Chapter 11
Lix’tuk
I wake up praying to the Twelve Gods that yesterday was nothing but a bad dream.
Then I sit up in bed and see Clover sleeping on a pile of furs. That confirms it wasn’t. No. She’s still here. My fucking gift. My human pet.
“Damn you, Frax’mo,” I growl angrily. “I thought you were better than this.”
When orcs started buying humans, we didn’t know what to do with them once their weak wombs had given us every baby they could.
Some orcs kept them in cages. Some left them at the foot of their beds.
Some kept them collared, leashed, and even made them wear tails and do tricks for entertainment, turning them into true pets.
I’ve never had to worry about that. My wife was already gone when The Great War ended. I had no interest in filling the space beside me with a fucking human and I certainly didn’t want children from them. I didn’t even want to be in the same room with one.
Now, I don’t have a fucking choice.
I move to the edge of my bed, looking down at the girl who is still sleeping peacefully.
She should be in too much pain to sleep.
Covered in marks that won’t stop bleeding for days.
Not looking fucking adorable in the morning light, the fur hanging off her hip just enough for me to see her ass is still pink from the spanking I gave her.
“Good thing Uzrirgard barely needs a king now,” I mutter, shaking my head angrily. “I’m not the orc I used to be.”
I walk to the bathroom, shower, and return to my room.
She’s still sleeping. Clearly, humans are heavier sleepers than orcs because she doesn’t even stir when I get dressed.
That annoys me a little. She’d be worthless in a war.
An enemy soldier would be standing over her with a sword against her throat before she even knew they had breached the perimeter.
“Get the fuck up,” I growl, walking over and drawing my foot back to kick her. But I hesitate. More weakness. More mercy. Instead of slamming a boot into her thin frame, I nudge her with the edge of my foot. “Wake up, little human girl. It’s morning.”
She doesn’t leap up like an orc awakened by a king. She yawns and stretches her arms as she sits up, the fur sliding down her body, revealing her breasts. Once her pretty brown eyes open, they widen, and she yanks the fur back over them.
“Wear the robe,” I say, gesturing to the pile in the corner. “I’ll have Lady Frax’mo send you something that fits later today.”
I walk to the door of my bedchamber, wait for it to open, and exit the room. As tempted as I am to put the leash on and drag her, she can catch up. I need a cup of blackroot coffee this morning more than ever. I might even drink it straight from the damn pot.
I get to the kitchen, grab the bag that has already been prepared, and dump the contents into a cup. It just looks like dirt and sludge, but after ten seconds in the reviver, it’s a steaming hot cup of blackroot brew.
Nothing drags an orc into the morning like blackroot. During The Great War, some orcs would eat the roots straight out of the ground. We put a stop to it once we realized they were turning into junkies like the humans who inject themselves with drugs they don’t need.
Clover finally makes it to the kitchen. She still looks a little scared, but there’s something different in her eyes. Curiosity, maybe? Gratitude because I spanked her instead of whipped her. Or maybe she’s still thinking about what I did after I realized she was too fucking wet to sleep.
“Is that coffee?” she asks demurely, her eyes still half-lidded.
“It is,” I growl, noticing some redness around her neck from the collar. I shouldn’t care, but that wasn’t really part of her punishment. “Do you want some?”
“I’ve only had it a few times,” she says. “But I could probably use some.”
“Help yourself,” I say, sliding a cup down the counter. “It’s the black sludge in the fridge.”
She walks over, checks the fridges until she finds the right one, and retrieves a bag of blackroot coffee. She looks a little apprehensive when she sees the black sludge but drains the bag into her cup anyway.
“Ten seconds in… this thing?” she asks, pointing at the Reviver.
“Yes,” I confirm.
I watch as she puts it in and fumbles with the controls.
I get annoyed enough to consider helping, but she figures it out before I have to.
She’s smart for a human. Most throw their hands up in dismay at the sight of anything written in orcish.
She’s at least useful enough to try and solve the problem herself.
First time I’ve considered a human useful for anything except breeding orc babies.
“You probably don’t know this, but almost everything you’ve ever eaten has come from a Reviver,” I growl, watching her carefully remove the steaming hot cup of coffee.
“What do you mean?” she asks, lifting the cup of coffee to her lips. She sniffles and winces before taking a sip. A second later, she spits it out. Right across my fucking chest. I growl disapprovingly as it burns the skin not protected by my armor.
“Oh no! I’m sorry!” she cries out, obviously appalled by what she’s done.
I look down at my chest, then at her terrified face. Her hand is shaking. She’s about to drop the cup of coffee, so I grab it before she does.
“You should probably add some sweetened milk to yours,” I say dryly, gesturing to one of the fridges. “If that isn’t enough, just dump some fucking sugar in there until you can keep it in your mouth long enough to swallow.”
“I’m really so sorry, King Lix’tuk! It’s so bitter! I wasn’t… I didn’t mean…” she whimpers, tears filling her eyes.
“If I thought you did it intentionally, you’d already be halfway to the dungeon,” I snarl, grabbing a towel to wipe the coffee off my armor. “Stand over the sink until you figure out how to drink your blackroot coffee. Or dump it out. I don’t give a fuck.”
She gets sweetened milk from the fridge. Figures out where the sugar is on her own. I watch as she carefully turns the black brew into a milky brown sweetened drink. Just like they serve in the coffee shops in our cities. Finally, she’s able to drink it instead of spitting it out.
“Wow, that’s really strong,” she says. “I’ve only had a couple sips and I already feel it.”
I shake my head, finding a hint of humor in it. If blackroot coffee is already giving her a buzz, I better make sure she never tries grog. That’ll probably set her stomach on fire.
“Then you probably shouldn’t finish a full cup, especially one meant for an orc,” I growl. “I don’t want you bouncing off the fucking walls all day. I’ll have to put a rope through that ring on your neck and tie you down.”
“I won’t drink much,” she says, taking another sip before putting her coffee cup down. “What were you about to tell me about the Reviver? Before I…” She looks at the stains on my armor and her cheeks redden.
“I’m sure you know about The Salting?” I ask. “Our way of ending the war after we finally closed the rift the humans opened to the underworld?”
“Yeah,” she says, looking down.
“It wasn’t meant to ruin your country forever. We had ways to fix it. Enough food to ensure the humans wouldn’t starve before the soil was replenished,” I say. “Your president at the time didn’t want it fixed. He said starving people are more desperate and easier to control.”
Her pretty brown eyes flicker with confusion. “Wait. They could have fixed it? They wanted us desperate and starving?”
“Did it make you easier to control?” I ask bluntly.
“I… I guess it did,” she says, folding her arms across her chest. “I don’t think people would be so quick to send their second-borns to the auction if they had a choice. Only wealthy families can afford the Reparations Tax. That’s the only way to avoid the auction.”
“Greed makes monsters,” I growl. “Humans fill their factories with slaves, instead of paying fair wages to those who need work. They buy food from us, just like what you see in the fridge, then stick it in a Reviver and ship it across the country.”
“There’s never enough,” she mutters. “Sometimes it’s rotten by the time it gets to us, but we eat it anyway. We’ve tried raising livestock, but we can’t feed them long enough for them to become a proper meal. They end up starving, just like us.”
“Bet you always thought we were the monster, hmm?” I ask, walking past her. “Follow me.”
She wisely leaves her coffee cup on the counter rather than bringing it with her. I still need what’s left of mine.
“Just so you don’t wander off until I’m ready to let you explore on your own,” I growl, attaching the leather lead to her collar. She stands obediently and doesn’t seem as bothered by it this time. “Let’s go.”
I lead her through the hallways of Zrogmul until we reach my throne room, where I waited for my gift from Lord and Lady Frax’mo, expecting something a lot more useful than a trembling human girl I couldn’t even bring myself to whip.
“Do you normally spend your day on your throne?” she asks, struggling to keep up with me.
“Rarely,” I say. “I never see anyone in person anymore unless I have to. No reason to waste fuel or time.”
I walk to the wall behind my throne, sliding my finger across the hidden panel until it appears. This door won’t open automatically because it requires a code. I punch it in, the door opens, and I step inside, tugging on her leash.
“This is my office,” I explain, flipping the switch that will bring everything online. “I’ll be in here for most of the day.”
The computer hums as it powers up, a dozen screens lighting up on the wall in front of my desk. Some orcs call it a command center, but there’s nothing to command. Not anymore. My kingdom is a bureaucratic dream. Turns out, orcs are even better at peace than we are waging war.
“Do you want me to stay here with you?” she asks meekly, looking around, clearly not used to seeing this kind of technology.
“No,” I growl, waving a hand dismissively. “You can entertain yourself. I just wanted you to see where I’m going to be in case you need something. I’m hoping you won’t. I’ve got work to do.”
“Oh, okay,” she says. “Lady Frax’mo said you were in your final days and that you needed someone to keep your brilliant mind active. I thought that was because you live in isolation, but it looks like you can still keep in contact with everyone.”
I pull her a little closer, staring incredulously into her eyes as I remove the leash from her collar.
“Someone to keep my brilliant mind active?” I scoff, chuckling dryly under my breath. “That’s not why she gifted you to me, but the reason doesn’t matter. Now go find something to do before I decide to stick you in the dungeon for the day instead of letting you wander around Zrogmul.”
“I’ll try not to bother you,” she whispers, then quickly scurries out the door.
Truthfully, I don’t have much work to do. I just want to get it over with. These meetings are barely necessary. More tradition than necessity. But as long as I’m king, the Lords, Ladies, and generals need to occasionally see my face.
Faces appear on the screen as other orcs join the meeting.
This one is with the Lords and Ladies. There are two types of them in Uzrirgard.
Those who inherited their title from their families, and those who obtained it through marriage.
Only those who are natural-born nobility attend these meetings.
We discuss things that barely matter. Fuel prices, government budgets, crop yields.
Things they think I should have some input on, even though I’ve trusted most of them to deal with petty things like that for as long as they’ve been in power.
Just like I trusted their parents and grandparents before them.
The faces on the screens may change periodically, but most everything else remains the same.
After the meeting wraps up, I send a private message to Lord Frax’mo, letting him know I want to meet with him separately. I wait for his call and answer immediately.
“I already know what this is about, Your Majesty,” Lord Frax’mo answers hesitantly. “I tried to talk her out of it, but you know how she is.”
“Every single day, I find a new reason to regret letting you two wed,” I rumble. “You both know how I feel about humans.”
“Well aware, Your Majesty,” he says. “But Gutha’s grandmother was a soothsayer. My wife still believes in the old prophecies. Still does rituals to the Twelve Gods every night before bed.”
“And where were the Twelve Gods when we faced extinction, hmm?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. “If the prophecies are true, that should never have happened. The prophecies aren’t from the Twelve Gods. Just from old orc women who ate too many roots and chased them with too much grog.”
“A lot of orcs still believe in them, though,” Lord Frax’mo sighs. “If the human girl is too much of a burden, you can send her to my estate. I’ll make Gutha take care of her. Maybe if my wife has a pet, she’ll be too busy to scheme.”
I lean back in my chair and consider it. I can’t refuse a gift without upsetting tradition. My faith in the Twelve Gods may not be as strong as it once was, but I’d never openly slight them. I just believe old prophecies and folklore belong in the past with the primitive ways we’ve left behind.
Lord Frax’mo is offering me a way out. Clover can be his wife’s pet, instead of annoying me and haunting my fortress.
Something makes me hesitate. I’m not sure what it is, and that irritates me more than the girl herself. I’m not quite ready to send Clover away. I really am losing it as I get older. Maybe it’s almost time to relinquish this fucking crown.
“No,” I decide. “The girl was a gift. I can always throw her in the dungeon if I get tired of looking at her. For now, I’ll just keep her as a pet.”
“I considered dumping her in the sea before we made it to Uzrirgard,” Lord Frax’mo chuckles. “But I’m sure Gutha would have gone in after her.”
“Probably,” I admit. “Alright, that’s all I needed to discuss. I’ll let you know if I change my mind.”
I end the call and sip my coffee while I wait for the next meeting to begin. After that, I’ll have to make sure my fortress is still standing.
I hope I don’t regret letting her wander around unattended.