Ella’s Obsessive Orc (Filthy Fairy-tales #5)

Chapter 1

Oren

The sound of steel-on-steel ricochets off the courtyard walls, bouncing and doubling until the valley itself vibrates with war.

I want my men—no, my guards, my hand-picked elite—to feel the reverberations in their tusks and molars.

I want it ringing in their ears when they drag themselves to their bunks.

If they’re lucky, the ghosts of their mistakes will haunt them in their sleep and spare me from dealing with their idiocy tomorrow.

We run the spear drill again. I pace the length of the sand-pitted floor, correcting posture with the subtlety of a battering ram.

“Your left hand is lazy, Turg,” I bark, shoving the haft down and nearly dislocating the poor bastard’s thumb.

“You planning to let the enemy rearrange your knuckles for free? At least charge admission.”

Turg grunts in pain but squares his shoulders. The rest of the line snaps their grips tighter, all except the runt at the end. He’s new, not even a year out of training, and his sweat shines on his upper lip. He makes the mistake of looking at me for reassurance.

“Arch,” he gasps, trying to keep the polearm upright as I loom over him. “Permission to—”

“Permission denied.” I wrench the spear away and plant the blunt end in the dirt between his legs.

“You drop your weapon on the field, and you’ll be food for the crows.

You drop it in my training yard, and you’ll be food for the kitchen.

” The threat is empty. The settlement’s chef has enough to work with, given our population, but it keeps the discipline tight.

The next circuit is a blur of thrusts and parries, the slap of wood on callused palms, the scrape of boots on stone. Sweat pours down my back and soaks the bandages covering my latest training wounds. Good. If you’re not bleeding, you’re not training hard enough.

I demonstrate the finishing move—a full-body pivot, arms twisting like you’re wringing the spine from a goat—and relish the chorus of groans as the recruits attempt to mimic my speed.

The sun stands high and unmerciful over the courtyard, and the air tastes of iron and moss.

Above us, the signature archways of the settlement cast shadows, long and greenish, across the drill pit.

I take a breath, already plotting what discipline to dish out when Aric shows up late for his supervisory shift.

Right on cue: a flurry of movement at the west arch. Aric appears, ducking beneath the stone and jogging across the sand. Even at a distance, he looks wrong—his shoulders hunched, his usual precision blunted by… what the hell is that?

Strapped across his chest, bobbing in a comically mismatched sling, is an infant. A human infant. Pink as a shaved mole rat, small enough to fit in one of my gauntlets, and already drooling down Aric’s human t-shirt.

I stop mid-holler. The drill line stumbles into chaos behind me, spears colliding, curses flying.

Aric slows as he gets closer, his gaze set somewhere above my head. I can’t tell if he’s pretending not to notice the incredulity on my face, or if he’s just gone completely soft in the skull. Knowing my brother, both are equally likely.

He raises a hand in a limp wave. “Oren, I can explain.”

“You’d better,” I say, making no effort to hide my incredulous tone.

The rest of the guards are openly staring now, even Turg, who’s still massaging his thumb.

When I allowed Kodi Brute to build a library on the settlement, I knew it would mean more humans and human ways permeating the settlement.

I just never imagined I’d see my brother walking around with a little human strapped to his chest.

“I’m on shift,” Aric tries, his voice pitched low, as if the baby’s hearing is a strategic asset. “But Kolson bailed on me. And I couldn’t leave her with anyone else. She gets separation anxiety.” The child gurgles and, as if on cue, launches a string of bubbles in my direction.

“Why is she attached to your chest?” The question echoes around the courtyard

Aric cradles the child a little tighter, his biceps straining against the wrap. “She’s mine.”

Fucking hell. Carrying an infant strapped to your chest is just… wrong. I turn and see half my unit gaping, two others whispering behind their knuckles. “All of you, eyes forward!” The reaction is instant; spears snap upright like a forest in a windstorm.

Aric lingers by the edge of the pit, humming some off-key lullaby as he rocks the baby in her sling.

The guards sidestep them as if the pair were made of unstable explosives.

I stride over, every step calculated for maximum intimidation.

If Aric flinches, I’ll count it as a win.

He doesn’t. Instead, he tightens his hold on the child and gives me the look that says, “let’s get this over with. ”

“Are you out of your mind?” I snarl, keeping my voice low but dense enough to drop a charging bull. “You can’t bring a human child to a weapons drill.”

Aric glances around like he’s expecting reinforcements. “I didn’t have a choice. Gavric’s unit is pulling overtime at the perimeter, and Kol’s swamped at the office.”

The baby waves a fist at my nose, as if daring me to contradict my brother.

“That’s not what I mean,” I snap, resisting the urge to bat the tiny arm away. “You can’t bring her here. She’s human.”

Aric finally stops rocking and straightens his spine. “Why not?”

I jab a finger at the nearest stone arch, so hard the cartilage in my wrist protests. “Because—” I pause and blink several times, searching my brain for a reason. Son-of-a-bitch.

A couple of guards shuffle closer under the pretense of collecting gear. Their ears are burning with gossip.

Fucking hell. I run a hand over my jaw, trying to process this insanity. Aric never breaks eye contact, stubborn as a pissed-off mountain goat. The way he holds that baby… like she’s spun glass. I want to bark at him, but the words snag in my throat.

“I made a promise to my friend,” he stubbornly reminds me.

“When Jeremiah and Sally died, she became my child.” Aric’s old army friend and his wife died when a truck missed a curve and hit them head-on, killing them both instantly.

Since both parents grew up in foster care, neither had family to take over their child’s care.

Then Aric stepped in to take responsibility for her.

So now he’s raising a human baby. In our settlement. Like it’s no big deal. “A lifetime goddamn promise,” I remind him.

Aric fires back, “You said loyalty was everything. Doesn’t matter if the oath is to green skin or pink.”

I hate having my own goddamn words thrown back in my face. Detest it. A roar erupts from my throat and echoes around the fucking courtyard.

The baby, unimpressed, yanks a lock of Aric’s hair and stuffs it in her mouth.

“Ainsley is now my daughter,” Aric says. “And she’s not going anywhere.”

I step in close, nose to nose with my brother. “I know.” Orc vows aren’t negotiable. “But that doesn’t mean I will allow you to wear her around like a goddamn necklace on my practice battlefield.”

Aric’s jaw tenses, but he doesn’t blink. “I’ll buy a stroller.”

Behind me, someone coughs, badly faking a sneeze. I whirl on the rest of the guards. “Have you gotten your fill of gossip for the day?”

A ripple of “yes, sir” echoes back, none of them meeting my gaze.

“Then get the pit clean and do a lap around the lower wall. I want it done before sunset, or you’re scrubbing the latrines with your teeth.” I glare until the last one scurries off.

Aric watches them go, then turns back to me, his voice softer. “She is part of my heart.”

My brain wants to call it sentimental bullshit, but the logic is ironclad. An Arch never breaks a promise.

I open my mouth to retort, but the baby beats me to it with a resounding belch. She grins, toothless, and I swear she’s mocking me.

I sigh, defeated for the moment. “Fine. Just… keep her away from the forge and hire a goddamn nanny so you can get back to your duties.”

Aric nods, almost respectful. “You’re a good brother, Oren. Under all the bluster.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” I mutter, but my chest feels lighter. For a second.

The moment hangs there, all charged and weird, until the baby tugs Aric’s ear so hard he yelps.

The ground begins to vibrate. Not an earthquake, but footsteps.

Gavric Stone, the settlement’s resident wall of discipline, stomps in from the northern gate.

His armor glints, a fresh scratch gleaming across one pauldron, and he carries the smell of hard labor and dried blood.

He never removes his helmet in public, something about “command presence,” and today is no exception.

He stops two paces from Aric, folds his arms with a creak of leather and plate, and waits.

Aric senses the audience and shifts, standing with the baby still secured. “Gavric. You need something?”

Gavric’s visor pivots to me, then back to Aric. “Any progress on finding a nanny for the child?” All of the leading council members are concerned about a member of the ruling family raising a human child.

Aric straightens, instantly falling into officer protocol. “I have an interview this afternoon for a nanny. She has references and experience with Orc requirements.” He shrugs.

Gavric grunts. “The Settlement Council will want a background check. Standard procedure.”

“I’ll handle it,” Aric says, the baby squirming against his chest like a larva in a cocoon.

Gavric nods, satisfied. “She’s kind of cute. In a sickly, pink sort of way.” He gives a perfect fake shudder that screams, “learned from Brielle at the library.”

Not long ago, I would have laughed at the idea of an Orc library, but Kodi Brute’s human mate wanted a safe place to work.

So Kodi built her a damn palace of books right in the center of the settlement.

Yeah, some old guard bitched at first. Humans and their “quiet reading time” seemed pointless, but it turns out Orcs are obsessed with the place.

The building is a beast: carved stone, high arches, walls lined with every kind of book you could imagine—even some written in ancient Orc script.

Now, half of my guards sneak off between shifts to “study history” or “research tactics.” Hell, even Gavric has been spotted in there, helmet and all, reading up on human war strategy.

We hit the place at least three times a week.

Nobody wants to admit it, but the library is now the heart of the settlement.

The place is packed every evening. Orcs file in, snatching up manuals on siege tactics or cookbooks or even the trashy romance novels Brielle stocks on the upper shelves.

I snort, unable to resist. “Are you pining for offspring? You should find a mate first.” My first officer has been quite vocal about his plans to remain unattached for eternity.

Gavric doesn’t dignify that with a response. He turns, boots grinding against the stone, and marches away, every step an indictment of someone’s incompetence.

Aric lets out a breath, then glances at me. “I’ll keep you updated on my nanny search.”

The baby chooses this moment to wail, a sound so shrill it nearly shatters the glass in the lanterns overhead. Aric bounces her expertly, murmuring nonsense syllables and stroking her head. She quiets, eventually, and stares up at him with sleepy adoration.

Fucking hell. Just looking at the two of them together makes my tusks ache.

Aric, acting like some goddamn textbook dad, all gentle hands and patient humming, while the little larva-goblin grins up at him like he’s the goddamn sun.

I swear, if another one of my guards catches me standing here like a sentimental idiot, I’ll make them eat their boots for breakfast.

I clear my throat, way louder than necessary. “Back to work, Aric. Some of us still have a settlement to run.” I stomp off, boots pounding the cobbles, pretending I don’t notice how my chest feels weirdly hollow for a second. Like something’s missing.

It’s not jealousy. I’d rather gut myself than get soft like that. But as I pass under the main archway, all I can picture is Aric’s arms wrapped tight around that tiny scrap of human, holding her like she’s the most precious thing in the world.