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As soon as I slip into his arms, he feels the sharp point of my blade under his ribcage. He freezes, staring down at me in horror. And goddess, I almost falter. The look on his face—it’s so familiar.
But I still can’t place it.
“B-Brachard, is it?” I snarl, though it’s not as strong as I’d like.
“Shalia, what are you doing?” Bakog asks, because he still can’t see my blade. And I should have known it, he’d use the other name. The one that reminds me of the happiness I have in his arms.
“W-walk this way, Brachard. Away from them,” I say, ignoring Bakog.
From the other side, Azorr hisses his displeasure, but Brachard follows me, letting me lead him with the tip of the blade. And he must rule with an iron fist because one look at his males, and they don’t bother to pursue. They all freeze in place, stances tense.
“Yes!” Stug yells in glee, hitting his thigh, laughing as I march backward, bringing Brachard and twisting at the last second to push him toward the cage to my mate. “Hold him.”
“Don’t do this, Shally,” Bakog says, as Stug comes behind Brachard, his hands coming through the bars to grip the male’s enormous biceps.
“You raped my mother,” I hiss. “For that, you shall pay.”
Brachard’s thick eyebrows knit together as he frowns. “Joanna? What is this?”
That confusion can’t be faked. Again, I falter.
“Joanna is carrying your child.”
“Nay,” Brachard says. “Someone go get Latsil.”
Latsil. I vaguely remember that name from the royal guard that first night when I captured Bakog. The enormous scarred one.
“He’ll give you any lie for his freedom,” Stug says, tightening his hands on Brachard. “Don’t listen to him, Jogug. The element of surprise, remember?”
He wants me to do this now, before this Latsil arrives.
“Trust me, gi anyasa,” Brachard says softly and there’s something about that soft, deadly voice that captures my attention more than the loud, brash tone did. This soft, quiet tone. This is important.
“Thought you’d starve us in a cage, did you?” Stug sneers from behind him. “Didn’t realize we had our own weapon? Meet Jogug, our king slayer.”
The other orcs, forgetting their bickering with Stug, snicker. Forget that the fool was willing to trade them for his own freedom. Idiots, the lot of them.
“Now, Jogug,” Stug says. “Do it now, mate. I order you.”
Bakog hisses his displeasure but I’m not sure if it’s because he doesn’t want me to kill his king or because he doesn’t like Stug speaking to me like that. Ordering me. Or calling me his mate.
“I’m here.” The large, scarred orc shows up, a slew of males behind him. It seems everyone in the village has turned up for the show. “Shalia.”
And, oh, goddess... his hair in the daylight. Up close, without the clouds in the sky. Without the night shadowing him. His hair matches mine. This male. This one is my father, not the orc king. This was why Brachard asked me to trust him.
My clan obviously lied. Again. My mother’s not dead, the king isn’t my father. Maybe I didn’t have such a horrible upbringing in this clan.
I just have to make sure.
“You impregnated my mother?” I ask him.
“Aye, little one. Joanna, yer mother, is my life. Just as ye are. Yer brothers.” He steps forward. “I love ye, my Sha-Lilac.”
Oh, Goddess. I remember that voice, swinging me into the air, letting me sniff the lilacs that bloom in early spring along the front gates. Calling me Sha-lilac instead of Shalia.
Shalia.
But I turn my head away from Latsil of the royal guard. I face Brachard, and I aim my throwing blade at his face.
