SWNOVELS Her Orc King: Chapter 4
The next half hour passes in a flurry of preparations. Just as I’m about to ask for a fresh gown, a knock on the door announces the young orc woman who hugged me earlier. She shoves an armful of velvet, linen, and silk at Gorvor through the crack in the door. Her curious gaze lands on me for a brief second, and she beams, showing off white teeth. Then the king slams the door in her face. Before I can berate him for his rudeness, he tells me the woman is his nosy cousin who has been pestering him to find a mate for ages.
It’s such a normal tidbit that I almost slip and forget that I’m no longer in the human kingdom, but the tall orc immediately reminds me where I am by refusing to set up a privacy screen for me. He says they don’t even exist in his Hill, and that I should get used to the orc ways.
Still, I manage to convince him to turn his back on me while I strip off the filthy gown and chemise and scrub myself with a soft washcloth and a fresh-smelling chunk of good, creamy soap. My hair is a mess, but since he won’t give me the time to bathe, I can only run a comb through it and braid it tight, hoping no one will come close enough to see how greasy it really is.
“Are you ready?” the king grumbles from where he’s sitting at his desk, hunched over some correspondence. “We need to go.”
I tie the ribbons of my chemise and struggle into a plum-colored velvet gown that Gorvor picked for me. While it’s well crafted and has a little black bear embroidered at the neckline, it’s loose around my bosom and tight around my hips, so the woman it was made for clearly had a better figure than me. But I don’t suppose the orcs will care.
“I need help with the laces,” I admit. “I think this belonged to a lady with handmaidens at some point.”
Gorvor shifts in his chair, his dark gaze unreadable. “It belonged to no one. Our seamstresses make clothes in advance so we can give them to humans who arrive to our lands. Most come with no possessions, so we are always prepared.”
I stare at him, trying to comprehend what he’s saying. This means they have a steady influx of kidnapped, bought women, doesn’t it? Right when I think he might be a decent person, he goes on and tells me something like this.
“How nice of you,” I say dryly.
If he catches my tone, he doesn’t show it. He stands, once more dwarfing me with his height, and walks closer. He takes me by my shoulders and turns me around, the warmth of his palms seeping through the fabric of my dress.
“Tighten the laces,” I murmur. “Please.”
He grumbles, “I don’t know if my hands were made for this.”
No, I don’t imagine they were.
“Just do your best,” I say.
He tugs, and one of the laces snaps. Gorvor growls in frustration, then ties the rest with care, slowly moving up my back.
“I will get you a better gown.” His warm breath brushes the back of my neck. “If you can’t even dress yourself, what’s the point of wearing clothing?”
“That’s something ladies everywhere have been asking for ages,” I quip.
He lets out another one of those huffs, and for the first time since I arrived, I feel a certain kind of kinship with this orc. There’s no telling what will happen to me here, but at least the king knows how to laugh.
“Come,” he says finally and picks up his crown, setting it back on his head. “We are late.”
Apprehension slams into me again. “Wait! Will more orcs try to sniff me?”
I smell marginally better now, but I don’t relish the thought of being put on display again. Of being smelled and crowded and leered at.
“No,” he answers, his black eyebrows snapping down. “You are mine. No one else’s. No one would dare.”
“Oh.” I brush back a stray lock of my hair. “All right, then. I’m ready.”
He opens the door for me, and the two guards stationed outside straighten their shoulders. I glare at both of them—neither one of them helped me when I’d screamed earlier. They likely knew that their king wouldn’t hurt me, but I didn’t know that. They could have taken the time to at least reassure me.
My dirty glares don’t seem to bother them in the slightest, though. One of them stares ahead, his expression blank, but the other gives me a grin and winks, his black eyes twinkling with amusement.
“These are Steagor and Vark,” the king announces, pointing to the two warriors in turn. “When I cannot be with you, they will be your guards.”
That has me standing straight. “What? Why would I need guards?”
Gorvor wraps his massive arm around my shoulders and tugs me along the dark corridor. “You are my queen. Of course you need guards. You are now my greatest vulnerability.”
He says the words without inflection, and I don’t know what to think. He’s admitting to having a weakness—in front of his men, even. This must mean he trusts them completely. Or maybe this is common knowledge.
I try to follow along with him as best I can, clinging on to him for support so I don’t stumble. “You mean because I’m a weak human?”
He snorts. “Aye. And because you won’t let me touch you.”
I want to ask what he’s talking about, but a snatch of music drifts down the corridor, and Gorvor snaps to attention. His entire demeanor changes, and he pulls me in tight against his side.
“Remember. Happy.”
He glares down at me, and I realize I can make out his expression because the corridor has grown steadily lighter. We round a bend in the corridor, and a large opening yawns in front of us, filled with the flickering glow of torchlight. At the threshold of the open space, the king stops.
And I can only stare. We’ve come to what must be the main hall of the settlement, deep underground. The chamber is massive, filled with rows of tables and benches, and at the far end, a large carved wooden chair stands behind a table laid with a feast fit for royalty. It’s a dining space and a throne room combined, and everywhere I look, orcs are milling around, clearly waiting for something.
It takes them a moment to notice us, but when they do, a hush falls over the crowd.
The king’s grip on me tightens, and he raises his hand in a salute.
Orc men and women, too many to count, raise their fists in the air and holler greetings, congratulations, and well-wishes for the king and his bride. For me. The noise is overpowering, and I flinch, doing my best to keep my hands at my sides, even though I’d like nothing more than to clap them over my ears.
“Come,” Gorvor says, tugging me forward.
We make our way between the tables, and the king accepts pats on the back and cheerful ribbing about how he’s the lucky one tonight. He returns every smile and compliment, and I could almost believe he’s genuinely happy to have me by his side, if he hadn’t admitted to me earlier that he sees me as a vulnerability.
Finally, we reach the cloth-covered table with the throne, and the king motions at someone, a signal that has the kitchen staff carrying out platters the size of shields, heaped with roasted meat and bread, cauldrons of stew, and baskets of ripe late-summer fruit. The crowd of orcs murmur appreciatively as they sit, and the feast begins.
Gorvor settles himself on the throne. It’s sturdy and wide, a beautifully carved piece of oiled oakwood with the grain of the wood visible. Whoever made it must have been a skilled craftsman. Its legs look like bear paws, and on the high back is an image of a roaring bear’s face, its fearsome teeth whittled in perfect detail. The chair is large enough to hold the king without seeming cramped, which means it would be entirely too big for me. Not that I would want to sit on the throne of this orc kingdom.
But Gorvor apparently hasn’t forgotten what he told me in his bedroom. With one quick move, he scoops me off the floor and settles me in his lap. The gathered orcs cheer at the move, raising their cups to us.
I desperately fight a blush, hoping the flickering torchlight might hide it from the king. “Is this really necessary?”
His warm hand lands on my belly, and he pulls me up his chest. “Aye. Now stop squirming.”
The low vibration of his voice still has that strange effect on me. My muscles soften, and I relax slightly, leaning back. He’s just so warm, and in the crowded hall, he’s my only anchor.
“Are you hungry?” he asks.
“Yes.”
I lean forward to reach for a plate and cutlery, but Gorvor’s arm restricts my movements.
“I will do this for you,” he announces.
Craning my neck to look at him, I stare at his serious profile. His jaw is clenched tight, and when I shift my weight again to give him more room, he stills, wincing.
That’s when I realize that what I thought was one of the muscles in his massive thigh is actually…
“Oh!” Heat rushes through me, and I berate myself for being so silly. A panicked part of my mind is stuck thinking about how big the king’s cock is, how hard and hot under my ass, while the curious side of me wonders at how it would even work. I nip that thought in the bud and force it deep, deep down.
“Woman,” Gorvor forces out through gritted teeth. “You need to stay still.”
“All right,” I breathe. “I’m sorry.”
He slants his gaze at me, and the corner of his mouth tips up in a grim smile. “Took you long enough to notice.”
I reach for his arm and give him a hard pinch. “Don’t be a beast.”
His eyes darken, and he leans in, running his nose up the side of my neck. He inhales deeply. “But that’s what I am.”
Swallowing thickly, I stay frozen, so much like prey. Yes, he is a beast, and I would be wise to remember it. But it’s difficult to keep my thoughts focused on that when he smells so good. When he clearly wants me.
He would be just as hard and ready for any other woman if he thought she was his mate.
The reminder serves as a mental bucket of cold water, bringing me back to my senses. Then my stomach growls with hunger, and the king snaps to attention once more.
“Forgive me,” he says. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”
He fills a plate for me, adding a hunk of dark bread, a good cut of juicy meat, and a ripe pear he swiftly quarters with a hunting knife he pulls from his belt. The way he offers me food makes me think it might be some sort of ritual, and he keeps his gaze on me until I take my first bite of the still-warm bread.
It’s good fare, simple but well prepared, and I compliment the cook’s skill. One of the two guards, who had stationed themselves behind the throne, moves to the side to pass my words on to a servant, and moments later, a bright-eyed man appears in front of our table, bringing us an assortment of sweet rolls and custards.
He disappears again before I can do anything more than thank him, and Gorvor chuckles at the exchange.
“You did good, little mate,” he rumbles.
I raise my eyebrows. “What did I do?”
“You got on the cook’s good side,” he says. “That’s always a smart thing to do.”
I try one of everything from the platter of sweets, then offer them to Steagor and Vark, who glance at the king for permission before digging in and demolishing the delicacies.
Gorvor rubs his thumb up and down my belly, a small movement that somehow becomes the center of my attention.
“You offered them food,” he murmurs in my ear. “I was worried you were going to have to work for their loyalty, but now I think they will gladly defend you with their lives.”
I snort, pleased that I apparently got something else right this evening. “Should I have offered you a pastry, then?”
His grip on me tightens, and he spreads his thighs slightly, letting me feel the length of his thick cock. “I’m already yours.”
The words shouldn’t mean anything to me. But in my old life, I’d never belonged. Not with my family, not in my village, and certainly not in the bed of the man who took my innocence in exchange for a couple of silver coins. Here, though, the orcs seem genuinely pleased with the fact that I’m their king’s mate.
And the king himself… Well, I’m not sure he’s pleased with his human bride, but I can’t deny that he wants me.
He pours a cup of pale-yellow liquid in a silver cup and hands it to me. “It’s time for the toasts.”
I look at him in question, but he shakes his head and pours himself a drink, too.
“Take small sips,” he warns me. “This will take a while.”
And he is right. One by one, various orcs, both men and women, stand from their benches and wish us well.
“…and may your queen bear you many strong children,” concludes a particularly long-winded, elderly orc who salutes us with his cup.
The crowd cheers, and everyone takes a swallow of their drink. The children in the crowd yell the loudest, apparently happy to make noise, though none of them have been allowed to have what we’re drinking. I bring my cup to my lips once more and pretend to take a sip of the delicious—but strong—mead. My head is pleasantly fuzzy, and I no longer mind that Gorvor is holding me so close to his chest. In fact, I suspect his big arm is the only thing keeping me upright at the moment.
Then I get distracted by the thick cords of muscle in his upper arm. I squeeze the bulge that’s as big as my head and let out a sigh. He’s so strong.
Vark snickers beside the throne, and I realize I must have said that out loud.
“Forgive me,” I demur, peering up at the king through my eyelashes.
He grimaces like he’s in pain, but he doesn’t admonish me. “I should have watered down your mead. I didn’t realize you might not be used to it at all.”
I shrug. “When you don’t have money for food, buying alcohol doesn’t make sense.”
The king’s gaze darkens, and I smack my hand over my mouth. Oops. I didn’t mean to say that out loud, either. For some reason, I don’t want Gorvor to know how shitty my life was before I was kidnapped and dragged to that auction house. Maybe it’s pride. Or self-preservation. If I can pretend that everything was fine, then I don’t have to think about the things I’d had to do to survive.
He looks like he might say something, but a loud scraping of a bench across the clay floor catches my attention.
Four orcs stand as one, their faces grim. Before, each of the well-wishers had a little speech of their own, but these four seem united. There’s something different about them, and I squint, trying to figure it out. Then it hits me—the emblem at the front of their tunics is different from those I’ve seen on the other guests. Gorvor and most of his people carry a small image of a roaring bear sewn into their clothes, the same as the one on my dress, and the image is repeated in the carved decorations in the room, as well as the flags by the entrance to the underground cavern.
But these four orcs show off a different image. It’s hard to make out from a distance, but I think it must be a boar—that, or a rabbit, and I cannot imagine that these soldiers would willingly pick a bunny as their symbol.
The second orc from the left raises his cup and speaks. “Congratulations to the king and his new queen. May you find safety and happiness in each other’s arms. We hope your reign will be a long and fruitful one.”
The rest of the orcs lift their cups and cheer, but I’m either growing very tired and drunk, or the exclamations have grown rather half-hearted. I glance up at Gorvor to find him gritting his teeth, but he salutes the orcs nonetheless and takes a sip of his drink. I imitate him, not wanting to offend anyone, but I don’t understand the sudden tension in the room.
The four orcs take their places again, and the murmur of the conversation rises once more to a roar as the rest of Gorvor’s clansmen go back to drinking, eating, and laughing. Someone produces a fiddle, and several orcs take up a loud, bawdy song. More join them for the refrain, and the hall echoes with laughter. A child falls asleep at the table, and his father picks him up and carries him off into a corridor on the other side of the hall.
“Time to go,” Gorvor mutters a while later. “They will continue for hours, but I think you’ve had enough for tonight, hmm?”
I blink up at him, confused. At some point, I stopped caring about what others would think of me, and now my cheek is pressed against the king’s warm chest, and I’m half asleep, tired and more than a little drunk.
“All right,” I manage to say. “But I don’t know the way back.”
Gorvor gives me a small, private smile. “Don’t worry. I won’t let you get lost.”
The next thing I know, he has me in his arms, carrying me through the hall. Orcs cheer and wave at us, calling out suggestions about our first mating night that have my cheeks burning with embarrassment. Gorvor takes it all in stride, though, and tightens his grip on me when I squirm.
“Your people have no shame,” I complain once we enter the dark corridor, the two guards trailing behind us. “What happens between a man and a woman is their own business.”
The king hums. “Maybe in the human world. Here, things are different. You will do well to let go of what you have learned.”
Tired as I am, I refuse to be patronized. “No, thank you.”
The king is silent for a moment, and the darkness closes around us. I remember that we’re underground, and the thought of all the earth around us is a little terrifying, though strangely, the air isn’t stuffy.
“You know what would be nice?” I blurt, hating the silence between us. “If there was more light in these corridors.”
Gorvor’s answer comes slowly, as if he’s lost in thought. “Then I would have no excuse to carry you.”
I can’t help it—the words melt another bit of the icy wall I’ve put up inside me. He’s so honest about wanting me, I can’t fault him for it. Then he stops in the pitch darkness, and a door swings open.
We’ve returned to his bedroom.
This time, I don’t scream at the guards who remain stationed outside. A brief thought passes through my fuzzy brain that it’s strange that the guards are needed inside the Hill, but I’m too tired to give it much attention.
Instead, I let the king carry me over the threshold. He sets me on the bed, then returns to the door and bolts it from the inside and turns a large iron key in the lock. He pauses with his back to me and lets out a long breath.
His shoulders lower, and it hits me at that moment that he’s been tense ever since we left his chamber to attend the dinner. Only now, in the privacy of his room, he seems to let go of whatever worried him.
That he trusts me enough to relax in my presence is humbling. Is his belief that I’m his true mate that strong? He only met me today, so I don’t know what to think about that. Or maybe he finds me so insignificant, he doesn’t care that he’s showing me his true self.
That is much more likely. And disheartening.
“I’m tired,” I begin, trying to keep my voice level. “I’d like to go to bed, please.”
Gorvor gives me a small smile and shakes his head. “If you go to sleep now, you’ll have a beast of a headache in the morning. Come, let’s have a bath, and you can sober up first.”
It’s late, and my day has been so, so long. But I haven’t had a proper bath in weeks. Not a warm one, anyway. At the inn where I worked before my kidnapping, I’d been the one to heat the water for the guests who requested a bath, so I never had the energy to carry bucket after bucket required to wash myself in comfort at home.
“Oh, fine,” I grumble. “But I should likely drink some water, too.”
Gorvor wordlessly walks over to where a pitcher and two cups stand by his bed and pours me a cup full of cool, clear water. His gaze remains on me, and I swallow the last of my drink, self-conscious because of his scrutiny.
Now I’ll see if the king’s word is worth anything—he’s been drinking as much as me or more, even, and if he means to maul me, this is when he will do it.
But he just motions at me to move toward the bathing pool. “Go on.”
I bite my lip, torn between wanting that bath and propriety. But the light vapors rising from the water make the decision for me. I imagine how good it will feel to sink to my neck, and the thought is too good to resist.
“Help me with my laces?” I turn my back to Gorvor.
He’s more careful of the delicate ribbons this time, and he plucks one after another, loosening my dress.
“Thank you—” I begin to say, then stop.
Because he puts his fingers to my hair and starts pulling out the pins I’d used to hold my braids up. The light tugs aren’t painful, but they make me aware of his looming presence behind me. I stand very still, clutching my dress to my chest while he unravels my braid and sifts his fingers through my hair.
He’s being so gentle with me. My chest aches with the tenderness. When was the last time someone took their time to care for me? Even as we exited the great hall, he could have left me at my own mercy or demanded that one of his guards carry me. But he did all of it himself, as if it matters to him. As if I matter.
I swallow past a suddenly tight throat. “Thank you.”
He strokes the backs of his fingers down my neck, the movement slow and sensual. “Get in the water.”
The words are a clear command, but for once, I don’t chafe against it. I glance over my shoulder, and he huffs in annoyance, then closes his eyes, giving me the tiniest bit of privacy. Quickly, I drop my dress, letting it slither from me, and untie the ribbons of my shift. Then I hurry to the edge of the pool, crouch next to it, and sit on the lip.
The moment my feet disappear beneath the water, I know this will be my favorite place in the settlement. Careful not to splash water everywhere, I lower myself into what is essentially a giant bathtub.
“Ohh.”
A low sigh escapes me as the warmth closes around me like a gentle embrace. The water is exactly the right temperature, as warm as I can bear, and the knowledge that it won’t turn cold even if I soak in here for hours seems like the greatest luxury. Better even than having servants heat up buckets of water over the fire. Anytime I want, I can dip in here without having to ask anyone.
I sink to my neck and make sure nothing scandalous is visible above the surface. I could float here forever, with my feet barely skimming the bottom. Feeling along the edge of the pool, I locate a carved ledge and settle on it, finally relaxed after a long, confusing day.
A rustle of clothing snags my attention. I glance up to find Gorvor stripping his linen tunic. The muscles of his abdomen and chest ripple with the movement, his green skin stretching. He drapes the tunic over his writing chair and faces me, then pauses.
I’m aware that I’m staring. But I can’t look away.
His body is a work of art. Every chiseled contour, every dip and swell of his broad shoulders…he is magnificent. But large. He could snap me in two and not even breathe hard.
At last, I drag my gaze up from his chest to his face, only to find him grinning at me. That smile turns his harsh features into something I could consider handsome, if it wasn’t for his tusks. But even those add a certain roguish charm to his face. Maybe it’s the mead I drank, or maybe I’m turning soft in the head, but I flush under the power of his knowing gaze.
Then he puts his hands to the waistband of his leather pants, and I jerk to attention.
“What are you doing?” I demand, panicking.
He unties the laces slowly. “Taking a bath.”
I should be looking at his face, but it’s impossible. “At the same time as me?”
My voice comes out breathy, too high. Surely he doesn’t mean to join me in here?
But Gorvor hooks his thumbs in his pants—and I squeak, turning away with a splash of water. He doesn’t answer me, but he doesn’t have to. Of course he’s taking a bath with me. Orcs have no sense of propriety, and he is the king of them all.
The water ripples as he lowers his big body into the pool behind me.
Then his order comes in a voice that’s deeper than before.
“Turn around, little mate.”