Chapter Five #2
The knights escorted the men to the empty stretch of grass before the dais and greeted Farigoth before wheeling around on their horses and galloping up the hill.
The men threw the orcs anxious glances, fingers nervously twitching behind their backs.
But there was more than one tented loincloth, and that number only grew as the orcs, besting even the burliest of the men in height and muscle, shamelessly showed their appetite for the fresh meat, shoving forward, grunting, barely held back by guards.
Andre recognized some of the men, like Lawrence, the young blacksmith from Castlehill.
Andre was surprised to see him among the volunteers—but maybe he shouldn’t have been.
Lawrence had never seemed perturbed by the orc invasion.
Now he stood straight-backed, eyeing the orcs, the morning sun kissing a scandalous amount of his tanned skin.
“Tonight, the men will be yours to ravish and mate.” Approving howls. “Besides, the humans, as a sign of their surrender, have granted me the Jewel of Vale to mate and breed. He will be made to submit in the temple of Orakh.”
The horde’s attention swung back to Andre—at least in part. Some had already picked out a favorite among the men, only having eyes for him. A few orcs were regarding Lawrence’s slender, muscled form with blatant hunger.
“Stand,” Farigoth said in Andre’s ear, and he obeyed.
A young man, accompanied by two orcs, approached.
Andre didn’t know him, and judging by how comfortably he moved with the orcs by his sides, he must’ve been with the tribe for a while.
He was holding a curious item: two strips of white silk hanging from a golden, emerald-encrusted belt.
A loincloth. A tiny, translucent loincloth that would leave little to the imagination.
From behind, Farigoth gripped Andre’s jacket and shirt. The two layers of fabric bunched and stretched in his fists. Andre sensed what was coming. His cock twitched and thickened, choosing this inopportune moment, seconds before his clothes would be brutally stripped, to get excited.
He should’ve been horrified. Instead, a prickling elation swept over him. He was being presented to a lecherous horde salivating to see him naked and aroused. It was freeing. The orcs didn’t mind impropriety. They worshiped it. Farigoth craved it. Andre would be revered for it.
He didn’t flinch when Farigoth ripped through his upper garments, the force of it jerking him. The shreds of his shirt and jacket fell to the ground. A collective growl rumbled through the crowd when they saw Andre’s chest and pale-pink nipples exposed.
Farigoth’s hands slid into his breeches, and Andre’s heartbeat accelerated. He yearned for the next step as much as he feared it. His muscles locked, stabilizing his stance as Farigoth rended his remaining clothing. An appreciative sound rumbled out of him at the sight of Andre’s stripped body.
The horde, out of control, pressed forward, trying to get a better view. Andre, face hot, couldn’t help himself. He was fully hard.
The young man carrying the loincloth stepped closer. The garment was undeniably valuable, the emeralds alone worth a fortune.
The young man strapped the loincloth to Andre’s hips, the flimsy strips of silk just long and broad enough to cover his cock, balls and crease. The man knelt, brow to the ground, then rose and walked away backward with his orcs, never turning his back to Farigoth.
“Today,” Farigoth called out to the horde, “we march south. The humans are gifting us men, and in exchange, we vacate their lands. We will cross the Great River and indulge in the pleasures of our new mates.”
A wise decision to announce the orcs’ retreat after they’d been pacified with men.
Farigoth disbanded the riotous assembly, guards reining in the horde. Shouts to decamp rang across the field.
It took them a while to pack up, the orcs less organized than the humans under Lord Aranin’s tight rein. It was thanks to him that the long refugee train had been able to evade the orcs for so long.
“Andre!” a familiar voice called.
He turned, finding Eric leading two horses toward him. Andre’s hand flew to his mouth. Eric was here. And he had Chestnut!
He peeled away from Farigoth, sprinted over and flung his arms around Chestnut’s neck. The gelding’s coat was warm and bristly under his fingertips, the familiar scent of grass and animal enveloping him. Chestnut nickered, and Andre petted him enthusiastically.
“It’s good to see you.” Andre beamed at Eric. “Thank you for bringing Chestnut!” He stroked his horse. “How have you been? We were all worried.”
But clearly, there was no need. Eric looked… well. More relaxed than ever, his shoulders loose, happiness shining on his face. He was nude except for a leather loincloth and the harness strapping his sword to his back.
“I’ve been good,” Eric said, the words brimming with joy.
He was understating. A smile curved his lips, and he threw a glance over his shoulder at a towering orc a few yards away, indigo hair falling onto the chartreuse-green skin of his shoulders.
Understanding dawned on Andre—he was Eric’s mate, Ikathurg the Interrogator.
“I went to Lord Aranin’s camp this morning to assure the king that I’m well.
It took some convincing, but seeing me come alone and carrying weapons helped. ”
“I’m surprised they let you do that.”
Eric’s smile broadened further, and he gave Ikathurg another glance. “Trust me, once you’ve had a taste of orc, running is the furthest thing from your mind.”
He bet it was. But those thoughts were dangerous given his lack of proper clothing. Changing topics, Andre said, “I didn’t think I’d see Chestnut again.”
“Lord Aranin asked me to bring him to you. He let me take my horse too.”
Thinking back to the negotiations, Andre said, “I hope the orcs won’t mind the animals.”
Eric shook his head. “They keep livestock now too. Cattle, pigs and horses, though they don’t ride. They’re too heavy.” He scratched his chin. “After coming to Viridis, they adapted to a more human way of life.”
Andre couldn’t help keeping half an eye on the hulking orc behind Eric. “And your mate? They say he’s Ikathurg.”
“Yes.”
“The interrogator.”
“Yes.”
“You switched sides?”
Eric tilted his head. “Haven’t you?”
He had a point, though Andre hadn’t thought of it that way.
Ahead of them, the tribe, belongings packed up, was moving. Time to go.
Eric swung onto his horse, and so did Andre, Farigoth surprising him when he came over and grabbed the lead.
Andre was an experienced rider and had worked with horses all his life, but he didn’t mind.
It was symbolic, Farigoth parading his mate-to-be.
He took him to the front of the train, Chestnut obediently following.
Even sitting on a horse, Andre was inches shorter than the orc.
Behind them came Eric and Ikathurg and, further back, the men the knights had delivered, and then the bulk of the tribe.
Having lost the morning to ceremony and decamping, they made little headway that first day, but their progress toward the Great River was to signal that they were upholding their end of the bargain.
Andre remained by Farigoth’s side, an honor guard of mated orcs surrounding them.
He wasn’t even allowed to relieve himself alone, Farigoth too worried a rogue orc might drag him off and steal him—he and Farigoth weren’t mated yet.
The lack of privacy should’ve upset him, but Andre didn’t mind.
It just meant Farigoth cared for and protected him.
When the sun lowered, they built their camp on the plains between the forest and the River Arun. Everyone appreciated the opportunity to wash. As evening settled, the orcs collected firewood and erected a large bonfire to dispel the chill. Soon, smoke and sparks rose into the darkening sky.
Andre sat curled in Farigoth’s lap, surrounded by pelts on a wooden platform, overlooking the fire and the proceedings below.
There, the men, who’d been tightly guarded all day, were led in front of the fire, where the tribe mingled.
The orcs were let loose on them. They pushed and shoved to get closer, unable to control themselves now that they were allowed to claim the men.
As Andre’s gaze wandered across the throng of people, his attention caught on Lawrence.
With his bronze skin and shiny black curls, he stood out, his coloring hinting at Turian blood.
Perhaps he was a descendant of the conquerors who’d subjugated Vale centuries ago—or the grandson of refugees who’d fled from the orcs in recent decades.
Now, he was lost in the crowd, looking from side to side, his hands still tied behind his back, though the silk band looked as though it’d fall off at the smallest tug.
Lawrence didn’t know it yet, but three orcs were closing in on him, pushing their way through the crowd. Towering above the humans, they communicated silently with nods and tilts of the head, eager to secure their prey before anyone else did.
They came at Lawrence from three sides. By the time he realized what was happening, the orcs had pushed past the men around him, trapping him between their large bodies.
Andre shifted, snuggling closer to Farigoth. The orc wrapped an arm around him, cradling him to his chest. Andre leaned into his warmth.
Down in the crowd, Lawrence glanced between two of the orcs.
He took a step back, bumping into the third.
The orcs smirked. Lawrence, eyes on the giants before him, relaxed against the one at his back.
He pulled his hands free, silk floating to the ground, and cupped the succulent pair of pecs in front of him, squeezing.
The orc threw his head back while another dragged his hands across Lawrence’s bare chest. Lawrence trembled and shivered, arching into the touch, pressing himself against the hot bodies surrounding him.