12. Serah
SERAH
His words hurt.
I'm already breeding her.
My vision tunnels. The canyon spins. Every face in the crowd blurs together into a mass of witnesses to my humiliation. Heat floods through me—not desire this time but pure, scorching shame.
He didn't ask. He didn't warn me. He just stripped away every private moment we shared and threw them to the crowd like scraps for dogs.
"What are you doing?" The words scrape out of my throat.
"Protecting you." He says it like that makes this acceptable. Like reducing me to a breeding claim in front of hundreds of warriors somehow keeps me safe. "Serah, I had to—"
"Don't." I wrench free of his grip, my skin burning where he touched me. "Don't you dare."
I stumble backward. The crowd parts around me—not out of respect but fascination. They're watching me like I'm entertainment. The human who thought she was special. The slave who got above her station and forgot her place.
And Rakk stands there looking stricken, like he's the victim in this.
I can't breathe. The walls of the canyon press in from all sides. Everywhere I turn, orcs stare with open speculation or barely concealed disgust. The female beside Rakk—Kira, that's her name—looks murderous. His father's expression is unreadable but calculating.
No one protests. No one challenges Rakk's claim.
Because of course they don't. He's the Chieftain's son. Future leader of this clan. And I'm just a human he decided to breed.
Special. What a joke. I actually let myself believe I was special to him.
My legs move without conscious direction, carrying me away from the crowd. Away from Rakk and his public ownership. Away from the wreckage of every tender moment that now feels poisoned.
Someone calls my name—Lola's voice, worried and apologetic. I don't stop. I push through the gathered warriors, past the festival preparations, toward the river where everything started unraveling.
Where he first touched me with such careful reverence that I actually believed it meant something.
The night air hits my face like a slap. I make it to the riverbank before my knees give out. I collapse onto the smooth stones where we sat together just last night, where he held me afterward and traced patterns on my skin and whispered words that felt like promises.
You're important to me. This is more than just sex.
But he never said how I was important. Never clarified what this actually meant to him. I was too afraid to ask, too terrified of wanting more than I was allowed.
Turns out I was right to be afraid. Just for all the wrong reasons.
I press my palms against my eyes, fighting the pressure building behind them. I refuse to cry. I've survived worse than public humiliation. I've endured actual torture. This is just—this is—
Breeding.
The word loops through my mind like poison. Not mating in the romantic sense Lola described when talking about her bond with Kaelen. Not even claiming with its implication of possession mixed with protection.
Breeding. Clinical. Functional. Reducing me to reproductive purpose.
Every intimate moment we shared suddenly reframes itself in this ugly new context. The way he always made sure I found pleasure first—was that just investment in his breeding stock? The careful questions about my past, my body, my cycles—gathering information for reproductive planning?
The gentleness. The laughter. The way he looked at me like I hung the moons.
All of it lies. All of it manipulation.
My stomach heaves. I barely turn aside before I'm retching into the grass, my body purging the festival food along with every foolish hope I'd let myself nurture.
I hear footsteps behind me. Heavy boots on stone.
"Serah."
Rakk's voice. Of course. Because he can't even grant me the dignity of falling apart alone.
"Go away." I don't turn around. Don't look at him. If I see his face right now, I'll do something violent.
"Please, just let me explain—"
"Explain what?" I whirl on him, fury overriding every self-preservation instinct.
"That you've been lying to me for weeks?
That every tender moment was just you securing your breeding investment?
Or maybe you want to explain how you decided to announce to hundreds of warriors that you're actively fucking me without bothering to ask if I was okay with that first? "
He flinches like I struck him. Good.
"It wasn't like that. Serah, you have to understand—"
"I understand perfectly." My voice cracks despite my best efforts. "I understand that I was stupid enough to think I was special. That what we had meant something beyond convenience. But you just made it abundantly clear what I actually am to you."
"That's not true." He steps closer, hands raised like he's approaching a spooked animal. "You are special. You mean everything to me. I was trying to protect you—"
"By humiliating me?" The laugh that escapes sounds broken. "By reducing me to a breeding claim in front of your entire clan? By taking away the last shred of autonomy I had left?"
"You don't understand the danger—"
"Then you should have explained it!" The words rip out of me. "You should have talked to me. Asked me. Given me any choice at all instead of just deciding my entire future without my consent!"
His jaw works. "There wasn't time. Gornak was touching you, the others were circling, and I heard what they were saying—"
"What who was saying?"
"The warriors. About claiming you. About breeding rights." His voice drops to something raw and desperate. "They were talking about you like livestock up for auction, and I couldn't—I couldn't let that happen. So I made sure everyone knew you were mine."
Mine.
The possessive pronoun lands like a brand. I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly freezing despite the warm night air.
"I'm not yours," I whisper. "I'm not anyone's. That's the whole point you don't seem to grasp."
"Serah—"
"Did you ever actually care about me?" The question tears free before I can stop it. "Or was I just convenient? Available? A human who was already broken in, ready for breeding?"
His face goes stricken. "How can you even ask that? After everything we've shared—"
"Everything we've shared was a lie." The words taste like ash. "You let me believe I had autonomy. That I was making choices. But the whole time, you were just—what? Waiting for the right moment to stake your claim? Making sure I was emotionally invested enough not to fight it?"
"That's not what happened." He reaches for me.
I jerk back so violently I nearly lose my footing on the riverbank. "Don't touch me."
His hand drops. The hurt in his eyes almost breaks through my anger. Almost makes me want to take it back, to let him explain, to believe whatever justification he offers.
But I can't separate him anymore. Can't divide the man who held me with such tenderness from the future Chieftain who just declared breeding rights over my body. They're the same person. They've always been the same person.
I was just too desperate for connection to see it clearly.
"The mating will happen in three days," he says quietly. "That's tradition after a public claiming. I wanted you to hear it from me first."
Three days. Not a question. Not a discussion. Just information about my own future delivered like weather reports.
I laugh again, the sound hollow and wrong. "Of course. Wouldn't want to break tradition."
"Serah, please—"
"Get away from me, Rakk." I force the words out evenly. "I can't—I can't look at you right now."
He stands there for a long moment, backlit by the festival fires. His massive silhouette blocks out half the canyon. A reminder of exactly how small and powerless I am in comparison.
Finally, he turns and walks away. His footsteps fade into the distance, leaving me alone with the river's relentless whisper.
I sink back down onto the stones. The cold seeps through my clothes, grounding me in physical sensation. Real and immediate and blessedly uncomplicated.
My hand drifts to my stomach. The possibility that his words weren't entirely performative—that I might actually be pregnant—hadn't even occurred to me until this moment. We've been careful, mostly, but careful isn't guaranteed.
The thought should terrify me. Instead, I feel nothing. Just vast, yawning emptiness where hope used to live.
I don't return to the women's quarters that night. I hide away so I don't have to see anyone. Can't face Lola's sympathy—who I'm sure will come to check on me—or anyone else's reactions. Instead, I stay by the river until the festival noise finally dies and the canyon settles into uneasy quiet.
When I finally drag myself back to the settlement, dawn is breaking. I slip into the women's quarters through the back entrance, hoping to avoid conversation.
Lola is waiting just inside. Her expression is gentle but firm. "Serah—"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"I know, but—"
"I said I don't want to talk about it." I push past her toward my sleeping area.
She catches my wrist. Not forcefully, just enough to make me pause. "He made a mistake. A huge one. But Rakk isn't—he's not what you're thinking right now."
"You don't know what I'm thinking."
"I know betrayal when I see it." Her voice softens. "I know what it feels like to have choices stolen. But I also know Rakk. He loves you, Serah. He's just—he's an idiot about showing it."
The word love hits like a gut punch. "He claimed breeding rights. That's not love. That's ownership."
"In orc culture, those things aren't—"
"I'm not an orc." The words come out sharper than intended. "And he knows that. He knows exactly what autonomy means to me. What choice means after everything I've survived. And he still decided his protection was more important than my consent."
Lola's expression crumples with understanding. She releases my wrist. "I'm so sorry."
I don't have energy left for anger. Just exhaustion. "I need to sleep."
She nods and steps back. But as I'm walking away, she adds quietly, "The mating preparations begin today. Zurkar will want to speak with you about the ceremony."