the floor across from me with surprising grace for someone his age. "You look terrible."
"Thank you for that observation."
"I mean you look like you haven't slept. Like your world ended." His dark eyes study me with uncomfortable perception. "Which I suppose it did, in a way."
I don't respond. Can't trust myself to speak without breaking.
"Rakk is a good male," Zurkar says carefully. "Foolish and impulsive, but good. His intentions—"
"I don't care about his intentions." The words come out flat. "His intentions don't change what he did."
Zurkar nods slowly. "Fair enough. But you should know—the claiming protects you from worse outcomes. There were warriors circling. Plans being made. Rakk's declaration ensured your safety."
"By taking away my choice." I meet his gaze steadily. "How is that different from what any other male has done to me?"
The shaman's expression grows troubled. "It's not. Not in the way that matters to you. But in orc culture—"
"Stop." I hold up a hand. "Everyone keeps trying to explain orc culture to me. Like understanding the context will somehow make this hurt less. Like knowing the reasons will erase the fundamental truth that Rakk decided my autonomy was negotiable."
Zurkar falls silent. Outside, I hear activity picking up as the clan wakes fully. Voices calling instructions. The clang of metal on metal from the forges.
"The mating preparations cannot be delayed," he says finally. "Three days is tradition. The ceremony will be held at sunset on the third day."
"And if I refuse?"
His expression turns pained. "You can't. You could potentially convince him to decide against mating you, and you would become available again to be used by…any warrior."
The trap closes around me with perfect clarity. Rakk's declaration didn't give me safety—it just changed the nature of my cage. I can accept his claim and mate him, or I can refuse and open myself to worse options.
Those are my choices. That's my autonomy.
"What do you need from me?" I ask, voice hollow.
"Just cooperation with the preparations. There are rituals—blessings, cleansing ceremonies, vows to be learned." He pauses. "You don't have to pretend joy. But you do have to participate."
I nod mechanically. "Fine."
Zurkar studies me for a long moment. "He loves you, you know. In his clumsy, overwhelming way. That doesn't excuse what he did. But it's true nonetheless."
"That makes it worse," I whisper. "Because if he loved me, he would have asked."
The shaman has no answer for that. He simply rises and leaves, his footsteps fading into the morning chaos.
I sit alone in my small space, surrounded by borrowed furs and stolen peace. Three days until I'm officially mated. Three days until whatever fragile thing Rakk and I built together is formalized into something permanent and binding.
Three days to figure out how to survive loving someone who broke my trust so completely.
Because that's the cruelest part of all this. Beneath the anger and betrayal, I still want him. Still crave his touch and his laugh and the way he made me feel cherished. My body hasn't caught up with my mind's understanding that he betrayed me.
The yearning only deepens the hurt. Makes everything sharper and more unbearable.
I hear his voice outside sometime later—deep and familiar, making my chest constrict. He's talking to someone, probably Kaelen. The conversation is too muffled to make out words, but I catch the tone. Frustrated. Desperate.
Good. Let him suffer too.
But even thinking that makes me feel petty and small. Makes me hate myself a little for still caring enough to want him in pain.
I pull the furs back over my head and close my eyes against the gathering daylight. Sleep still won't come. But at least in darkness, I don't have to face the reality of what comes next.