At the end, light spilled outward, growing brighter as they descended.
When they emerged, it was into a private courtyard, walled on all sides. Ancient stone rose high and unyielding around them, enclosing the space in quiet seclusion.
In the center grew a tree—ancient, gnarled, its twisted branches spread wide like protective arms. Its roots had long ago broken through the stone, curling deep into the foundation itself. Its bark was pale silver, almost luminescent, markedwith symbols she didn't recognize—clan markings perhaps, or something older. Morning sunlight slanted down from above, filtering through leaves that whispered with each breath of wind, casting dappled patterns of gold and shadow across the walls. It was neither fully orc nor fully wild—but something between, something that had found harmony in this unlikely place.
She stopped, heart fluttering in her chest.
It was… unexpectedly beautiful. Nothing like the crude, bloodstained fortress she had imagined when thinking of orcs. Nothing like the stories told to Maidan children—of savage warriors who lived in caves and ruins, who cared only for conquest and destruction. This place had history, intention, care woven into its very stones. Had she been wrong about other things as well? How much of what she "knew" about orcs was merely prejudice dressed as fact?
They passed through an arched doorway into another chamber, this one brighter than any part of the stronghold she had seen. The ceiling rose high, and narrow windows set near the top spilled sunlight down in golden shafts. She caught the faint scent of minerals and clean water.
In the center lay a pool—natural, crystalline blue, fed by a spring that rippled faintly at one edge. The surface caught the light and sent it dancing across the stone walls.
Eliza froze.
A bath. Here.
She hadn't expected anything like this in an orc stronghold. It was too serene, too refined. She had only ever known the orcs as warriors, fierce and brutal, terrifying when their blood rage overtook them. This—this oasis—didn't fit the picture at all.
It struck her then how little she truly knew of them. Of their culture. Of what they valued besides war.
Against the far wall stood a low wooden bench. Upon it lay neatly folded linen towels and a robe.
Rakhal stopped beside her, silent, his dark eyes fixed on her face. She felt his gaze, studying every flicker of her expression. And then she caught it—just faintly—the curve of satisfaction at his mouth.
He looked almost… pleased with himself.
As though he were revealing something precious.
"Take a bath," he said at last, his voice low, steady. "I'll be outside."
She stared at him, searching his face, hunting for the catch—for the cruel edge, the hidden intention, the trap behind this strange courtesy.
But she couldn't make sense of him.
He stood in the soft spill of morning light, broad shoulders squared, dark hair falling loose around his face, shadows still clinging faintly to his frame like an afterthought. Impossible. Beautiful.
Yes, she had to admit it to herself, though the thought unsettled her—the first orc she had ever found beautiful.
But beauty was dangerous. She knew better than to mistake it for kindness.
This wasn't a gift. This wasn't indulgence. This was preparation—him readying her for what came next.
Her jaw tightened, and she pulled her shoulders back, steeling herself. She wouldn't be lulled into a false sense of security. Not by warm water, not by his unsettling patience, not even by the strange glimmers of humanity she thought she glimpsed in him.
Because soon, they would return to her domain. To Istrial.
And when they did, she would need every ounce of her power, every scrap of cunning and resolve, to break free of his control.
What would she do once Rakhal bound himself to her as consort? Would he stay in Istrial, haunting the corridors ofher castle? Her High Council would resist—Lord Merkus most vocally, as he'd been pushing his nephew as a match for years. The mage guild would demand to study him, to understand his shadow magic, which could either prove invaluable or catastrophic depending on how Rakhal reacted. The common people might see this union as a betrayal, or perhaps as salvation from endless war.
Or would he return here after the ceremony, leaving her to deal with the aftermath of a political union no one had wanted? That might be easier to manage, but would defeat the purpose of the alliance. No, she would need him visible but controlled. Present but contained.
She watched as he moved toward the door, his form silhouetted against the light from the courtyard. For a moment, his shadow seemed to stretch toward her, then recede, as if reluctant to leave. Then he was gone, and she was alone with the rippling water and her racing thoughts.
Chapter
Nineteen
