Chapter 18
Halvard
Damn it.
I hurry to the guest room Magnus and Aila made up for me, then into the room’s privy.
The small, high window is cracked. Night insects whir, and the stars and moon dance with light.
It would be lovely if I weren’t dealing with a relentless erection.
Blessed Stones, the sounds Rychell made in her room…
I close the window, latch the door, and release my cock.
Stroking myself with abandon, I growl as I erupt with the orgasm that’s been building since I heard her first gasp from my place outside her door—really, since we started on this trip.
There’s something about every move she makes, each twist of her wrist, blink of her sea-blue eyes, and turn of her sweet head that undoes me completely.
When I return to her door to resume my position, I stop and stare. Deep scratches mar the carved oak, and I rub my hand over my face.
My desire for Rychell overcame every thought in my head, and I dragged my tusks over her door to mark it against other creatures entering.
Like she’s my mate. I must have been completely mad with lust; I don’t even remember doing it.
Damn it. Now I would have to pay my cousin to fix that door.
Embarrassing. He will know exactly what that damage means.
Sitting at the base of the ruined door, I lay my head back and try to sleep. Thankfully, Rychell is quiet now, and I do my best to think of anything but her in that bed.
I wake to someone shaking my leg. I open my eyes to see the dawn streaming through the corridor’s windows and an orc lad with a tea tray.
“Master Swordsman, please forgive me. I’m Mistress Aila’s morning help. I have tea for Mistress Rychell. There should be a tray in your room already.”
I stand and smile at him. “Thank you for waking me.”
The lad nods, but then his mouth falls open as he takes in the tusk scrapes on the wood behind me. “The door.”
“I did that. Sorry. I’ll pay for repairs. Don’t worry.”
He swallows, and his gaze snags on my tusks. “Aye. All right. Aye.”
I step aside, and he knocks on Rychell’s door. Feeling like the biggest fool, I leave him to it and go to my room to clean up a bit.
Rychell and I leave a note of thanks to Aila and Magnus, then leave while they are washing up in their room.
May the Blessed Stones forever grant Rychell luck because she never brings up last night.
For a moment, I wonder if she wanted me to hear her pleasuring herself, but that’s madness.
She doesn’t want romance. I might be able to tempt her into a relationship, but I doubt she’d tease me like that.
My cock wakes up at the idea, and I have to think of snowdrifts to cool off.
“Here’s the spot,” Rychell says as we walk up to a dark wood establishment with a sign showing a teapot and a swirling bit of steam in the shape of a dragon.
I open the door to The Steaming Kettle for her. “I hope it goes well.”
She bats at a moth flying beside her ear. “No, you don’t.”
I smile, but I’m sure it’s more of a grimace. “I’m being polite.”
Rychell gives me a genuine smile. “I appreciate that. And about last night, um…”
Heat flies up my chest and into my face like I’m a lad first in love, even though I’ve been around longer than twenty and three years. “Let’s not talk about it.”
Magnus comes up behind us and slaps my back. “Talk about what? Morning, you two. What did I miss?”
He would be early and arrive at just the wrong moment. Of course.
“Morning, Magnus.” Rychell’s cheeks are pink as spring roses, and she doesn’t meet my eyes even as I stare at her. She’s absolutely stunning.
I wish I were anywhere but here with Magnus, making everything even more uncomfortable.
“You missed nothing, cousin,” I say. “Let’s find a seat and leave the lovely merchant to her business.” Please don’t mention the door, Magnus.
I nod at Rychell and drag Magnus toward the back of the tea house. We sit at a small pink-painted table whose wicker chairs complain about our size in multiple creaks and snaps.
A female shifter arrives to take our order, and Osric enters the establishment. Rychell’s smile is way too wide for such a dull person.
“Halvard, the nice female is trying to take your order. Stop glowering and get some tea, cousin.”
I clear my throat and focus on the painted menu of items above the counter along the wall.
“Black tea with orange, please,” I say.
“I’ll take the spiced cinnamon white tea, thanks,” Magnus says.
My chair pops, and the server’s thick eyebrows lift. “Will this be take-away?” the server asks.
Magnus chuckles and leans toward me, his arm taking up most of the wee pink table. “I think our server is a touch worried about her employer’s chairs.”
“Takeaway will be fine. Thank you,” I say.
Osric and Rychell settle at a table near the front windows. The thick glass turns the light into watery ripples that highlight Rychell’s blue-black hair and the tip of her perky nose.
Magnus laughs suddenly and startles me. He’s looking up at a slip of white smoke flying through the air.
“It’s a steam dragon, right?” I ask. We don’t have them in Leafshire Cove, but I’ve heard of the creatures.
“Aye. They’re rare, even here. I’ve only seen one before this,” Magnus says.
The steam dragon alights on a teacup at a table where two goblins and a pixie are enjoying some scones.
The small, semi-transparent dragon breathes on the tea, and steam rises from the cup.
The dragon rises into the air on invisible wings and then disappears.
The pixie lifts the teacup and sips the warmed tea carefully.
The server brings our tea in a portable crockery mug with hefty handles that are much better suited to our size.
I pay her, then Magnus and I exit the tea house to stand in front of the far windows, far enough away from Rychell to not be intrusive, but close enough that I can see everything going on around her and the dullest male in all the realms.
Magnus and I chat about Aila and their younglings. The eldest is about to leave for a warrior training camp.
“Tora wants nothing to do with the sword, but she’s definitely keen on archery.”
“Do you think they’ll all want to join the king’s army?” I don’t hide my distaste for that choice.
“No, but I want them to know how to fight like an orc even if they end up being painters and brewers.”
“That’s sensible,” I say.
“I can’t wait for you to have some young. You’ll be a wonderful father. Aila said so.”
“How would she know?” I ask.
Magnus drinks from his green crockery mug, then smacks his lips appreciatively. “Aila said that Rychell brought up her son, Nate, and how you were with him.”
“She did?”
“Just a passing comment, but my Aila misses nothing,” Magnus says. “She’s still set on you two getting together. Are you at least going to try?”
I exhale in a gust. “I don’t know, honestly. I want to respect her wishes, but I do think she’d be happy with me. I don’t know if I should push the issue or if that would be rude. I don’t want to be one of those males who shoves his way into a female’s life. It’s arrogant and boorish.”
A noise by my ear sounds almost like words. She wants you. Just thaw her out. I shake my head, not sure if I really heard that or not.
Magnus is chuckling. “Arrogant and boorish? You just described all of orckind.”
Eyeing the space around us for whatever noise could have been, I force a laugh and sip my tea.
The citrus makes the black tea even more delicious.
Maybe Magnus didn’t notice the tusks marks on his guest bedroom door.
Maybe I could get out of town and then send him a repair payment and an apology via messenger.
“Can we at last talk about what happened last night?” he asks, bursting my bubble of hope.
I’m not so lucky, I guess.
“I’m sorry. Here,” I say. I hand him my tea and dig into the pouch at my belt. I trade him my cup for two thick gold coins. “I know that won’t be a cheap repair.”
Magnus takes the coin. His gaze is trained on my face, and there’s no humor there. “You want to mate with her, Halvard.”
There’s that sound again. I try to ignore it, but the humming noise turns into a phrase.
“He’s right. Don’t deny the desire you feel for your true mate,” the small, whispering voice says.
My heart jumps, and I shoo a moth away from my head. I’m going mad! Magnus doesn’t notice my insanity; he’s focused on Rychell and Osric now as he continues.
“You have to talk to her about your feelings, Halvard. You can’t be all flirting and maybes. You need to tell her what tusking means to an orc.”
Tusking has two meanings in orcish culture: to mark entry to a mate’s living space and to pleasure one’s mate with tusks, teeth, and tongue. I know Magnus is talking about the first meaning, but my body goes hot anyway.
“Yessss,” that odd little voice whispers.
I firmly ignore it. “She doesn’t want this, Magnus.”
“She does,” he retorts. “You know it. You can scent it.”
“But she told me clearly that she doesn’t,” I argue, knowing it’s a pointless endeavor when it comes to my well-meaning cousin.
Magnus frowns and clicks his tongue. “You must gain her trust. Show her you won’t fail her like someone must have in the past.”
“What do you know of her past?” I ask.
“Aila mentioned her difficult youth,” Magnus says. “Her parents fighting and all of that.”
I frown, hating the mental image I have of young Rychell feeling afraid and sad. “It isn’t just the bad experience she had. She wants to protect Nate.”
Magnus spreads a hand, palm up. “He would only benefit from having you around.”
“I would hope,” I say, “but she can’t know that for certain. I understand that.”
“You must show her,” Magnus says. “Be yourself with her. Seductive when you’re alone. Kind and patient with her youngling when he’s around.”
“You make it sound easy.”
“It is!”
I raise a hand and he lowers his voice.
“It is, though, cousin,” he says quietly.
Osric and Rychell are leaving their table. He holds out his arm for her to take, and I cringe as she accepts it.
“I have to go, Magnus.”
We set our empty mugs on the rectangular wooden table by the door.
“Thank you for meeting me,” I say.
Magnus hugs me tightly. “I’m cheering for you on this,” he whispers as Rychell and Osric open the tea house door.
“If you want to come to my place for Nocturne, you’re welcome, you know,” I say.
“Ah, I’ll ask Aila. What about the younglings?”
“They’ll have fun. Our town witch bespells brooms for all the wee ones to fly.”
“They’d love that. Thank you! Perhaps I’ll see you sooner rather than later, cousin.”
Magnus leaves me and greets Osric and Rychell. I stay a few steps back as the three of them make a bit of small talk about the weather and the best places to see the autumn tree colors around Honey Sands.
Soon, Rychell, Osric, and I are on our way toward Osric's warehouse by the docks.
I continue to remain a few steps behind Rychell and Osric to give them privacy while they discuss their contract.
The pale, thin trader uses a large skeleton key to open the door to his warehouse.
Rychell walks inside, and Osric's hand goes to the small of her back.
“That should be your hand. Step closer,” a tiny voice says.
I spin to see the creature that evidently has been whispering in my ear all morning.
Osric is already describing items to Rychell, and I’m crossing the threshold, hanging back a bit more.
“Are you a cherub faerie?” I mouth out with very little sound. The creature flying in front of my face is silvery and moth-like.
“I am!” Her voice is so slight I can hardly hear it.
I’ve heard of these fairies, but I’ve never seen one.
“You’re very pretty and I appreciate the interest, faerie, but please move on to another couple,” I say in the quietest whisper I can.
Thankfully, one of Osric's employees is pushing a creaky wheelbarrow across the far side of the warehouse and covering my conversation with this little annoyance.
“Not a chance,” the cherub fairy says. She dissolves into giggles, then zips into the darkness of the roof beams.
I groan quietly, then catch up to Rychell.
Every time Osric's body brushes Rychell’s, I feel sick. With each minute she is still holding his arm, I feel a gut punch like I’m fighting Magnus—we boxed often as young lads.
But I can get through this. I can let her make this choice. I must.