His gaze dropped to the book lying on the floor where it had landed, its leather cover dented from the force of her throw.
An old orc tome, heavy with dust and age, its spine cracked, its pages yellowed and dog-eared from centuries of handling. Written by the ancient shamans in the old tongue, preserved for its knowledge if not its accuracy, passed through generations of shadow-wielders.
The Human Species: A Study of the Pale Ones.
He had read it once, long ago. A treatise of sorts, compiled from raids and encounters, from blood-soaked skirmishes where the dead could no longer speak for themselves. Much of it was outdated, flawed—but some of it still rang true.
Humans, it said, were clever-witted but stubborn. They carried grudges like weapons. Emotional, volatile creatures. Similar to orcs, yet different—less direct. They often felt one thing, said another, weaving half-truths into their dealings.
But her…
She had flung her fury at him without hesitation. She had spoken her outrage, her disbelief, her defiance, all of it laid bare. She did not hide behind riddles. She was unafraid.
And, curse him, he found that defiance… alluring.
The more he looked at her, the more he could appreciate it—the sharp angles of her face so unlike the broader features of orc women, the dark gleam of her hair that caught the light differently than the coarser texture of his people's, the startling blue of her eyes that no orc possessed. Delicate, yes. Human. Different in every way from what his clan would expect of a mate. But beautiful in a way he could not ignore, could not deny, even as the thought itself felt like another form of betrayal to his kind.
An unexpected prize.
That was what she was turning out to be.
Perhaps he really could make this work.
All he needed was to convince her—bend her anger into something sharper, redirect her fire until it burned alongside his instead of against him. A political union first, perhaps. But beyond that… a marriage that could hold.
He could make himself accustomed to her. That would not be difficult. She was sharp, intelligent, brave—all the things he had always admired in a woman.
And more.
Even after he had shown her the breadth of his power, the shadows writhing at his command, even after she had felt the edge of his blade at her throat—she hadn't cowered. She hadn't begged.
She had stood her ground.
There was something in that—something that stirred him in ways he had not expected, had not wanted.
She had looked at him with less fear than any orc female ever had—even after he had abducted her, bound her, dragged her across the plains.
Perhaps… it was time to make her learn not to fear him.
To make her see the advantages of being with him.
The thought coiled through him like smoke, foreign and unsettling, yet insistent. He wasn't accustomed to such closeness. He had always operated alone, kept apart, and the others in the stronghold gave him space. They respected him, yes—but warily, as one might respect a storm at the edge of the horizon.
Few dared come near.
But he knew what to do with a woman. Orc ways were not as tangled with ceremony as human ones. Until marriage vows were sworn, orcs were not… constrained in such things.
And yet this was different. Dangerous.
Because she wasn't just any woman.
She was the Queen of Maidan.
And he would have to decide—soon—what exactly that meant.
Heat coiled inside him, slow and dangerous, as his thoughts turned where they shouldn't.
To her.
