Chapter 2
They stood just beyond the palace gates, where torchlight gave way to the dark stretch of the open road.
Khaeric was speaking in Orkish. To Aeryn’s half-elven ears, the sounds struck a haunting note of familiarity.
It was said that Orkish was a corrupted dialect of Elvish, a tongue reshaped by the curse that had remade the orcs.
When Khaeric turned to her, his voice softened back into the common tongue. “Ye’ll need this.” He shrugged off his fur-lined jacket and held it out to Aeryn.
Her gaze lingered on the jacket. “Why would I need it?” she asked. “We’re traveling by heated carriage.”
A smirk formed on Khaeric’s lips. “No, lass.” He extended the jacket again, insistent until she took it. “We’re no’ riding. We run.”
Aeryn blinked at him. “Run?” Her pulse quickened. “You’re joking,” she said, with a laugh that was half plea. “There’s no way I could keep pace.”
“On wi’ the jacket now.”
The command cut through her protest. She hesitated only a moment before obeying, tugging the heavy fur around her shoulders as its warmth settled over her.
Khaeric turned back to the others, issuing a final set of orders in Orkish. The orcs spread into a loose line along the road’s edge. When he faced her again, the teasing had left his eyes, replaced by a seriousness that warned her the joke she’d hoped for wasn’t coming.
Before Aeryn could ask what he intended, his arm wrapped around her waist and lifted her with ease, drawing her against his chest. One arm was anchored around her back, the other beneath her knees.
“What—what are you doing?” The fur at his collar muffled her words.
Khaeric’s mouth hovered close to her ear. “Keepin’ ye from freezin’—or fallin’ behind.” He barked a command in Orkish, and they moved.
The ground thundered beneath them as the orcs launched forward, boots striking the earth in a coordinated rush. Wind tore at her hair and stung her eyes. Behind them, the palace torches smeared into streaks of gold.
Gasping in surprise, Aeryn tightened her hold on his chest. A sharp gust knifed through the fur, and she couldn’t stop the shiver that followed. Khaeric’s arm tightened at once, drawing her closer as he angled his body into the wind, taking the brunt of it.
The rhythm of their strides should have terrified her. Her mind scrambled to make sense of it. If orcs could move with such speed and endurance, what else had the court failed to tell her?
She shifted in Khaeric’s hold, the wind stinging her eyes as she looked back. The palace lights flickered against the horizon. Her life—her family, her court, her very name—fell away with them, until only the sound of her own breath remained, matched to the steady rhythm of his.
Aeryn buried her face in the fur of his collar. Khaeric’s warmth seeped through the layers of fabric. Orcs, it seemed, ran far warmer than humans or elves.
Ahead, the road curved north, vanishing into the shadow of the mountains. She didn’t know how long they ran, but when Khaeric finally slowed, the world around them was no longer the same.
He set her down, his arms lingering around her. “Breathe, lass.”
She obeyed, drawing in a breath that stung her lungs with cold air.
Khaeric gripped her arm and steered her toward a break in the stone, a shadowed passage that yawned open before them.
As they moved deeper into the mountain, Aeryn felt the air shift.
The night’s chill softened to a damp, steady warmth that soothed her lungs.
The orcish stronghold seemed built with the mountain rather than against it, its entrances well hidden within the rock’s natural fissures. The narrow passage widened into a vaulted stone hall, faintly lit by glowing crystals embedded in the walls, light drawn without flame.
Beyond it, the mountain opened.
The stories had it wrong. This wasn’t a warren of caves, but a city carved within the mountain.
The ceiling rose high above her, so distant it vanished into shadow.
The hall gave way to a vast cavern carved into streets, terraces, and bridges.
Stone structures were stacked and interlocked along the mountain’s interior, climbing upward and outward.
Walkways spanned open air and water spilled from channels from unseen heights.
Aeryn stared. The mountain had been hollowed and shaped into something that shouldn’t exist, something her tutors had never hinted at when they spoke of orcish brutality and primitive ways.
Clusters of crystals studded the cavern walls like constellations, their soft luminescence washing the stone in soft, white light. The light didn’t flicker as torchlight did.
Khaeric stood beside her, silent, allowing her the moment. The other orcs had dispersed into the thoroughfare ahead, their voices carrying back in rumbling exchanges she couldn’t parse.
“This is—” The words dried on her tongue. What was it? Not what she expected? Beautiful?
“Beinn Ork,” Khaeric said, his voice tinged with pride. “The mountain’s heart.”
Aeryn looked down from the half wall to the street before them. Orcs moved through the spaces with unhurried purpose.
A group of children darted past, their laughter echoing off stone, and Aeryn flinched.
They paid her no mind, chasing each other toward a side passage with the abandon of any human child at play.
Except these children had grey and green skin and small tusks that jutted from their lower jaws.
Children. Playing. As though the mountain were simply home, not the fortress of monsters she’d been taught to fear.
“Come.” Khaeric’s hand settled at the small of her back, guiding her forward.
As her eyes adjusted, she spotted the source of the warmth: small vents in the stone walls, exhaling steady streams of mist. They passed through the thoroughfare, weaving between clusters of orcs who turned to watch her with expressions she couldn’t parse.
Some nodded to Khaeric. Others stared openly at her, their eyes tracking her movement until she looked away.
“Where are you taking me?” The question came out smaller than she’d intended.
“Our chambers.”
Her heart dropped. Our chambers. Not your chambers. Not a guest suite where she might catch her breath and gather herself before facing whatever came next. The treaty’s terms had been clear; she was bound to him as wife, as symbol of peace between their peoples.
She hadn’t let herself think about what that meant, not truly. The betrothal had been an abstract thing, a signature on parchment, a political necessity her father had spoken of in clipped, businesslike tones. Now it pressed against her chest.
They climbed a stairway carved directly into the mountain’s interior wall. Her thighs burned by the time they reached a landing. Khaeric paused there, gesturing her through an archway.
The space beyond opened into a receiving room, an antechamber, clearly meant for guests or attendants.
The polished stone walls curved upward and more crystal clusters glowed from niches carved at intervals, their light softer here.
Woven tapestries with simple patterns hung between them.
A low table with a decorative green table runner sat near the center, surrounded by cushions that looked well-used.
“This is the outer room,” Khaeric said, moving past her, deeper into the space, and she followed with reluctant steps. At the back of the room was a door that led to what must be the sleeping chamber.
Aeryn’s steps slowed. The sleeping chamber. Where husband and wife would share a bed, as the treaty demanded. As her duty required.
Her throat tightened.
Khaeric stopped at the threshold, one hand resting on the doorframe. “Ye’re afraid.” Not a question. A statement.
“No.” The word snapped out before she could temper it. “I’m exhausted from the journey. That’s all.”
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how her heart hammered against her ribs, how every muscle in her body screamed at her to run even though there was nowhere to go.
Khaeric’s eyes narrowed, just slightly. “Aye,” he said slowly. “A long journey, that.” He didn’t believe her, but he didn’t press. Instead, he pushed the door open and gestured for her to look inside.
Aeryn moved forward on legs that felt uncertain beneath her.
The sleeping chamber was large. A wide bed dominated one wall, piled with furs and woven blankets.
Not the delicate silks and linens of her childhood chambers.
Shelves lined another wall, holding what looked like books and small carved figures.
A trunk sat at the foot of the bed. The room felt lived-in, personal. His.
And now, apparently, hers.
“Through there is the bathin’ chamber.” He nodded toward the side door. “Springs run beneath the stone. Water’s clean. Hot.”
Aeryn stepped closer, drawn by the faint sound of running water. Through the doorway, she saw a pool filled with hollowed into the rock. Without a word, Khaeric began undoing his shirt clasps, the fabric loosening at his collar. When he caught her eye, his gesture was simple, deliberate. Your turn.
“What are you—” She stopped herself, heat rushing to her ears as she glanced to the doorway, then back to him. Surely he didn’t mean— Her thoughts tangled, her face burning.
She moved backward, fingers tightening around the edges of his jacket still wrapped around her shoulders.
Khaeric’s brows drew together. “What’s the matter?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. “You—” Her voice cracked. “You expect me to… to join you?”
His gaze stayed level as he nodded. “Custom of my kin. We wash the road’s dust from our skin before the night’s done.”
Khaeric wasn’t joking. He meant to share the bath. This wasn’t another ceremony, another performance for the court. This was what came after.
“Tonight?” Her voice came out taut, almost a whisper. Surely not now.
“Aye.” Khaeric paused midway through unfastening his cuffs. “That’s the way of it. We leave the road behind and begin clean.”