Chapter 15
Two weeks had passed since Caeryth’s arrival. She recovered faster than expected, able to cross the lower halls without stopping to rest. Though her gaze still lingered uneasily on orcish tusks, she no longer flinched when orcs passed.
Caeryth had traded her silks for Malkor’s fitted leathers and sturdy linens. “Why do they always stare?” she asked as two smiths strode by, carrying iron rods.
“They’re curious.” Aeryn shifted the journals in her arms. “You’re another princess of the Unified Crown walking through their mountain. That’s not a sight they expected to see twice in one lifetime.”
Caeryth’s attention snagged on an alcove. Two apprentices knelt beside an elderly orc whose leg was bound in a brace. One apprentice tightened the straps while the old warrior calmly murmured instructions.
“Well. They could look with less intensity.”
“They’re orcs,” Aeryn said, half smiling. “Intensity is their resting state.”
They entered the Great Library. Inside, Mael stood at a long table, sleeves rolled, marking a scroll as half a dozen apprentices waited. Khaeric lingered at his side, arms folded, looking fond but weary.
Mael looked up, his gaze sweeping the room before settling on Caeryth for a heartbeat too long. “Ah. Our scholar brings company. Shall I fetch another chair, or will Her Highness prefer to stand and glower at my shelves from a safe distance?”
Caeryth stiffened. “A chair would be kind.”
“A welcome sight.” Mael inclined his head. “Few royals dirty their boots these days. Still, it’s good to see one makin’ the climb herself. Most prefer their mountains in paintings.”
A retort rose to her lips, then died. Caeryth blinked, as if his tone had caught her off guard.
“Mael,” Khaeric warned.
The scholar lifted both hands. “Just an observation.”
Khaeric exhaled through his nose. “Ye can stop observin’ now.”
“Well then, Lady Aeryn,” Mael said and gestured toward an open scroll. “If ye can drag yer mind from diplomacy back to history, let’s see what ye remember of last week’s lesson.” His gaze slid to Caeryth. “And if Her Highness grows bored, she may correct my pronunciation in her head.”
Caeryth lifted her chin. “I’ve endured worse from courtiers who fancied themselves poets.”
Khaeric’s laugh rumbled low. Mael’s mouth twitched before he masked it. “A dangerous tongue,” he said. “Must run in the family. Remind me no’ to try my hand at poetry in yer hearin’. I’ve grown fond of my pride.”
The lesson fell into its rhythm. Mael questioning, Aeryn answering. Once or twice, Caeryth shifted as if bored, yet her gaze snagged on certain names or dates, held there a moment past curiosity.
At last, Mael set his quill aside. “That’s enough butchery of my mother tongue for one mornin’,” he said, rolling the scroll.
“We’ll see what survives in yer heads by next week.
” He dismissed them with a flick of his fingers, then turned to Caeryth with a small bow.
“Her Highness is welcome in the Great Library again. Most flee after one lesson. If ye return, I’ll ken ye’ve a stronger constitution than half my pupils. ”
Her mouth curved. “We’ll see if your shelves are worth the effort.”
“Oh, they are.” For a moment, amusement softened the usual dryness of Mael’s tone. “I only hope my explanations measure up.”
Khaeric leaned in to kiss Aeryn and said something in Orkish before he slipped away. As the sisters left the library, Aeryn glanced back. Mael was bent over his scrolls again, yet he watched Caeryth until the door closed.
They stopped at a balcony that overlooked Beinn Ork.
Aeryn thought of how it had begun, how Khaeric’s patience wore down her fear, how his silences spoke more than careful words.
Her fingers twitched against the railing.
She resisted the urge to press her hand to her stomach. She still hadn’t told Caeryth.
The signs were there—orc babes grew faster, Brenn had warned her. The curve of her belly, though she’d layered her clothing, was becoming difficult to explain away.
As they turned to leave, an orc stepped into their path. He was broad-shouldered, and his dark green skin was mapped with old scars. His black hair hung in a loose warrior’s tail, and his tusks were prominent, sharpened to points.
Dagmar. The same orc who had snarled at Aeryn when she first arrived. The one Khaeric had slammed against the wall.
Aeryn grabbed Caeryth’s arm and drew her behind her.
“Well.” Dagmar’s smile bared teeth. His eyes traveled over Aeryn, nostrils flaring as he inhaled. “Ye scent different now, Lady Aeryn.” He tilted his head. “Like Khaeric. All over ye. A proper mating, then.”
His gaze shifted to Caeryth. “And another princess in our halls.”
Aeryn moved to block him.
“Protective, are we?” He closed the distance. “Does the Clanlord’s mate think I’d harm her kin?”
“What do you want, Dagmar?” Aeryn’s voice was cold. Caeryth’s fingers tightened on her arm.
“Want?” Dagmar’s smile widened. “Can a warrior no’ greet a Clanlord’s mate?
” He placed a hand over his heart in mock offense.
“I wonder,” Dagmar said, leaning closer, “if the human king frets over his bargain. Wasnae one daughter enough? Had to check on his investment wi’ another?
” His stare drifted between them, lingering on Caeryth.
“Or perhaps the fourth princess might fetch a better price wi’ another clan? ”
“My sister came to visit,” Aeryn said, steadier than she felt. “Nothing more.”
“Strange.” Dagmar’s nostrils flared again, his attention returning to Aeryn. “Ye even carry yerself like one of us now. Less... delicate.”
“How noble. Picking fights with unarmed women. Very heroic,” Caeryth cut in.
“The princess has fangs.” Dagmar tapped his tusks. “Just like her sister. Pity they’re so small.”
“Walk away, Dagmar,” Aeryn said. “You’ve made your point.”
Dagmar’s eyes narrowed, his large frame seeming to expand as he leaned closer.
“Walk away? In my mountain?” He let out a humorless rumble.
“This treaty ye’re so proud of? It’s naught but parchment and pretty words.
Ye think spreadin’ yer legs for a Clanlord makes peace?
” He spat at the stone. “It’s a chain ‘round our necks. We bow while humans build outposts at our borders.” He flicked a finger toward Caeryth.
“They send spies wrapped in silk and call them visitors.”
“And yet, for all the lies and spies,” Aeryn said, though fear coiled in her stomach, “the peace holds.”
Dagmar’s laugh cracked. “Peace?” He leaned into the space between them. “Now, we’ve two princesses instead of one. How generous of yer father to share his daughters wi’ the beasts.”
“The treaty holds because wise leaders on both sides know peace benefits everyone.”
Dagmar towered over them. “Wise leaders? Ye think the Clanlord of Clan Druin’s gone soft in his age, then? That Khaeric’s forgotten he’s an orc because he warms his bed wi’ ye?”
“I believe the term ye’re lookin’ for is ‘domesticated,’” a dry voice drawled behind them. “Though I’d advise against usin’ it in polite company.”
Mael stood at the library entrance, his arms folded, gaze moving between them carefully. Relief eased Aeryn’s shoulders, though she remained firmly before Caeryth.
“The scholar,” Dagmar growled. “Always appearin’ when least wanted.”
“A skill I’ve honed through study,” Mael said, stepping closer.
“If ye’ve come to play guardian, save yer breath,” Dagmar said, his lips peeling back. “The princesses and I were havin’ a friendly chat.”
“Were ye now?” Mael slipped between Dagmar and the sisters. “Curious. I could’ve sworn I heard the distinct rumble of threatened dominance.”
“Stay out of matters that dinnae concern ye, ink-stained runt.”
Mael’s lips curved into a thin smile. “Ink-stained is fair. Though I’d argue ‘runt’ is a bit unimaginative. I’d hoped for better.”
“Think ye’re clever? Forgotten what it means to be an orc, hidin’ behind scrolls?” Dagmar took a threatening step forward.
“And yet here I stand,” Mael replied mildly, but there was an edge beneath the calm. “No’ hidin’ at all.”
A growl reverberated through the stone hall like distant thunder.
Khaeric filled the archway at its far end, his broad frame blocking the light. His eyes were dark with rage, fixed on Dagmar. His lips pulled back over his tusks as he advanced toward Dagmar.
He seized Dagmar by the vest and drove him into the stone wall hard enough to shake dust from the ceiling. “Ye threaten my mate?” Khaeric’s voice was a feral rasp, his face inches from Dagmar’s. “Threaten her kin in these halls?”
Dagmar’s hands shot up, knocking Khaeric’s grip from his vest. “Touch me again, Clanlord, and I’ll take those hands.”
In a blur of movement, Khaeric’s fist connected with Dagmar’s jaw. Blood spattered the floor as the warrior stumbled back.
Aeryn gasped and pulled Caeryth back. Her heart hammered as she watched her husband vanish beneath a surge of orcish rage.
Dagmar tested his jaw before wiping blood from his split lip. A savage grin spread across his face. “There he is,” he growled. “The true son of Clan Druin. No’ the tame pet who bows to human kings.” With a roar, Dagmar lunged forward, slamming his shoulder into Khaeric’s chest.
Khaeric twisted and used Dagmar’s momentum to hurl him against the opposite wall. Stone cracked on impact.
Dagmar recovered quickly, circling Khaeric. “The treaty makes ye weak,” he spat. “Ye let humans build at our borders while our warriors soften.”
Khaeric struck again. The crack of bone echoed. The larger orc staggered but lunged back with a roar that shook the hallway. Both orcs collided with the wall.
“Ladies,” Mael said evenly. “The library offers excellent shelter. And considerably fewer flying fists.”
Aeryn hesitated, her eyes locked on Khaeric.
“Yer mate can handle himself,” Mael added. “And he’d rather ye safe while he reminds Dagmar why challengin’ a Clanlord is unwise.”
“We can’t leave him,” Aeryn protested, even as another crash split the air.