Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Thea woke to cold sheets and an empty room.
Of course.
She rolled onto her back, staring at the carved ceiling beams. Her body still hummed with desire. Her lips felt swollen from Khorrek’s kisses.
And he’d left. Walked away like it meant nothing—
No. Not nothing. Too much.
She’d seen the war in his eyes. The Beast demanding what the male had been taught to deny.
He’d told her the raw, terrible truth about what had been done to him. Lasseran had created child soldiers. Broken, traumatized child soldiers, raised to believe their only value lay in obedience and violence.
Her throat tightened.
She understood trauma theory. She could even lecture on the psychological impact of systematic abuse and indoctrination.
But understanding it intellectually was different from seeing it carved into someone’s soul.
From watching a male pull away from something he desperately wanted because he’d been taught he deserved nothing.
He thinks he’ll hurt me.
The irony would have been funny if it weren’t so heartbreaking.
Khorrek—who made sure she ate and drank, who carried her to bed when she fell asleep, who’d never touched her with anything but gentleness—thought he was the dangerous one.
Not Lasseran with his empty eyes and silken threats. Not this world that had stolen her from her home.
Him.
“Idiot,” she said aloud, then winced. He wasn’t an idiot. He was surviving the only way he knew how. But that didn’t mean she had to accept it.
She sat up, pushing the blankets aside, and immediately spotted the torn dress on the floor. Heat pooled low in her stomach as she remembered. She hadn’t known she was capable of such immense pleasure, lost to everything but the sensation of his hands, his mouth…
And then he’d stopped because he was afraid. Not of her. For her.
There was a difference.
She pushed herself out of bed and went to the bathing room, washing quickly but thoroughly, trying to ignore the lingering sensitivity in her skin as the water sluiced over her. She dressed slowly, her mind already working through the problem like she would approach any complex puzzle.
Khorrek had been conditioned to suppress emotion and view attachment as a weakness. Conditioning could be broken, but it took time and patience. And she had—three days.
Three days to decode an ancient text. Three days before Lasseran started hurting people. Three days to save not just herself, but the maid who’d brought her breakfast. Vorlag. Khorrek.
She couldn’t think about Khorrek’s broken conditioning right now. Couldn’t focus on what had happened last night or what it meant.
She had work to do.
She finished dressing and braided her hair with quick, efficient movements. Then she made her way to the door.
It opened before she could touch it. Khorrek stood in the corridor, his expression carefully neutral.
“You’re awake.”
“Good morning to you too.” She kept her voice light. Friendly. Normal.
If he wanted to pretend last night hadn’t happened, she could play along. For now.
His jaw tightened. “I’ll escort you to the library.”
“Of course.”
They walked in silence through the stone corridors. Thea was painfully aware of the space between them. The careful way he avoided touching her.
One step at a time.
Vorlag was already in the library when they arrived, reading a scroll with his usual absorbed expression.
“Ah, Dr. Monroe.” He looked up with a smile. “Good morning. I’ve pulled several more texts that might be relevant.”
“Thank you.”
She joined him at their work table, grateful for the distraction, while Khorrek took up his usual position by the door, silent and watchful.
Focus, she reminded herself, and concentrated on the book in front of her.
The ancient script swam across the pages, intricate and beautiful.
She’d made a lot of progress over the past few days, but although she could read most of the passages and recognize key symbols, the deeper meaning behind the text remained frustratingly out of reach.
“I’ve been thinking,” Vorlag said, settling into the chair across from her. “About the structure of the text. It’s written in layers.”
“Layers?”
“The surface meaning is straightforward. A historical account of the Beast Curse’s creation. But underneath…” He traced a line of symbols with one long finger. “There are patterns. Repetitions. Deliberate irregularities that suggest something hidden.”
“A cipher within a cipher.”
“Precisely. The key question is: what were they hiding? And from whom?”
“From future High Kings,” she said slowly. “If Lasseran is looking for a way to control the Curse, but the original creators wanted to prevent that…”
“They would have hidden the true mechanism. Make it appear to say one thing while actually revealing something quite different to those who know how to read it properly.”
“Which means we need to find the key.” She pulled another scroll toward her. “A framework to tell us how to decode the hidden layer.”
They worked in comfortable silence for a while. Behind them, Khorrek remained motionless, but she could feel the weight of his presence.
An hour passed, then two, and her eyes were starting to blur from the close work when he finally spoke.
“I need to report to the High King.”
Her heart leapt into her throat. “Now?”
“He sent word. I’m already late.”
“Oh.” She tried to keep the worry out of her voice and failed, but his expression didn’t change.
“Vorlag will remain with you.”
“Of course.”
“Don’t leave the library until I return.”
“I won’t.”
He held her gaze for a long moment, and something flickered in those golden eyes too fast for her to identify. Then he turned and left, the door closing behind him with a heavy thud. She stared at it, her chest tight.
He’s trusting me enough to leave me alone with Vorlag.
Believing that the world wouldn’t collapse if he let his control slip for one moment was a small step towards progress.
“He cares for you.”
Vorlag’s quiet observation made her jump.
“What?”
“Khorrek.” The old priest smiled gently. “He cares for you. More than he knows how to handle, I suspect.”
Her face heated. “I don’t—we’re not—”
“You don’t need to explain.” Vorlag closed the book in front of him. “And I’m not judging. I’m simply observing that he is… different when he looks at you.”
“Different how?”
“He is himself, not the weapon the High King created.”
The words hung in the air between them, and her hands stilled on the page in front of her.
“Vorlag… what do you know about Khorrek’s past?”
“Enough.”
“They broke him.”
“They trained him. That’s what they called it.” Vorlag’s voice carried an unusual edge of bitterness. “Just as they trained all the others. Systematically destroying any sense of self or autonomy until only obedience remained.”
“And you did nothing?”
“I did what I could. Small kindnesses. A kind word here. A moment of compassion there.” He met her eyes. “But the Veilborn serve the throne, Dr. Monroe. We have always served the throne. For hundreds of years, we have supported the High King’s rule, offered our counsel and our blessing.”
“Even when the High King is a monster?”
“Even then. Because we believed—I believed—that the institution mattered more than the individual. That stability and order justified any cost.”
“And now?”
Vorlag was quiet for a long moment.
“Now I am old enough to recognize that what should have been strength has become brutality. What should have been knowledge used for the common good is now hoarded for personal power.”
“Tell me about the Beast Curse,” she said quietly. “Not the official history. The truth.”
“What makes you think there’s a difference?”
“Because Lasseran wants me to decode this text—which means it contains something he doesn’t already know. Something that threatens him.” She gestured to the scrolls around them. “These aren’t just historical records. They’re proof of something that’s been deliberately hidden.”
Vorlag studied her for a long moment, then he sighed.
“Lasseran isn’t content with containment. He wants control. Absolute, magical control over every orc in Norhaven.”
“How?”
“The same way the Curse was created. Through blood magic and sacrifice.” Vorlag pulled a new scroll toward him and opened it to reveal a series of complex diagrams that made her skin tingle.
“He’s been working on this for years, perfecting the ritual and gathering the necessary components, but he’s never been able to recreate it completely. ”
Thea leaned closer, studying the diagrams. Her knowledge of magical theory was limited, but even she could see the sophistication of the work.
“What does he need?”
“Power. Massive amounts of it. Drawn from living sacrifices and channeled through ancient binding rituals.” Vorlag pointed to a symbol at the center of the diagram. “There was an attempt several months ago. It failed. But he’s planning to try again.”
“With what result?”
Vorlag met her eyes. His expression was grave.
“If he succeeds, every orc in Norhaven will become his puppet. Mindless soldiers who exist only to obey his commands. An army of beasts under his complete control.”
The room spun.
“That’s genocide.”
“Yes.”
“We have to stop him.”
“I agree. But how?” Vorlag gestured helplessly. “He is the High King. His power is absolute. And any of the Veilborn who might have opposed him are either dead or too frightened to act.”
“Then I’ll stop working.” She pushed the scrolls away. “If this text contains information he needs for his ritual, I’ll refuse to translate it. Let him threaten me. I won’t help him enslave an entire people.”
“Dr. Monroe—”
“No. I won’t do it. I can’t.”
“I understand your objection. Believe me, I do.” Vorlag placed a gentle hand over hers. “But you’re missing a crucial piece of information.”
“What?”
“These texts don’t just explain how the Curse was created. They also explain how it can be broken.”
She froze. “What?”