Chapter 3
One step into the bedroom brought her to an abrupt halt. Khaeric stood there unguarded, as though modesty were a foreign concept. Aeryn yelped and turned away, gripping the towel tighter around herself. “You might have warned me.”
Khaeric’s laugh was low. “Warned ye of what? That I’d be here?” He made no effort to cover himself. “This is our chamber.”
“Yes,” Aeryn said, facing the wall, her pulse racing. “It is. But I didn’t expect—”
“What? That I’d be wi’out clothing?”
Her eyes remained fixed on the stone wall, tracing the veins of mineral in the rock rather than risk turning around. “Well, in my father’s court, one doesn’t simply…” She hesitated. “One doesn’t do this.”
“Is that what keeps ye starin’ at the wall like it’s the most fascinatin’ thing in the mountain?”
Her heartbeat thudded wildly. “Are you dressed?” she asked, ignoring the question.
Khaeric laughed again. “No. I’m no’ dressed. And I dinnae intend to be.”
Her knuckles whitened against the fabric. “That’s… that’s unacceptable.”
“Is it?”
Aeryn heard movement behind her. He was crossing the room. “In my home, we dinnae fear our own bodies. Or our mates.”
That word again. Mate.
His ease stripped away every excuse she’d been taught to rely on. Yet part of her recoiled on instinct. In court, nakedness had meant humiliation, punishment. Here, it carried no such meaning, and that difference unsettled her more than his size or strength ever could.
“Turn around, lass.”
“I will not.” Her voice was steadier than she felt; the familiar spark of defiance warmed her chest. “Not until you’re properly covered.”
Khaeric laughed, deeper this time. “And who decides what’s proper here, lass? Yer father’s court is behind ye.”
“I—” The words caught. The truth struck her like cold water. In this mountain stronghold carved from stone, those rules held no power. She was no longer Princess Aeryn of the Unified Crown. Here, she was simply the war-chief’s son’s bride. A stranger in an unfamiliar land.
“There are no servants here to tell ye what to wear,” Khaeric continued, his voice closer. “No courtiers to whisper if ye show too much skin or speak too boldly.”
Moisture fled her throat. “There are still customs,” she insisted. “Even here.”
“Aye,” he agreed, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “Our customs. No’ yers.”
Her stomach twisted at his words as she tightened her grip on the towel, feeling its dampness seep into her palms.
“Turn around, Aeryn.” The command gentled to something closer to a request.
She inhaled deeply, gathering her courage. In one smooth motion, she turned, her chin lifting in defiance. Khaeric stood before her, unclothed as promised. The light caught along the planes of muscle. His dark hair hung loose around features that felt less foreign than they had only hours before.
His body should have repulsed her; orcs were monsters, brutish and malformed.
But the orc standing before her bore no resemblance to those twisted court tales.
Her peripheral vision betrayed her, catching the breadth of his shoulders, crystal light playing across gray skin.
His build was broader, more heavily muscled.
This wasn’t how terror was supposed to feel.
This uncomfortable awareness, this electric current that made her pulse skip.
She should be afraid. Disgusted. Court training demanded she avert her eyes, feign ignorance.
Instead, all she felt was traitorous curiosity; the urge to look closer, to understand this body now tied to hers by law and treaty.
He was her husband. She was allowed to look.
Yet the permission felt more dangerous than any prohibition.
“There.” Keeping her eyes on his face required a conscious effort, a battle between ingrained propriety and unwelcome curiosity. “I’ve turned. Are you satisfied?”
A smile played at the corners of his mouth, his amber eyes warming. “Aye. For now.” He stood before her with the easy confidence of someone who had never learned to hide. “Ye’ve more courage than ye let on.”
“And you’ve less modesty than a statue in the palace gardens,” Aeryn retorted. The words escaped with more bite than she’d intended.
To her surprise, Khaeric threw back his head and laughed, a rich sound that seemed to fill the chamber and echo through the stone. His eyes crinkled as he regarded her. “Aye, that I do. My kin dinnae waste time on false modesty.”
“Is that what you think it is? False modesty?” The towel became her shield, gripped with white knuckles. “Perhaps your people could benefit from a little restraint.”
“Restraint?” He tilted his head, studying her with newfound interest. “Like wearin’ black to yer own weddin’? That kind of restraint?”
Heat flared in her cheeks. “That was different.”
“Was it?” His tusks gleamed in the light as his smile widened. “Seems to me ye enjoy breakin’ rules when they’re no’ yer own.”
The protest on her lips withered. Khaeric wasn’t wrong. She had chosen defiance when it suited her, made a spectacle of herself to prove a point. Now, here she was, in his own home, clinging to her father’s customs as though they were armor. The hypocrisy in her stance bothered her.
“You may have a point,” Aeryn admitted, surprised by how easily the words came. “Though I maintain there’s a difference between making a statement at a ceremony and…” She gestured vaguely at his unclothed form. “This.”
Khaeric chuckled. “Aye, there is. One’s a challenge; the other’s just livin’.
” He crossed the room to a wooden chest set against the far wall and opened it.
“Ye need somethin’ to sleep in.” He rifled through the contents before withdrawing a simple linen tunic.
“This should do until yer things arrive tomorrow.” He laid it across the bed.
“Thank you,” she said, the admission feeling oddly unfamiliar—gratitude to an orc, to her husband, for such a simple kindness.
“Dinnae mention it.” He turned away, giving her privacy without being asked.
Aeryn crossed to the bed and grabbed the tunic.
The linen was softer than she’d expected, worn thin by years of use.
She slipped it over her head, letting the towel fall only when the fabric covered her.
The garment hung loose on her frame, sleeves trailing past her fingertips, the hem brushing near her knees.
She turned to look at him. “Are you going to sleep like that?” She nodded at him as she rolled up her sleeves. “Without anything on at all?”
Khaeric looked at her as if the question itself was peculiar. “Aye. Why would I no’?”
“Because it’s…” Aeryn stopped herself. The word improper hovered, then dissolved, suddenly meaningless here. “Never mind.”
He settled onto the bed, wholly unbothered by his nudity or her presence.
“Do all orcs sleep unclothed?” The question slipped out before she could stop it.
“Aye. Most do.” He patted the space beside him. “Come to bed, lass.”
She approached the bed, hovering at its edge. The furs looked inviting, but the thought of lying beneath them—with him—sent her pulse skittering. Drawing a steadying breath, she slipped under the covers, keeping carefully to her side, as far from the edge as she dared.
“Ye’ve no need to cling to the edge like that,” Khaeric said, his voice rumbling through the dimness. “Bed’s big enough for both of us wi’ room to spare.”
“I’m perfectly comfortable here,” she said, clearing her throat. The tunic had ridden up beneath the furs, the fabric bunching awkwardly at her waist. Aeryn tugged it down with quick, nervous movements.
The mattress dipped as Khaeric settled beside her, his massive form shifting the bed enough that she felt herself pulled subtly in his direction. She stiffened, bracing herself to keep from rolling closer.
“Will ye relax?” A trace of exasperation colored his tone. “I’ve no intention of touchin’ ye tonight.”
She went rigid at his bluntness. “I didn’t think— I wasn’t concerned about—” The words tangled, embarrassment stealing her breath.
“Weren’t ye?” he asked, without mockery. “Most women in yer position would be. After all, I could force ye if I wished.”
The words sent a chill through Aeryn’s veins. “Do you?”
He exhaled loudly. “No. I’ve never taken an unwillin’ woman to my bed. I’ll no’ start wi’ my mate.”
Mate. She was Khaeric’s wife, his mate. Yet Aeryn knew so little of him, only what the last hours had revealed.
A man—an orc—who ran through the night carrying her as if she weighed nothing. Who washed her with careful hands. Who now chose restraint when he could have demanded far more.
Despite the stories about orcs as savages, Khaeric had shown her nothing but consideration since their arrival.
Eventually, she settled beside him, still careful to leave space between them.
Weariness tugged at her, the weight of the day pressing down like stones, but her mind refused to quiet.
Too many questions crowded her thoughts, too many uncertainties about what tomorrow would bring.
The mountain felt foreign around Aeryn—its warmth unfamiliar, its sounds strange.
“I can’t sleep,” she admitted, staring up at the glowing crystals set into the ceiling.
Khaeric shifted beside her, the furs rustling with his movement. “Aye. New place. Strange bed.”
“It’s not just that.” She propped herself on one elbow and faced him directly. “I want to understand.”
“Understand what, lass?”
“All of it. Your rituals, your customs. Why do you live inside a mountain instead of building on it? Why your people run instead of ride.” She hesitated, then pressed on, fatigue stripping away the last of her courtly restraint. “Why you agreed to marry me.”
Khaeric studied her. “Why do ye think?”
Aeryn shook her head. “The treaty, obviously. But there must have been others who could have fulfilled that obligation.” She drew the fur closer around her shoulders. “Was it punishment? Being saddled with the half-breed princess?”