Chapter Three #2
Andre collected himself. Suppressing the trembling of his limbs, he bowed to Lord Aranin. “It’s my pleasure to serve, My Lord.”
Holding his breath, he approached Farigoth, posture straight and stiff. With every step, that overpowering scent of strength and dominance intensified. So did the heat. Andre had been warm before, but Farigoth’s big, muscular body was a furnace.
Farigoth’s gaze devoured him. Andre’s heart thundered, threatening to explode. Farigoth was just so… massive. The sword and axe hanging off his weapon belt were giant-sized.
Andre yelped when Farigoth hauled him onto his lap.
“Don’t worry,” Farigoth rumbled, his full, deep voice vibrating through Andre. “I won’t hurt you.” His size was stupendous. Andre felt like a doll in his lap. And that scent… This close, it was even more potent. Andre inhaled, soaking it up.
It calmed him, muscles unlocking one by one. From his stiff neck to his tense shoulders and down his back, everything loosened. He sank against Farigoth’s broad chest, coming eye level with a juicy pair of pecs.
Andre’s body betrayed his arousal. He was rock-hard.
Farigoth’s nipples, a darker shade of green than the rest of him, were pierced with bronze rings.
Andre jerked in his breeches. The need to take one of those erect nubs into his mouth and suck overcame him.
He controlled himself, suppressing the impulse, but the desire was tremendous.
Andre shifted, abruptly stopping when he realized that the thick, hard appendage he was sitting on was not Farigoth’s leg.
His eyes widened. Andre liked them big, but…
But this was another order of magnitude.
He tried to lift off, but Farigoth’s arm—his giant, muscular arm—wrapped around him, keeping him in place.
It should’ve scared him, but Farigoth’s hold felt strangely protective.
“Stay,” Farigoth said, the low rumble of his voice only loud enough for Andre to hear.
It mollified him. Without giving it another thought, he relaxed against the ferocious orc. It felt… safe. Farigoth had said he wouldn’t hurt him, and Andre believed him.
In Farigoth’s embrace, no one could get to him. Farigoth’s giant arm shielded him from curious looks, covering the excitement tenting his trousers.
He pressed his cheek to Farigoth’s warm chest. Every word the orc spoke in his melodious Oordoon accent reverberated through him. Negotiations began, but all Andre could focus on was Farigoth wrapped around him and the need bubbling in his loins.
The rumors about Farigoth’s size didn’t do him justice. The reality was so much more impressive. Especially that tree trunk between his legs.
Unthinking, Andre placed a hand on Farigoth’s bare, sculpted stomach, feeling his heat and hard muscles. Then his mind caught up, and he admonished himself. They were in public! At the talks that would decide the fate of Vale! He had to get a grip.
But just as he pulled himself together, Farigoth stroked his head, humming something about soft hair, and Andre was lost. The ongoing conversation only penetrated the outermost layer of his consciousness.
“I understand you want men.” Lord Aranin’s voice was free of judgment.
“The issue is that many are fearful of your kind. It doesn’t need to be that way.
I know of relationships between orcs and humans that are consensual and mutually satisfying.
” At the last word, nervous laughter went through the marquee.
Several people looked uncomfortable—Valians were too proper and reserved to even mention “satisfaction.”
“My cousin Nathan,” Lord Aranin continued, “is mated to an orc.” On his throne, King William blanched. “They’re happy, and I believe orcs and humans can coexist peacefully.”
Andre had met Master Nathan and his mate, Ogharod, and could attest to their devotion to each other. They were staying in Somerdale Castle, another southern stronghold and Lord Dalton’s home. The hope was that the orcs wouldn’t try to conquer a castle already held by one of their own.
“We’d like to end the war between our people,” Lord Aranin said, “and I believe you do too. I want us to come to an agreement beneficial to both sides.”
“We cannot exist without men,” Farigoth said, slowly stroking Andre’s leg. “Deliver them, and we can talk.”
“Out of the question,” King William said sharply, gripping his husband’s knee.
Lord Aranin cleared his throat. “I do believe we owe them men. Your Majesty.”
A second of silence.
“What is that supposed to mean?” King William asked, leaning forward in his seat, his jaw clenched, eyes boring into Lord Aranin. “They raid our villages for men! They ra—”
Farigoth’s snarl cut him off. “The men we capture turn pliant and willing once they are with us.” A smile snuck into his tone at the last words. He petted Andre. “The problem is their prejudice. It makes them run before they’ve met us.”
“As they should.”
“Why do you think the orcs are coming for our men, Your Majesty?” Lord Aranin’s eyes sparked at his king. The words were a challenge. Andre had always sensed a rivalry between them. Lord Aranin was only a baron, and yet…
King William shrugged. He leaned back, keeping his hand on his husband’s thigh. “Because their females vanished, and our kind is the only one they can procreate with.”
“You say ‘vanished’ like they just disappeared. They didn’t, though, did they?” The attention of the entire room swung to Lord Aranin.
“They died,” Farigoth said, his hold on Andre tightening for a second.
King William snorted. “It’s not like we killed them. This is neither our fault nor our problem.”
Lord Aranin tilted his head. “Isn’t it?”
Andre’s mind raced. What was he referring to?
Little was known about the disappearance of the female orcs.
Only the broadest strokes of human-orc history were common knowledge.
It had started with the Turian Empire, Vale’s neighbor to the south, and their hunger for land and resources.
Greed made them cross the sea and invade Xaustra, the southern continent.
On arrival, they found nothing but desert, and so they pressed on, determined to find fertile land to expand into.
They stumbled into the jungles of Oordoon, a lush, tropical forest. It was there they ran into the orcs.
A warrior species, they were unwilling to give the Turians an inch of their land.
But they took a liking to human men, ravishing them wherever they found them.
Then, the orcs realized they could procreate with them.
Horrified, the Turians fled across the sea.
But the orcs’ appetite had been whet. They relentlessly pursued the Turians, driving them out of their homeland.
That the offspring of orcs and men were always male orcs didn’t help the situation.
The centuries-old empire fell. That was the Turian version of events, anyway.
At some point during that time, the female orcs had disappeared.
A chill crept up Andre’s spine. The stories never spoke of it, but the females must’ve vanished after humans and orcs first made contact.
Otherwise, the orcs would’ve died out long before they encountered men. What had the Turians done?
Lord Aranin turned to Farigoth. “The female orcs got sick, didn’t they?”
What? Andre’s skin tingled. The marquee held its collective breath.
“Yes,” Farigoth said. “They got sick. When I was but a pup, a disease swept through our village. It killed all females. It killed my mother. There was much death. It went on for weeks. When the last of the females had passed away, my father, the chief, took the tribe across the sea. We’d heard stories of a land filled with young, fertile mates, so that was where we went. ”
“And that disease, do you know where it had come from?”
“We found out it had been traveling through the jungle for many years, killing the females one by one. It took a long time for the disease to reach every corner of Oordoon, but eventually, it did. The males… we got sick, too, but only a little. Our females… they weren’t big and strong like us.
They were small and weak, like humans. Vulnerable. ”
No one in the marquee dared to object to the description.
“Were there any stories of great plagues before that? Before orcs and humans met?” Lord Aranin asked.
Farigoth paused. “No.”
King William narrowed his eyes. “Are you trying to say the Turians brought the disease to Oordoon? That makes no sense. If female orcs resembled humans in size and hardiness, the Turians would’ve died too.”
“They did,” Lord Aranin said. King William arched an eyebrow.
“Think about what we know about the old empire, Your Majesty. What’s the first thing that comes to mind?
Their cities. Their large, sprawling, glorious cities.
Except they were filthy. They were riddled with disease.
Every traveler’s report from that time complains about the stench.
The population of the capital exceeded two million people.
Two million! And they held animals. Cows and pigs and chickens and horses.
Do you know what happens when two million people, along with many times that number of animals, live in filth?
Diseases swept through the Turian cities in cycles, killing those unable to fight them off.
Smallpox, measles, consumption, whooping cough—you name it.
Those who survived never got sick again.
Because conditions improved? We know they didn’t.
No, once someone had had a disease, it didn’t affect them anymore.
But perhaps they still carried it, and when the Turians went to Oordoon, taking horses for good measure, they infected every orc they came in contact with.
Not knowing what had come upon them, the orcs infected each other.
” He turned to Farigoth. “There were no cities in Oordoon, were there?”
“No. We live in villages.”