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There’s a soft noise at the door and he leaves me to push the flap aside, returning with a steaming jug of water. He pours a little into a washbasin, uses a jug of cold water that’s been sitting near it to cool the temperature of the hot, and runs a washcloth inside, swirling a bar of soap. He washes himself in the chilled air, his green skin gleaming with wetness. God’s fire, he’s a beautiful male. Of course, Brun, the male who’s his father, isn’t a slacker. Or, I might be used to the uglier brood of orcs like the fools in my own clan.
I slide out of bed, my feet curling in the thick rug, and take a drying cloth to run over the clean areas of his body. He shoots me a grateful smile, the goosebumps prickling on his skin. And when I look at his glorious cock he’s just washed, then at my drying cloth, as I try to figure out if I should help him there, he takes it from me.
“I would be grateful for the help any other day. But I don’t have time to toss you back in my bed and have my way with you.”
I giggle and he smiles wide, pulling me close to wrap his strong arms around me. It’s like he loves the sound of my laughter. He lowers his forehead to mine and holds us there. “I love you, Jogug.”
And when my mouth hangs open with shock, he sets me aside, pulls a fur from the bed to drape over my shoulders, and dresses quickly.
His wrist bracers and arm bands are attached last and suddenly it dawns on me why I had a penchant for wearing my own when I re-purposed all of Wruk’s clothes. Did I possibly cling to what I believed was familiar?
He adds a fur cape with a hood for the chill, and I move forward to fasten the button at the throat, wrapping the string of twine around it. When he swallows, his Adam’s apple moves and unable to help myself, I trace it. And then, with his fist, he grips the edges of my blanket together at the throat and pulls me to the door of the tent. “Go back to bed, anyasa. ‘Tis cold.”
When he opens the flap, I see males waiting outside for him. He tugs the clenched pieces of fur at my throat and kisses me, then pushes me gently. “Go on. Crawl in bed.”
I watch him leave—there’s the one called Tok, who tried to hold back the girl from yesterday. There’s a huge, scarred beast of a male, with hair as light as mine but darker skin, though not as dark as some. He stares forlornly at me and I stare back, wondering what has happened to the male to cause such scars.
I also wonder why his hair is light—like mine. Or, like mine was, I guess. He travels with Brun, Bakog’s father.
And Brachard—the king—is who I’ll kill. My father.
The sun is peeking around the horizon, slowly warming the ground. Soon, Bakog will shrug off the fur cape.
Rather than go back to sleep, I use the rest of the hot water he left to warm the basin that washed his skin.
I am not sharing his water because it makes me feel good.
I’ll explore the village, I’ll talk to the people who are out, I’ll discover where the orc king sleeps.
This village will also know me as the king slayer.
I make our bed after I’m washed, and dress again in my own black leather clothing, though a closetful of dresses and West Mountain clan clothes line the shelves near Bakog’s. I noticed earlier when he retrieved his own things to wear. I might be a bit cold in the morn, but things will warm up quick.
I head straight out into the sun.
“Are ye looking for breakfast?” A wee voice calls from where they watch my tent.
Two young males throw themselves at me. An oomph escapes me at their sudden impact.
“Are you, not ye.” I’m not sure why I correct them, but it comes out automatically.
One giggles. “I knew ye’d—you’d say that. You always do.”
“Do I?”
“Yes, Shally,” the other says, and buries his head in my waist.
“Not Shally, dummy,” his brother says.
And I don’t know these brats from Adam, but they’re so skinny and... well, adorable, that I drop to my knees to hug them back.
“Who are you now?” I ask, fighting the urge to say ye myself.
The first one pulls away. “Papa says you forgot. I’m Silann and this is Latjo. We can take you to breakfast if you want. Mama said so, but she’s staying indoors today. Papa got her knocked up again.”
“Sil, you’re not supposed to say it that way! You’re ‘sposed to use proper English or we gotta spend all summer in mom’s classes.”
“Who?”
