Epilogue
Andre
Four years later
It was a bright summer day, when Andre and Farigoth took their children for a picnic in the fields outside Turia.
Andre, who’d brought an enormous blanket, sat cradling Krork in his arms, softly whispering to his youngest. Krork blinked at him with his father’s steel-gray eyes, smiling.
A curl of black hair fell onto his little forehead, and Andre gently brushed it back.
Krork was less than three months old, and Andre was already with child again. Farigoth loved keeping him pregnant.
Nearby, Farigoth was romping around the fields with Vec and Zorgrem, the boys laughing and shouting as they chased their father through the tall grass. They’d grown so much in the past year, especially Vec, who’d almost caught up to his elder brother.
Andre was chest-feeding Krork when Farigoth, sweating and disheveled, returned to the blanket, plopping down with a chuckle. “They are going to be the end of me.” He kissed Andre on the cheek and pulled a strip of dried meat from his bag, offering it to him. “You must keep up your strength.”
With a smile, Andre stretched to meet Farigoth’s fingers, moving carefully so as not to unsettle Krork. The jerky’s salty flavor filled his mouth.
Farigoth took another piece, gripping it with his teeth and tearing it in two. Chewing, he kept one eye on the children, who were skipping wide circles through the field.
Andre was glad they hadn’t picked up sticks like last time when Vec had accidentally hit Zorgrem over the head.
There’d been tears, Vec contritely apologizing to his brother.
Andre had a stern word with him, telling him to be more careful, Farigoth supporting him with an admonishingly lifted finger.
In the early days, Andre hadn’t been sure if their parenting styles would mesh, but as soon as Zorgrem was born, Farigoth was deferring to Andre, ensuring he didn’t step on his toes.
The peace between humans and orcs had lasted.
Once the men of Vale understood what the orcs could give them, and tales of indescribable pleasure traveled from tavern to tavern, a flood of volunteers came crashing into Turia.
No human lover could compete with the orcs’ size and endurance, or hope to match the bone-deep satisfaction they provided.
Before long, the Turian orcs had plenty of mates.
Men and pixies alike mated them and lived in a glorious haze of lust and love.
Once the Turian lands were sated with mates, men built ships and sailed across the Strait of Xaustra to find the orcs in Oordoon.
Word spread, and soon, the men of Goleri, Maressia and other kingdoms were joining the Valians in their quest. The lush, fertile jungles of Oordoon held many orcs thrilled to take them.
But their number was finite, and jokes made the rounds that men would soon have to fall back on women—or each other—if they wanted a lover.
The tribe was flourishing, and Andre gained more companions over the years.
Occasionally, he received word from Vale.
Not long after the peace was secured, King William made Lord Aranin a duke—and placed him first in line to the throne.
An unprecedented move, but Andre wouldn’t be surprised if Lord Aranin had been working toward it for a long time.
Still, it sent a shock wave through Vale’s nobility and expanded the power of King Malorn of the Autumn court, Lord Aranin’s brother-in-law.
The same was true for Lord Dalton, who, in the wake of his cousin’s rise, gained influence with the Crown.
But what had compelled the king to promote his rival?
Perhaps he’d sensed that Lord Aranin, who’d live for many human lifespans thanks to his elf husband, would be easier to control if he dangled the throne in front of his nose.
The one thing that remained a mystery was the whereabouts of Prince Elior of the Summer Court. Perhaps he’d truly run away with his shepherd friend. The Summer Queen had long given up looking for him, and after so many years, it was safe to say he would never be found if he didn’t want to be.
From Oordoon came rumors that a formerly chaste elf had mated a horde of orcs and given birth to a female orc-elf.
At first, the story was discounted as fiction, but when the pixies bore half-orc girls, its credibility soared.
The birth of females secured the future of the orcs.
While humankind could not return what they had taken from the orcs all those decades ago, the past years had been an enthusiastic attempt at making things right.
Farigoth shuffled closer and wrapped Andre in his arms, kissing his temple. “Don’t forget, tomorrow is the festival of whelping.”
Andre nodded. As the high mate, he was going to sit at the head of the table, his companions by his side.
The festival was a colorful, joyous affair and one of Andre’s favorites.
He was looking forward to it. With a smile on his lips, he leaned against Farigoth, watching his sons rolling through the grass, laughing.
THE END
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