Chapter 2 #3
The sensation was foreign, too intimate. Aeryn focused on breathing as his hand remained efficient, never lingering. This was a ritual. Custom. Nothing more.
The cloth traced each vertebra, dipped into the hollow of her lower back, then swept over the curve of her buttocks. When he finished, Khaeric moved back. “There. Ye’re clean now.”
She opened her eyes and sank back into the water, grateful for its concealing embrace. Her skin still tingled where he’d touched her. Aeryn glanced up at him. “Is there more to this ritual?”
“Aye.” Khaeric nodded. “Now, ye do the same for me.”
Her stomach dropped. Of course.
Khaeric pressed the cloth into her palm, his fingers brushing hers.
The cloth felt strange in her grasp. The thought of touching him—of feeling an orc’s skin—set her nerves alight. His strength, his size, even his voice marked him as something other. Yet, beneath the fear, curiosity stirred, a need to understand what that difference felt like.
She swallowed hard. “Very well.”
Aeryn pressed the cloth against his cheek and traced the sharp angle of his jaw as she followed the same path he had taken with her.
It was the first time she truly studied his face.
Khaeric’s features were more angular than a human’s, more defined.
Not ugly as the court gossip had led her to believe, but different.
Foreign. Not savage. Court tales had painted orcs as deformed, monstrous things, barely more than beasts. Yet the face before her held harmony. High cheekbones, a strong jaw, and a straight nose. His eyes caught the light, amber threaded with flecks of gold—and she couldn’t look away. Beautiful.
Her fingers brushed one of his tusks as she cleaned around his mouth, and she paused, startled by its smoothness. Khaeric remained still, watching her.
“Do they hurt?” she asked, her fingers hovering near the smooth curve of his tusk.
The question made his brows rise. “No more than yer teeth hurt ye.”
Aeryn nodded and continued down the line of his neck. “When do they... grow in?” The question felt childish the moment she said it, but curiosity and the need for distraction pushed her on.
“At manhood.” Khaeric tilted his head to give her better access. “They start as small nubs once we’re out of the cradle—three, four summers—and grow longer wi’ the years.”
She moved the cloth across his shoulders. “Are they used for anything? Besides looking fearsome, I mean.”
A low chuckle rumbled through him. “Is that what ye think? That they’re for scarin’ wee lasses?”
“Well…” Aeryn found herself smiling despite the tension coiled in her chest. “They are rather intimidating.”
“They’re tools,” he said, his expression softening. “For tearin’ tough meat, crackin’ nuts.” He paused, considering. “And aye, sometimes for lookin’ fearsome when needed.”
Aeryn moved the cloth down onto his chest. The mottled patterns of his skin caught her attention. She’d never seen markings like that before. “Your turn to stand,” she said, surprised by the steadiness in her voice.
Khaeric rose without hesitation, water streaming down his torso.
Her throat tightened as she worked lower.
“I don’t—” Aeryn stopped herself, drew in a breath, and continued her task.
The cloth passed over his navel, following the dark trail of hair that disappeared beneath the water’s surface.
She would have to touch him there. The intimacy of it sent her pulse racing, heat flooding her that had nothing to do with the steam.
“Ye needn’t fear it,” Khaeric said. “There’s no shame in touchin’ what’s now yers by right.”
Her fingers froze. “I…” she swallowed, hard. “I’ve never—”
“Aye. I know.” He reached out and took the cloth from her trembling fingers. “Enough for tonight. This can wait until ye’re ready.”
“But the ritual—” Aeryn began.
“Will keep,” he finished, sinking back into the water. “Ye’ve done enough for one night. The journey was long, and tomorrow will come soon enough.”
Relief rushed through Aeryn. It would be so easy to nod.
To let the ritual stay unfinished. To let the choice slip past her, as so many others had.
However, a familiar heat stirred in her chest—not quite anger, not quite pride.
‘If this is to be my life,’ she thought, ‘let at least one part of it begin because I chose it.’
She drew a careful breath. “If this is your custom, then I would rather know it than spend the night imagining something worse.”
Khaeric’s brow lifted. “Ye dinnae need to prove anything, lass.”
“I’m not trying to prove anything.” The lie tasted bitter, but a quieter truth lay beneath it.
“I just—” She swallowed. “I’m tired of having things done to me.
If this is to be part of our bond, I want to remember stepping into it.
Not being pushed.” She held out her hand for the cloth.
“I only need a moment to... prepare myself.”
Khaeric’s expression remained neutral, though something flickered behind his gaze—surprise, maybe even respect. After a pause, he placed the cloth back into her palm, his fingers brushing hers. “As ye wish.”
“You don’t need to watch,” she said, approaching him again, her eyes fixed on his chest.
“Aye,” he chuckled as he stood. “But I will all the same.”
What would it feel like, the strength beneath his skin, the heat of him?
Aeryn wanted to know, if only to prove she could face it.
She began at his hip, moving inward with careful precision.
When her knuckles brushed him, she froze, feeling him stir beneath her touch.
A small gasp escaped her. The cloth suddenly felt too thin, its purpose uncertain.
Her fingers trembled, caught between instinct and resolve, unsure whether to continue or retreat.
“Easy now,” Khaeric murmured, his voice rougher than before. “It’s just flesh.”
Just flesh. As if anything about this moment were that simple.
Aeryn forced herself to continue, every motion careful and deliberate.
Still, his body responded beneath her touch, and the awareness flared like heat.
He hardened further under the cloth, the evidence of it undeniable. Her pulse hammered in her ears.
This was a ritual. It was meant to be a ritual.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, mortified, and looked up at him, eyes wide.
“For what?” His voice remained steady, though strained. “The body does as it will. Naught to apologize for.”
Aeryn fought the urge to look away as Khaeric’s amber eyes held hers. “Should I stop?”
He tilted his head. “That depends.” His expression was unreadable. “D’ye wish to?”
The question hung in the steamy air between them. Part of Aeryn—the part shaped by courtly etiquette and warnings about orcish savagery—urged her to retreat. But another part, stubborn and defiant, the same part that had worn black to her own wedding, refused.
“No.”
His lips curved as he nodded. “Then, continue.”
Aeryn drew a steadying breath and resumed, striving for the same composure he’d shown her. It was harder than she expected. Each pass of the cloth seemed to draw a response from him—and, unwillingly, from herself.
This ritual didn’t humiliate or claim, it created equality.
In her father’s courts, servants bathed her with downcast eyes.
But here, in this mountain stronghold, she and Khaeric washed each other.
They saw each other. When she finished, she withdrew her hand at once, relief rushing through her like air after a long-held breath.
“There.” She looked up at him before looking away. “Is that it?”
“Aye.” Khaeric studied her face. “The ritual is complete.”
“May I have a moment alone?” The words tumbled out. “Please.” For a moment, she thought he might refuse. Then, he nodded.
“Take what time ye need.”
He rose from the pool, reaching for one of the thick towels folded nearby and wrapping it around his waist. When the door closed behind him, Aeryn sank beneath the water, letting it swallow her whole.
She stayed there until her lungs burned, then surfaced with a gasp.
She pressed her palms to her eyes, willing her thoughts to still.
She hadn’t expected Khaeric to leave. At least, not so easily. In her father’s court, men took what they wanted, especially when a woman’s body had been traded by treaty and ceremony. Yet Khaeric had turned away without claim, without assumption.
Such behavior did not match the stories, the whispers of orcs as brutish, ravenous creatures that took and took until nothing remained. Not the strange customs, nor the mountain stronghold, nor even the ritual bath, but the gentleness in hands that could easily have crushed her.
Aeryn traced her fingers over the place where he had touched her. Khaeric’s hands had been steady, never lingering longer than needed. Even when she had faltered, he’d offered her a way out. She rose from the water. The fear had not vanished, but it had changed shape.