War Seer (The War Brides of Adrik #5)

Chapter 1

Wodred

Thirty Years Ago

The war with Trillin has finally ended. The trolls surrendered to our Horde and succumbed to our demands.

Now the Trillinians are hosting our Horde as we gorge our bellies and gather their wealth for us to bring back with us, the atmosphere jubilant among the orcs during our feasting. Another great victory for Orik.

After almost a week of revels, though, I am sick of it.

I want to go home to my clan lands and see my father and sisters again.

This war was a long one, three years away from Orik.

Normally, when we fight a country, they are crushed by our Horde quickly, but the trolls were worthy foes and held off our advance longer than most. The others in my cohort, the Prince’s cohort, might want their bellies filled and their cocks pleasured, at least those that have been chosen to take part in a Bride Chase, but I just want to go home.

I do not have the taste for war that others in the Horde seem to have, though I am one of the best fighters, which is what got me placed in the Prince’s cohort.

Still, I would rather heft a plow than an ax any day, and I look forward to returning to the fields of my clan and doing an honest day’s work that won’t result in being covered in blood or add to the faces I see in my nightmares.

“What’s wrong?” asks Salthu, my closest friend in the cohort. “Your face has been sour for days. Don’t enjoy troll cooking?”

“It’s fine,” I respond. “I just want it to be over so that we can return to Orik.”

“Well, we won’t be leaving until Prince Guruk gets back,” Salthu remarks, picking up some grapes from the table and popping them into his mouth.

“Might as well enjoy our victory while we can. I’ve heard talk of another invasion.

Goetia has been pressing its luck in negotiations again, and the king may deploy the Horde once more.

You know that the prince will probably volunteer to please the king. ”

That is bad news, but I know that complaining about it won’t help, so I merely grunt in reply. Taking a bite of meat from the trencher in front of me, I ask, “Where is the prince, anyway? I haven’t seen him for the last few days of feasting.”

“Haven’t you heard? Leave it to Brother Wodred to not partake in gossip,” Salthu laughs, using my nickname in the Horde.

They call me that because they say that I am as serious as a monk.

I don’t argue against it, mostly because it is true, and protesting it would only add fuel to the fire.

Salthu continues, leaning forward like he has something particularly juicy to share, “Prince Guruk is on a Bride Chase.”

Now that surprises me. “He looks to take a mate?” I question. “But his father . . .”

“Not a mate,” emphasizes my friend dismissively.

“A bride. Someone to sire an heir with. Guruk wants to please his father and continue the ka Woreki line. Apparently, a trolless caught his eye. The king’s youngest daughter, from one of his favorite concubines.

He figured she'd give him a strong orcling. Trollborns tend to be strong, as you well know.”

I snort at that. I am trollborn, my father having sired me with a trolless he knew in passing.

I think he wanted to mate bond with her, but refused to give up his position in court to do so, the current king having banned Claiming, so that orcs might try to have children with more than one partner in pursuit of the strongest offspring for the next generation.

My mother left us when I was a babe, not wanting to stay without a more committed relationship.

I think my father regrets that sometimes, though he ended up having my younger twin sisters with an elf a few years later, who also left him.

It is true that I am stronger than most in the Horde, but I think that comes from my discipline, not my troll heritage.

Shaking my head, I grab my tankard of mead. “Well, I pray to the Father God that the trolless succumbs to the chase quickly, so that Guruk lets us go home soon.”

“Don’t be so sour,” Salthu admonishes. “Weren't you granted a Bride Chase of your own? Why not look over the females here and see if there is one you’d like to chase? Even a monk like you should get a smile on his face when he’s getting his cock squeezed.”

“I’d rather not have you talking about my cock,” I say mildly, pulling out another piece of meat from the trencher. It’s well-seasoned and tender, but after days of feasting, all the food has become rather bland.

“If I had been granted a Bride Chase, you wouldn’t see me here,” Salthu insists. “I’d have grabbed one of the serving wenches and . . .”

At that moment, a cry is raised in welcome, and Salthu and I look up to see Prince Guruk entering the feast hall, guiding a cloaked female by the hand into the room.

“Speak of the Nether,” Salthu says. “Looks like the Father God heard your prayers after all.”

“Praise the gods in Ethereal,” I mutter. With the prince back from his Bride Chase, the march home can’t be too far away.

Guruk enters, greeting those in the cohort with jokes and ribald comments, making his way to the seat of honor with his trolless.

The prince is a charismatic leader, a good warrior, and a sound strategist. If he has a weakness, it is caring too much about what his father wants and would approve of.

He’s constantly trying to prove himself to King Rogan, but nothing pleases that joyless orc.

He rules Orik with an iron fist and has done away with many of the traditions of our forefathers.

Death is the cost of crossing him, and he has not an ounce of softness, not even for his son.

I briefly think that the king will likely not be a kind father-in-law to this new troll princess, but that’s not my business.

Guruk will have to protect her from Rogan’s bitterness, not me.

“Wodred!” I hear the prince call from his seat as he takes his place, the cloaked trolless still at his side, her hood still up. “Come and meet my bride!”

Might as well get this over with. I am probably the closest thing to a friend that Guruk has, but I do not feel the same closeness with him that he does with me.

I see through his friendly overtures to the plotting behind it, trying to ally himself with the strongest members of the Horde and solidify his claim to the throne so that no one Challenges him when his father dies.

Standing up on heavy feet, I make my way over to the head table, ready to be polite but distant.

Prince Guruk grins at me and continues to beckon me over.

He’s not much older than I am, perhaps twenty-eight summers to my twenty-five, and his face has a youthful exuberance on it, an excitement as I approach.

“My Prince,” I say, making the sign of respect.

“No need for that, Wodred,” Guruk laughs. “We are comrades, are we not? You saved my life in the push to take the capital.”

“That was my honor, My Prince,” I say evenly, not wanting to seem like I am pressing for an advantage or leaving an opening for him to push for a closer relationship. “And my duty.”

“Haha, good old Brother Wodred,” Guruk grins. “Never can take a compliment.”

“Brother Wodred?” a husky voice asks, stealing my attention. It is a voice that feels like velvet across my skin, silk in my mind. “Are you one of the warrior monks of the Durgash Mountains?”

“No, my dear, but he might as well be,” the prince says.

“We just call Brother Wodred that because he is as serious as a monk and lives a life of discipline. Ah, by the way, my friend, meet my bride, the Lady Melelea. We’ve just returned from our chase, and I’ve decided to keep her. I’m taking her back to Orik with us.”

The trolless next to Guruk looks up, pushing her hood out of her face, and smiles at me, shy and delicate. “It is good to meet a friend of my husband’s.”

She looks expectantly at me, but I cannot speak, cannot reply.

Her face has struck me dumb. I have never seen a more beautiful female in all my life.

Her silver skin almost glowing with health, her purple hair framing her face.

She has delicate, small, gold-capped tusks that jut out of her full lips, which are stained with blue color in the ways of her people.

Her small white horns emerge beautifully from her hair, unadorned, yet perfect.

Her neck and shoulders are bare, unmarked by a bite, as Guruk has not Claimed her.

Her shy smile makes my heart race, and I barely stop my thrum from erupting from my throat. Mine, my Mating Instinct growls.

I have finally seen the female of my dreams, the mate of my heart, and she is already married to my prince and superior officer.

Fuck.

Scrambling for a semblance of politeness, I rasp out, “The pleasure is mine, princess.”

“Oh, Melelea is not technically a princess,” Guruk says, oblivious to my mental turmoil. “Her mother was merely a concubine. She’s not in line for the throne or anything. Though I suppose, now she is my princess consort.”

Lady Melelea looks embarrassed at his explanation, his dismissal of her rank. She flushes in a way that makes her look ashamed.

“Of course, My Prince,” I grind out, barely able to keep from striking Guruk for his blatant and thoughtless disrespect of his bride. “My mistake.”

“No matter,” Guruk says carelessly. “But I called you up here for more than just meeting my bride. I hear that you have not chosen anyone for your own Bride Chase?”