Chapter 3 Saela
SAELA
The massive orc's arms lock around me like iron bands, and I thrash against his grip with every ounce of strength I have left. My feet leave the ground as he steadies us both, pulling me away from the bonfire that crackles mere inches from where we almost fell.
I’m about to beg him to let me go, to not kill me, when—
"The gods have chosen!"
The painted orc's voice booms across the clearing, and suddenly every face in the circle turns toward us with expressions ranging from awe to outright glee.
My blood turns to ice water. This is it.
This is how I die—not torn apart by Stonevein hunters, but sacrificed to whatever barbaric gods these creatures worship.
The orc holding me doesn't release his grip, but he doesn't tighten it either. His ice-blue eyes meet mine for a brief moment, and instead of the savage hunger I expect, I see something that looks almost like... resignation?
"This is not happening," he mutters under his breath, the words so quiet I barely catch them.
Not happening? What does that mean? I try to twist free again, but his hold remains solid. Not painful—just unbreakable.
"Brother!" Another orc emerges from the crowd, this one older with steel-gray eyes that gleam with satisfaction. The authority in his voice cuts through the chaos like a blade. "Cupid has answered our prayers! The Valentine Rite has worked exactly as the ancient texts promised!"
My captor makes a sound that might charitably be called agreement but sounds more like someone choking on their own frustration.
"Worked perfectly!" A massive orc with a grin that stretches across his entire face pounds his fist against his chest. "Look at her, practically threw herself into his arms! Cupid's aim is true!"
"About time too," calls another voice, this one belonging to a leaner orc with blue-green eyes who's making no effort to hide his amusement. "I was beginning to think Kai would spend the rest of his life married to his own grumpy disposition."
Kai. The orc holding me is named Kai.
The knowledge doesn't make me feel any safer, but at least now I have something to call the creature who apparently has no intention of letting me go. His jaw tenses at the other orc's words, and I feel the muscles in his arms shift slightly.
"This is a mistake," I gasp out, trying again to pull free. "I'm not—I don't belong here. I'm being hunted, I need to get back—"
The words die in my throat as I realize what I almost said. Get back home. Back to the settlement, back to the handful of humans still hiding in the ruins we've carved into shelter. I can't lead these orcs there, can't give them any hint of where others might be found.
But the painted orc—the one who seems to be some kind of leader—waves my protests away like they're gnats buzzing around his ears.
"Of course you were hunted!" He spreads his arms wide, his voice rich with conviction. "The sacred texts speak clearly of how Cupid's chosen must be tested by trials before reaching their destined mate. You have passed through danger to arrive at this sacred moment!"
"That's not—no, you don't understand—"
"I understand perfectly." The shaman's eyes blaze with fervent certainty. "You have been sent by Cupid the Warrior to complete the bond with Kai Frostfang. The timing, the manner of your arrival, even your obvious trials—all of it fulfills the prophecy exactly as written."
Prophecy. Sacred texts. My mind reels as I try to process what he's saying. These orcs think I'm some kind of divine gift? That whatever gods they worship actually sent me here?
The absurdity of it would be laughable if not for the very real arms still holding me prisoner.
"Drogath," Kai says, and his voice carries a note of warning that makes several of the watching orcs shift uncomfortably. "Perhaps we should—"
"The ritual must be completed!" Drogath—the painted shaman—cuts him off with imperial authority. "Cupid has delivered her directly into your arms, but the bond requires proper consecration."
He approaches us with ceremonial solemnity, carrying a clay pot that gleams wetly in the firelight. The red pigment inside looks disturbingly like blood, and I renew my struggles against Kai's grip.
"Hold still," Kai murmurs near my ear, his voice low enough that only I can hear. "Fighting will only make this worse."
"Worse?" I twist my head to stare at him. "How could this possibly be worse?"
"Trust me, it can get much worse."
There's something in his tone—not threat, exactly, but weary experience—that makes me stop thrashing long enough to really look at his face.
The firelight throws his features into sharp relief, highlighting the strong line of his jaw and the grim set of his mouth.
He's not smiling. He's not gloating or radiating the savage pleasure I'd expect from an orc claiming a human prize.
He looks like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world.
"Behold!" Drogath dips his fingers into the clay pot and approaches us with ceremonial gravity. "The sacred binding paint, blessed by moon and fire, consecrated in the name of Cupid the Warrior!"
"This is insane," I whisper.
"Welcome to my life," Kai mutters back.
Drogath reaches for my face with paint-covered fingers, and I jerk backward instinctively. Kai's arms adjust to keep me steady, but he doesn't force me forward.
"The bride resists!" Drogath proclaims this like it's another sign from his gods. "As the texts describe! The worthy mate tests the strength of her chosen warrior's resolve!"
"I'm not testing anything!" The words come out higher than I intend, panic creeping into my voice. "I'm not anyone's bride! I don't even know you people!"
"Of course you don't know us yet," the older orc—the one that called Kai brother—steps forward with paternal authority. "You are human. We are Frostfang. But Cupid has decreed that such differences are meaningless in the face of true destiny."
He nods to Drogath, who reaches for me again. This time, I can't pull back far enough to avoid his touch. The shaman's painted fingers trace a symbol on my forehead—something curved and elaborate that feels cold and sticky against my skin.
The moment his hand touches me, the paint begins to glow.
Not metaphorically. Actually glow, with a soft reddish light that pulses like a heartbeat. Gasps rise from the watching orcs, and Drogath stumbles backward as if he's been struck.
"The sacred bond!" His voice cracks with awe. "Look! Look how the paint burns bright! Cupid's blessing made manifest!"
I stare down at my hands, expecting to see the same glow, but my skin remains normal.
It's only where the paint touches Kai that the light appears—spreading from the symbol on my forehead to the painted marks on his arms and chest, making both of us shine like we've been touched by supernatural fire.
"What is this?" I breathe.
"Probably some kind of chemical reaction," Kai says quietly, but his voice lacks conviction. The paint on his skin pulses brighter, responding to something I can't understand.
"The gods have spoken!" Drogath falls to his knees, arms raised toward the moon. "Behold the sign of true binding! Cupid's chosen pair, marked by divine light!"
The watching orcs take up his cry, voices rising in harmony that echoes off the surrounding cliffs.
The sound is beautiful and terrifying, primitive in a way that speaks to something deep in my chest. These aren't just raiders or conquerors—they're believers, utterly convinced that they've witnessed a miracle.
And I'm apparently supposed to be half of that miracle.
"This can't be real," I say, more to myself than to Kai. "None of this can be real."
"It's real enough that you're stuck with it," he replies grimly. "At least for now."
The word offers a sliver of hope. Maybe this is just some elaborate ritual that ends with sunrise. Maybe I can endure whatever insanity these orcs have planned and then convince them to let me go.
Drogath rises from his knees and approaches us again, this time carrying what looks like a carved wooden token. The surface is covered in symbols that hurt to look at directly—not because they're ugly, but because they seem to shift and change when I'm not focusing on them completely.
"The heart-bond token," he intones, pressing the carving into my hands. "Blessed by Cupid's own touch, a symbol of the union between warrior hearts. Guard it well, bride of Frostfang, for it holds the power of your destined love."
The wood feels warm against my palms, almost alive. I want to drop it, to fling it into the fire and watch it burn, but something in Kai's posture makes me hesitate. He's watching the token with an expression I can't quite read—wariness mixed with something that might be curiosity.
"The ritual has brought forth your bride!" Drogath throws his arms wide, paint-covered face glowing with triumph. "Cupid the Warrior has blessed this union! Let all who witness remember this night, when the gods themselves chose love over distance, hope over despair!"
More cheering rises from the assembled orcs, but I barely hear it. The reality of my situation is finally sinking in through the shock and panic. These creatures don't just think I'm some kind of divine gift—they think I'm going to marry the orc currently holding me.
Marry an orc.
I start struggling again with renewed desperation.
"No," I gasp, twisting against Kai's grip. "No, this isn't—you can't just decide I'm to marry someone! That's not how it works!"
"Actually," Kai says with the tone of someone delivering bad news, "according to their interpretation of human customs, that's exactly how it works."
"But I don't consent! I don't agree to any of this!"
"Welcome to Frostfang tradition," he replies dryly. "Where consent is assumed to be part of divine will."
The casual way he says it makes my blood boil. "This is kidnapping! This is—"