Chapter 4 #3
“If I am to live here, to be part of this mountain and its people, then I need to stop hiding behind what my father’s court deemed proper.” Aeryn squared her shoulders and looked up at Khaeric. “How can I understand your ways if I flinch at every explanation?”
Surprise flickered across his expression, giving way to respect. “Ye need to understand how our bonds form.” His voice lowered as he guided her into an alcove away from passing orcs. “Among my kin, the mating bond isnae only ceremony. It’s physical.”
Aeryn nodded. “I’m listening.”
“The scent comes from my seed.” Khaeric ran a hand through his hair. “Orcs can scent-want, but that’s no bond. The clan only recognizes the bond-scent—the one made after a marriage is fully joined.”
His eyes remained fixed somewhere over her shoulder as he continued. “When a union is consummated, my seed marks ye as mine. My scent becomes part of yers in a way other orcs can smell.”
“I understand…” She forced herself to maintain her composure. “And this…” Aeryn hesitated, searching for the right words. “Bond-scent… it stays?”
“Aye.” He nodded. “It fades some wi’ time, but never fully leaves. That’s how the elders can tell we haven’t consummated the marriage. We dinnae need to test anythin’ yet.” Khaeric studied her face. “Not until ye choose it.”
Yet now, standing in this shadowed alcove with Khaeric’s words hanging between them, she found herself curious. The way his hands had gentled at her flinch, how he had loosened his grip without being asked, and how he given her a choice to leave.
What would it be like, to be claimed so thoroughly that her very scent would change? To carry a part of him within her, marking her as his in a way no ring or crown ever could?
“But I am choosing.” Her fingers brushed his jaw.
He inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring, yet still he didn’t touch her.
“Aeryn…”
“Khaeric,” she whispered. “I want to understand.”
The last of his restraint faltered. Even so, his movements were slow, deliberate. His hands settled at her waist. He guided her back until her shoulders met the stone, then lifted her.
“Only if ye tell me when to stop,” he murmured, lowering his head until their foreheads nearly touched.
“I will,” she said softly.
“This is what it means,” he said, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “To be claimed. To be marked. To carry my scent so deep that every orc who passes ye will know ye’re mine.”
Desire surged through Aeryn as his hand slid up her leg beneath her dress, leaving a burning path along her skin.
“Is this—” His fingers brushed her inner thigh. “We’re still in public.” Aeryn glanced toward the corridor beyond the alcove, where others occasionally passed.
Khaeric’s chuckle vibrated against her neck. “Aye, lass.” His fingers traced higher, skimming the edge of her small clothes. “Orcs take each other in the open often enough. The clan thinks nothin’ of it.”
The thought should have horrified her. Instead, it sent heat coursing through her.
His teeth grazed her neck, and Aeryn arched against him. “Ye want this,” Khaeric murmured. His fingers dipped beneath the thin fabric, finding her slick with desire. “I can scent it on ye.”
A soft moan escaped her as his fingers moved, the pressure exquisite, overwhelming.
Then, as suddenly as he had lifted her, Khaeric withdrew his hand and set her gently back on her feet. Before she could gather her thoughts, he raised his glistening fingers to his lips and drew them into his mouth, his eyes never leaving hers.
The sight of his tongue curling around his fingers, savoring her taste, awakened something primal—a sensation no amount of courtly restraint could smother.
The ladies at court spoke of the marriage bed in hushed, clinical terms: duty and discomfort and the relief when it was over.
No one had mentioned this—the sight of a man savoring her essence with such obvious pleasure, the way watching him could make her core clench with renewed want.
He’d touched her just enough to awaken something fierce and demanding, then withdrawn before her body could learn what came next. The frustration was exquisite, maddening.
“Come,” Khaeric said, taking her hand and tugging her from the alcove into the corridor. “Ye’ve much of the mountain still to see.”
As they walked, Aeryn remained acutely aware of the lingering heat between her thighs. A question burned at the back of her mind. “Can they tell what we… what just happened?”
“They ken I touched ye, and ye welcomed it.” He squeezed her hand. “It’s no’ shameful here, Aeryn. Among my folk, desire’s as natural as breath.”
“I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to that,” she said.
“Ye will,” Khaeric said, his certainty unwavering. “Give it time.”
They entered a chamber lined with hides and tools, where orcs worked at broad tables with bone needles. Khaeric approached a younger orc measuring a dark hide before turning back to her. “Malkor of Clan Kairn. He’ll see ye fit for proper mountain wear.”
“Oh, I don’t want to impose!” Aeryn hadn’t realized he meant to have clothing made for her.
Khaeric shook his head. “Ye’ve got the wrong of it, Aeryn. A mate provides. Fed, clothed, and kept. If I failed to provide for ye, the clan would think me unfit.”
She ducked her head. “I’m sorry. In my father’s court, ladies often paid for their own garments from their personal allowances.”
His hand brushed against her lower back. “The mountain’s no king’s court. Here, it’s the mate’s place.” He gestured to the tailor. “Malkor’s the best hand wi’ hides and cloth in all the clans. He’ll see ye right.”
“Arms out, please,” the young orc said.
Aeryn complied. His touch was impersonal and quick, numbers muttered under his breath. “Small,” he said, measuring her waist. He glanced at Khaeric and said something in Orkish that made the corner of Khaeric’s mouth twitch.
She watched the exchange. “What did he say?” Aeryn asked.
His smirk grew, his eyes alight. “He says ye’re like a saplin’. Thin enough they might snap ye.”
She scowled. “I’m not that fragile.”
Khaeric studied her, his smirk softening. “No. I reckon ye’re stronger than ye look.”
Malkor returned, testing samples and draping various colored hides, pleased. “Good,” he said. “Match eyes. Strong but light. Some be ready in few days.”
Aeryn dipped her head. “Thank you.”
Malkor’s brow furrowed at her gratitude, his puzzled glance flicking toward Khaeric. A quick exchange followed in Orkish.
“No need to thank a craftsman—” Khaeric began.
With a wave of his hand, Malkor silenced Khaeric, his lips twitching into a sheepish grin. “Bah. Let her thank, if she wish. Words dinnae spoil the craft,” he said. “Work be good or bad. Ye say it, then I fix. But…” He hesitated, eyes glinting. “Still. Nice to hear.”
The mountain beyond Malkor’s workshop held far rougher edges. As Khaeric led her deeper into the halls, a broad-shouldered orc shoved past them, muttering under his breath. He bared his tusks at her. The sight jolted her.
Khaeric reacted instantly. He dragged her behind him and whirled, shoving the orc back against the wall, his own tusks bared in answer. Surprise replaced the contempt in the orc’s eyes. Khaeric growled something in Orkish as he pressed his forearm against the other orc’s throat.
Aeryn stepped back. She’d seen aggression at court—veiled threats, whispered insults—but nothing like this raw display of dominance.
For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to muscle and impact and the simple, terrifying truth that Khaeric could break a body as easily as snapping a branch. These were the orcs from the stories.
The pinned orc’s eyes flicked to her, then back to Khaeric. He muttered something strained in Orkish. Khaeric leaned in harder, answered with a sharp word, then released him.
The orc straightened his tunic, glaring at Aeryn once more before stalking away, shoulders hunched in defeat.
Khaeric watched him go, jaw clenched tight.
“Are ye all right?” He turned back to her.
The change rattled her almost as much as the violence itself.
One moment, he had been all fury and force; the next, his attention was wholly hers again, his voice gentled, his body angled to shield rather than strike.
“What did he say to me?” Her voice came out thin.
Khaeric huffed, shaking his head. “Naught worth repeatin’.” He placed a protective hand on her lower back. “Come. There’s more to see.”
But Aeryn didn’t move. She glanced around the corridor, taking in the unfamiliar faces, the strange surroundings. The hostility in that orc’s eyes had been unmistakable. Now, looking at the others in the corridor, she saw varying degrees of the same sentiment. “Am I safe here?” she whispered.
Khaeric’s expression softened as he turned to face her fully, his broad frame blocking the corridor, shielding her from lingering eyes. He lifted a hand to rest against her cheek. “Aye, ye’re safe.” His thumb brushed along her cheekbone.
She searched his face for doubt or deception. There was none.
“That orc—”
“Will regret his disrespect,” Khaeric finished, his voice hardening. “But he’s one among a small few. Most will come to accept ye in time.” His hand fell from her face. “Change comes slow to the mountain, but it does come.”
Aeryn nodded, willing herself to believe him. In this unfamiliar place, trust felt like a fragile thing, but Khaeric had shown himself trustworthy.
“Come,” he said, his hand returning to the small of her back.
They continued through winding passages that gradually widened into larger halls.
Khaeric pointed out workshops where smiths hammered metal into intricate forms, storerooms stacked with preserved meats and bundles of dried herbs.
At each place they passed, orcs paused in their work to stare.
Some nodded respectfully; others merely watched, guarded and assessing, before returning to their tasks.
“Where are we going now?” she asked when they began to climb, the passages sloping upward.
“To the upper terraces,” Khaeric replied. “Ye should see where—” His nostrils flared, his head turning. “This way.” His hand returned to the small of her back, guiding her down a different corridor. The passage opened into a broad walkway overlooking a vast chamber below.
Aeryn leaned forward, peering over the railing. Below, dozens of orcs sparred in pairs and groups, their movements quick and brutal despite their size. Massive axes and hammers rose and fell alongside short blades, while others fought bare-handed.
“The training yards,” Khaeric said, his gaze sweeping the figures below. “This way.” He led her down a wide staircase that curved along the chamber wall.
“Garran,” Khaeric called, lifting a hand. “Brought my mate to meet ye.”
A scarred, broad-shouldered orc joined them. He studied Aeryn with undisguised curiosity before clasping Khaeric’s forearm in greeting. “So, this is the human bride,” Garran said. His common tongue was rougher than Khaeric’s, his tusks more pronounced with each word.
“Elf-blooded,” Khaeric corrected. “Aeryn, this is Garran of Clan Tarrn, my second-in-command and shield-brother since we were orclings.”
Garran began to circle her. “Soft. Pretty enough, I suppose, for those who fancy such things.”
Aeryn stepped closer to Khaeric, tucking herself behind him. Garran halted his nostrils flared as he inhaled. “Jumpy little thing, isnae she?” he said to Khaeric.
“Scent’s all fear and nerves.” He stepped closer, and she pressed closer to Khaeric. “Hidin’ behind yer mate at the first sign of inspection. Ye needn’t flinch every time an orc looks at ye, girl.”
Khaeric shook his head. “Enough, Garran,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “We’ve had enough challenges for one mornin’.”
Garran’s eyebrows rose, glancing between them. “Challenges already? What’s happened?”
Khaeric’s jaw tightened. “Dagmar. In the east corridor.”
The mockery drained from the scarred orc. “That stone-headed fool,” he growled. “What did he do?”
“Bared his tusks at her. A challenge, plain as day.”
Garran’s eyes darkened. “And ye put him in his place?”
“Against the wall,” Khaeric confirmed, sliding an arm around Aeryn and drawing her close. “Made it clear any disrespect to her is disrespect to me.”
Aeryn wrapped her arms around Khaeric’s waist. After a moment’s surprise, his arm tightened around her shoulders.
Garran’s expression softened. “Forgive me, lady,” he said, his voice gentler. “The mountain breeds rough manners, but that’s no excuse.” He inclined his head. “Ye’re clan now.”
“Thank you.” She remained pressed to Khaeric’s side even after Garran stepped back.
“Would ye care to see more of our ways?” Garran’s voice had lost its earlier edge, the gravelly tones now almost gentle. “The training yards might seem brutal to outside eyes, but there’s honor in how we fight.”
Aeryn hesitated, glancing up at Khaeric. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to see a bit more.”
Garran gestured for them to follow, leading them along the edge of the training yard. As they walked, he pointed out different areas with unexpected patience.
“The younglings train there,” he explained, indicating a section where smaller orcs practiced basic movements. His voice had lost its earlier gruffness. “We start them early wi’ wooden weapons. Teaches control before strength.”
“And over there,” Garran continued, pointing to a section where orcs grappled without weapons, “that’s where we learn to rely on strength alone. No blade to save ye if ye’re disarmed.”
As they left the yard, Aeryn’s gaze drifted back to the youngest fighters. “Do all orcs train?”
“Aye.” Khaeric nodded. “Basics every clan-born kens: combat, survival, the like. Specially the young. The highlands dinnae forgive the unprepared,” he said. She watched the smallest of them rise from a fall without hesitation, wipe the dust from their hands, and return to their forms.