The Betrothed (Orc-Bound Chronicles #1)

Chapter 1

The weight of so many eyes made the summer palace feel smaller.

The last royal visit ended when the first raids began years ago, and since then, ivy and silence had claimed its courtyards—until today.

Now, the palace had been reopened for the wedding.

Every corridor hummed with tension, the air thick with expectation.

In her appointed chamber, Aeryn stood before the mirror. Her reflection had always felt like a puzzle of mismatched halves. Eyes too bright for a human. Ears too rounded for an elf. In the courts of both bloodlines, she’d been a curiosity, tolerated but never accepted.

The white gown clung to her like morning frost that refused to melt. It was beautiful, embroidered by the royal seamstresses, laced with pearls that caught the light.

Alessa lingered by the door, fingers twisting her apron’s hem. “Are you certain, my lady?”

Aeryn couldn’t refuse the marriage. However, she could refuse this softness, this pretense that she walked to the altar without protest. They had taken her future without asking. She would not let them also take her voice. She offered a single nod. “Help me.”

Quickly, they moved. The white gown fell to the floor, replaced by black—stitched in secret by hands loyal to her. The woman staring back from the mirror was not her father’s quiet daughter.

“I’ll be in the gardens,” Aeryn said, departing before Alessa could speak.

Beyond the bustling corridors lay the palace gardens, a careful blend of human order and elven grace. Stone paths carved clean lines through wilder growth, while the elven trees were coaxed into arches that strained beneath their pruning.

Cool air carried the scent of wet grass and the sweetness of bluebells. The sun sat high, gentle but bright, caught between warmth and chill. For weeks leading up to the wedding, she’d had the unease of being watched. Today was no different.

Aeryn was to marry an orc, the chieftain’s heir and Clanlord in his own right.

A union arranged in the name of peace. All her life, she had listened to the stories.

Orcs were said to be savages, born of an old curse and ruled by untempered rage.

They burned what they touched. They stole women away.

Since the marriage was announced, her father’s ministers had spoken of the alliance as a mercy.

They called it an act of human benevolence meant to bind the beasts of the mountains to civilized law.

Her skirts brushed the path as she walked deeper into the gardens. Birds trilled in the distance, and the bells would soon call her to the courtyard—to her wedding, to duty. As the bride, Aeryn was meant to stand as proof that peace could be purchased.

And then—an orc.

He stood by the archway where the hedge broke, revealing the pale sweep of the Orkish Highlands beyond. Even among the guests drifting between the edge of the garden walls and hall, he commanded attention.

Tall and broad-shouldered, his dark hair stood in stark contrast to gray skin mottled in the stony hues of the mountain-born.

He wore no armor, only a tailored suit of deep brown leather, its collar lined with fur.

The cut was too precise to be purely orcish.

A gesture of diplomacy. The realization unnerved her more than savagery would have.

Brutality could be dismissed. This suggested intention.

What unsettled her most was not him, but herself; the way she found herself reassessing instead of recoiling. If the stories were true, he should not have been capable of this kind of restraint. The thought lodged, unwelcome and persistent.

When his gaze found her, there was no surprise in it. Only curiosity. Perhaps even faint amusement. “I was told in human and elven customs, brides favor white,” the orc said. “Seems I was misinformed.” His tone was light, almost conversational, yet his attention didn’t waver.

Questions collided in her mind. Why was he here, alone, away from the ceremony? For a moment, Aeryn wondered if she had wandered too far, crossed some unseen boundary she shouldn’t have.

“Custom is a matter of perspective,” she said. “Perhaps you were simply speaking to the wrong brides.” Aeryn could hardly share that walking down that aisle felt less like a wedding and more like a funeral.

His expression shifted. Not anger, as she’d half-expected. Something closer to interest, sharp and assessing. The corner of his mouth twitched, though whether in amusement or irritation, she couldn’t tell.

“Aye. ‘Perspective.’ Most folks like their symbols plain, ye ken?” He gestured to the dark fabric. “This one asks questions they’d rather no’ answer.” Then, from somewhere beyond the hedges, the bells rang, calling Aeryn back to duty. Her stomach churned.

“You should go.” She swallowed against the nausea. “If you want a seat for the ceremony.”

The orc gave a low chuckle, his gaze drifting toward the sound. “Reckon the view’s fair enough from where I stand.”

Aeryn frowned, uncertain of what he meant.

Turning away, she gathered her skirts and made her way back to the palace, the bells following her through the garden.

Inside, the air was warmer, heavy with perfume and candle smoke.

Servants hurried past her with downcast eyes, arms laden with flowers and folded linens, too polite, or too wary, to speak.

The dress seemed bolder now.

Her father would be furious. Her mother, disappointed. Humans and elves alike would see her choice as a public disgrace. Another failure, another refusal to conform. Aeryn wondered if the orcs, too, would perceive her the same way.

From near the main hall came the muffled clamor of voices, formal greetings, men announcing arrivals. Threaded through it all, she thought she heard the voice from the garden, answering with calm authority.

Aeryn’s pulse faltered as the servants lifted the black veil and draped it over her face. The hush that followed pressed in close, broken only when the music swelled from the courtyard.

It was time.

From the corner of her eye, Aeryn saw her father step into the hall. Her chest tightened, breath catching before she forced it steady. Every instinct urged her to turn, to lower her gaze, to make herself smaller. She did none of it.

His ceremonial cloak trailed behind him, embroidered with the sigil of their house. He halted when he saw her. Silence stretched between them. Then, his hand closed around her arm, fingers pressing hard enough to bruise. “You chose to shame us, then.”

She stared straight ahead. Pain flared from his grip but she kept her eyes forward. “I chose to be heard, Father.”

“You will be silent now.” His grip tightened.

“Remember that when you stand beside your orc husband. You wanted to be bold. Perhaps he will teach you the cost of boldness.” His smile returned.

“Now. Let us give them a spectacle.” He released her at last and offered his arm, as if nothing had passed between them.

She took his arm. She ignored the faint ache where he had gripped her as they moved toward the open doors and the waiting crowd beyond. Conversations rippled through the assembly, then fell quiet beneath the opening notes of the processional.

As Aeryn appeared beside her father, the murmur rose again—soft, startled gasps as the guests caught sight of the black silk trailing behind her, spilling like ink across the white marble path.

She stared at the altar, draped in white and gold.

The colors looked garish against the spring light.

Unease coiled low in her stomach, tightening with every step.

Then, she saw him.

The orc from the garden stood at the altar, composed. He was not a guest. He was the groom.

Aeryn nearly stopped walking. Her father’s grip on her arm tightened as her steps faltered. He leaned close, his breath hot against her ear. “You will walk. You will smile. You will speak your vows.”

Their eyes met as she reached the altar. The orc’s expression hardly changed, but there was a slight tilt of his head, a flicker of that same restrained amusement she’d seen in the garden. She could almost hear him say, “So, we meet again.”

“Before the eyes of both realms,” the officiant intoned, “we gather to seal this bond of peace.”

Aeryn barely heard him. Her pulse drummed in her ears, her attention caught between the ceremonial text’s gilded script and the orc standing only a few paces away.

Khaeric.

Now that she knew his name, she could see the shape of command in him—the stillness of someone used to leading, to being watched.

He didn’t look away. The veil dulled the world around her: the brightness of the marble softened, and the crowd dissolved into a blur of shifting colors. Still, his eyes cut through it all.

“Let the bride and groom step forward.”

Her father released her arm. Aeryn hesitated, her feet heavy beneath the gown. Then, she stepped forward alone. Khaeric matched her movement, closing the distance between them.

The officiant lifted a hand. “This union marks not only the joining of two lives, but the beginning of peace between our peoples. May understanding and strength bind what words cannot.” He turned toward her father. “Your Majesty, do you entrust your daughter to this bond?”

The King nodded. “I do. For the well-being of all.”

The good of all. Never for her. Aeryn’s jaw tightened, but she remained silent.

The officiant turned to her. “And do you, Princess Aeryn of the Unified Crown, enter this union in the spirit of peace and shared purpose?”

For a heartbeat, she couldn’t trust her voice. Then, softly, yet clearly, she said, “I do.”

Her gaze flicked toward Khaeric. His expression didn’t change. “I do.”

The officiant smiled. “Witness the binding.”

As the attendants approached with the ceremonial ribbons, Aeryn drew in a slow breath. Her hand trembled as she extended it, and Khaeric’s fingers closed around hers.

A symbol of unity.