Chapter 7 Saela
SAELA
The week that follows settles into a rhythm I never expected—something almost approaching normal, if you ignore the absurdity of celebrating a warrior god who supposedly shoots arrows to determine the strongest couples.
Shae becomes my guide through the labyrinth of Frostfang customs, appearing each morning with the patient determination of someone who's decided I need proper education in clan life.
She's nothing like I imagined an orc woman would be—warm where I expected coldness, protective where I expected aggression.
Her deep green skin carries laugh lines around her eyes, and her long black hair stays perpetually braided with small carved charms that click softly when she moves.
"The red ribbons aren't just decoration," she explains one morning, tying strips of crimson cloth around the doorframe of Kai's longhouse. "They're protection symbols. Cupid's color, meant to ward off anything that might interfere with a blessed pairing."
I watch her work, noting the careful precision in her movements.
Everything Shae does carries that same deliberate grace—the way she arranges gifts from clan members, the gentle corrections when I accidentally breach some minor protocol, even the casual authority in her voice when she speaks to the other women.
"What happens if someone ignores the protection?" I ask, genuinely curious despite myself.
"Depends on what kind of interference." Her green eyes spark with something that might be amusement. "Evil spirits get confused and wander off. Nosy neighbors get very pointed conversations from the women's council. Rival suitors..." She shrugs eloquently. "Well, Bronn handles those."
The casual mention of rival suitors makes my stomach flutter uncomfortably.
The idea that other males might be interested in claiming me as part of some divine blessing feels surreal and vaguely terrifying, even if the logical part of my mind knows it's all elaborate theater based on misunderstood human traditions.
Still, the thought lingers as Shae leads me through the morning rounds—visiting families who've contributed gifts, thanking them for their generosity, learning names and faces that transform the clan from an anonymous mass of green skin and intimidating tusks into actual people with distinct personalities and concerns.
Mrs. Kelda, ancient and sharp-tongued, who insists on pressing honey cakes into my hands despite my protests that I couldn't possibly eat another bite.
Young Theron, barely past adolescence, who blushes furiously every time I speak to him and stammers responses that make Shae hide smiles behind her hand.
Captain Drek and his mate Yara, who've been together so long they finish each other's sentences and bicker with the comfortable familiarity of people who've weathered decades together.
Real people. Real lives. Real relationships built on more than misinterpreted religious texts and political convenience.
"They like you," Shae observes as we leave the fifth longhouse of the morning, my arms full of yet more Valentine gifts—carved tokens, preserved fruits, small weapons that the women insist every bride should carry for protection.
"They like the idea of me," I correct. "Cupid's chosen bride, the divine blessing, whatever story they've convinced themselves to believe."
"Maybe." She stops walking and turns to study my face with the intensity of someone looking for something specific. "Or maybe they just like seeing one of their leader’s mates laugh at Ursik's terrible jokes and remember everyone's names."
The word hit me like cold water. Mate. In all the focus on surviving day to day, on navigating the immediate pressures of the binding ritual and clan expectations, I haven't let myself think about what marriage to Kai would actually mean in practical terms. Not just becoming someone's wife, but becoming a leader in this community, taking on responsibilities and obligations that stretch far beyond personal relationships.
"Shae—"
"I know." Her voice gentles, losing the teasing edge it carried moments before.
"I know this isn't what you chose, isn't what you wanted.
But watching you these past days... you're good with people, Saela.
You listen when they talk, remember details that matter to them.
That's not something you can fake or learn from books. "
The compliment warms me more than it should, especially coming from someone whose own leadership among the clan women is obvious in every interaction I witness. But it also makes the weight of expectations feel heavier, more real.
"What if I can't do it?" The question slips out before I can stop it, carrying fears I haven't admitted even to myself. "What if I'm not strong enough or smart enough or... enough, period?"
"Then you'll learn." The certainty in her voice brooks no argument. "Same way you're learning our customs, same way you're learning blade work with Kai. Nobody expects perfection from the start."
The mention of Kai makes something flutter in my chest—anticipation and nervousness and something else I don't want to examine too closely. Our training sessions have become the highlight of my days, brief escapes from the suffocating weight of clan attention and political maneuvering.
He's a good teacher, patient and methodical without being condescending.
More importantly, when we're working through combat drills or discussing terrain recognition, the awkward tension between us fades into something closer to partnership.
We move around each other with increasing ease, his corrections becoming less formal and more natural as I improve.
And I am improving. The knowledge sits in my muscles now, automatic responses to threats and opportunities that would have been impossible a week ago.
The practice blade feels balanced in my grip instead of foreign, and my footwork no longer requires conscious thought to maintain proper positioning.
Progress. Real, measurable progress toward being able to protect myself instead of depending entirely on others for survival.
But it's more than just the practical skills that draw me to those afternoon sessions.
It's the way Kai's ice-blue eyes focus completely on whatever technique we're working on, the calm authority in his voice when he explains tactical concepts, the brief moments when his hand covers mine to adjust my grip and I catch a hint of warmth beneath his controlled exterior.
He's handsome in a way that sneaks up on you—not the obvious appeal of pretty features, but something deeper. Strength without brutality, intelligence without arrogance, the kind of solid reliability that makes you think about what it would feel like to have someone like that watching your back.
Dangerous thoughts. The kind of thoughts that lead to complications I can't afford, especially when I'm still hoping his scouts will find Ressa and everything will somehow resolve itself without forcing impossible choices.
"Speaking of Kai," Shae says, as if reading my mind, "he's been asking the patrol leaders about your friend every day. No word yet, but they're covering more ground than usual, checking places a fleeing human might seek shelter."
The reminder makes guilt twist in my stomach. A week since I stumbled into this bizarre celebration, and still no sign of Ressa. Is she hiding somewhere, waiting for rescue that isn't coming? Captured by Stonevein trackers? Worse?
"He doesn't have to do that," I say quietly. "Use clan resources for my problems."
"Yes, he does." Shae's voice carries absolute conviction. "That's what mates do—they protect what matters to their partners, even when it's complicated or inconvenient."
Mates. The word sits strangely in my mind, carrying implications I'm not ready to examine. We're not mates, not really. We're two people trapped in an impossible situation, making the best of circumstances neither of us chose.
But sometimes, when Kai checks with the scouts on my behalf or quietly ensures I have privacy when the clan attention becomes overwhelming, it feels like something more than duty or political necessity.
Something that might, under different circumstances, grow into the kind of partnership Shae describes.
The thought follows me through the rest of the morning, a persistent warmth that I try to push away as we visit more families and accept more gifts and gradually work our way toward the training yard where Ursik spends most afternoons drilling younger clan members in combat techniques.
He grins when he spots us approaching, his gray eyes lighting with the kind of mischief that usually means trouble for someone.
"Well, if it isn't our divine bride and her very patient guide." His voice carries easily across the practice area, drawing chuckles from the orcs he's been working with. "Come to watch real warriors at work?"
"Come to laugh at your teaching methods," Shae shoots back without missing a beat. "Unless you've improved since yesterday."
The easy banter between them makes me smile despite my complicated thoughts. This is what I've been missing in the interactions with Kai—the casual humor and comfortable teasing that speaks to genuine friendship rather than careful politeness.
"Harsh words from someone whose idea of combat training involves embroidery needles," Ursik replies, then turns his attention to me with an expression that's warm but not quite as familiar as the one he uses with Shae.
"How's your blade work progressing, little bird?
Kai been treating you right, or do I need to have words with him about proper instruction? "
The nickname makes me laugh despite myself. "He's been very thorough. I think I could actually defend myself now instead of just flailing desperately."