The song seemed to go on forever, since Taegan only really had two moves to alternate between, but he kept his eyes on Zorvut dancing and leaping around him, and eventually the song came to its end and another cheer rose up from around them. Several of the orcs who had remained to dance slapped Zorvut’s back and shoulders, and a few even gave cautious pats to Taegan’s back. When they returned to their table, Taegan was surprised to find he was smiling. Zorvut glanced at him, noticing the expression, and managed a hesitant smile in return.
“I must confess,” Taegan said to him, leaning close to be heard over the music that had started up again. “I was not sure what to expect of an orcish celebration, but this was not it.”
Another tinge of sadness seemed to wash over Zorvut at that, but his expression didn’t falter. “Thank you for joining,” he said, and gestured around. “It is... comforting, in a way, to have you experience all this before I have to leave it all behind.”
Taegan opened his mouth to protest, but could not find adequate words. He supposed Zorvut was right—after all, he was the one leaving behind his people and his culture, the one who would have to adapt to a new home. “Well,” he started, considering what it was he wanted to actually say. “It is true elvish customs are much less exuberant, even for celebrations, as you saw. But if the connection between our nations is to remain strong, I’m sure we will make many visits to your homeland as well.”
Zorvut waved a hand at that. “There will not be much to miss,” he said, making Taegan feel even more confused. He could not seem to get a hold on what Zorvut was really thinking about all this—but the orc seemed to sense his confusion, and grimaced as he looked down at Taegan. “This is the fun part. There are many less fun parts. Most of it, I will not miss. But it is... bittersweet, still, to leave it behind.” He hesitated, then added, “It is my home, but you can probably tell I never really fit in.”
Taegan nodded slowly, mulling over Zorvut’s words. Perhaps his initial impressions had not been so far off after all.
They remained for a few more hours, accepting gifts and well-wishes as they came, but mostly drinking and eating as plate after plate was brought out to them. The dancing and music continued, and by the time Taegan guessed it was around midnight, still seemed to show no signs of slowing down.
“We can take our leave now,” Zorvut said to him, and he nodded gratefully.
Zorvut stood and led him by the hand again, but they approached Hrul’s table—the piles of gifts had been cleared away, and only his barrel of ale and scattered plates of food remained.
“Father,” he said, visibly straightening as the warlord looked toward him. “We take our leave. Thank you for hosting our celebration.”
“Go, then, to your new life,” the warlord replied—while it sounded dismissive to Taegan, he could feel a faint bead of pride welling up from Zorvut. Then, he raised his tankard and gave a shout, “Tonight we see off my son, and welcome a new era! For Zorvut, the Relentless!”
“The Relentless!” a deafening cheer answered him, as it seemed every orc within earshot responded to his declaration. Zorvut simply nodded his head and turned to go, leading Taegan with him. The cheering and chanting followed them as they made their way toward the city gate. Despite himself, Taegan could not suppress the slight smile on his face as he allowed himself to be led by the hand back the way they came. As they entered through the gate of the city, the guards standing watch nodded at them—with their helmets drawn, he could not see where their gaze was trained, but he liked to think they looked at each of them in turn.
A sudden scuffle behind them pulled Taegan from his thoughts quickly—though not quickly enough, it seemed, as Zorvut yanked him forward as the sound of drawn steel rang through the air, stepping in front of him protectively. Taegan whirled around to see an unfamiliar orc charging them from the gate. He tensed, reaching for the dagger he always kept hidden at his hip, felt Zorvut crouch in a defensive stance—but the two guards were upon him instantly, tackling him to the ground easily despite his size.
“We will never bow to you!” the orc snarled as he thrashed on the cobblestone path, unable to fight off the two elves pinning him down. “Filthy elves! Never! And you, race-traitor! I’ll have all your blood, the lot of you!”
One guard raised his sword and brought the pommel of it down hard on the orc’s skull. The resounding crack echoed through the street, but the orc instantly fell silent and limp.
“He’s drunk,” the other said, raising a hand as Taegan started to approach. “No need, my prince. We’ll toss him back to the encampment and they can deal with him.”
“See to it, then,” Taegan said, and turned to go.
“Send him directly to the warlord,” Zorvut added, and the coldness in his voice startled him. “Let him know this one disrespects his judgment.”
The two guards looked at each other, their faces inscrutable beneath their helmets, then one nodded. “We will,” he answered. Seemingly satisfied, Zorvut turned back to Taegan and followed him once more.
Taegan’s heart still pounded in his chest as they walked back to the castle, but he could sense no such adrenaline coming from Zorvut. Maybe, he reflected, he still did not understand the orc as well as he thought he might.
Chapter Five
MuchtoTaegan’schagrin,Zorvut still slept on the floor that night, but this time he did not try to talk the orc out of it. In the morning, he was alone again in his room, and met Zorvut in the dining hall for breakfast.
Most of the visiting elven nobles had taken their leave the previous evening, and the orc procession was leaving the city today. They would see them off from the courtyard in the afternoon—Taegan hoped he’d be able to get a decent shirt fitted for Zorvut before then, although he couldn’t expect much more than that.
After breakfast, he brought Zorvut to his tailor—the elder elf seemed completely unfazed by him, though Taegan felt quite sure this was probably the first time he had been up close and personal with an orc. He watched as Zorvut removed his plain shirt and the tailor, Elgan, began to drape a soft cloth over him to create a pattern, pinning and marking it with deft, expert hands. After a moment of watching the orc’s muscles ripple through the thin fabric, he could feel a tinge of embarrassment leaching through the bond at the same moment Elgan began to wave him away.
“Please, my prince, no need to keep watch,” he said, though his eyes remained trained on Zorvut. “I’ll be sure he’s sent to you in the courtyard at the appointed time.”
“Thank you, Elgan,” Taegan said, and he turned to go. From the corner of his eye, he could just catch Zorvut watching him leave, but said nothing.
He had a few hours before they would be needed, so he caught up on some of his reading in the meantime. Occasionally he would feel faint flashes of Zorvut’s emotions through the bond, though it was not as strong when they were apart. A glimmer of surprise and appreciation, at around the time he had put away his book and started to dress, gave him the hope that maybe Elgan was able to whip up a decent shirt for him after all.
His suspicion was proven true when he arrived at the main courtyard, where both his father and Zorvut were already sitting. King Ruven was dressed in a fine, deep purple silk robe over an embroidered silvery tunic. Zorvut wore a new shirt—Taegan had expected something simple and plain in the short time frame Elgan had to work with, but the shirt was a deep burgundy with a faint shimmer that complemented Zorvut’s skin tone surprisingly well, a slight looseness in the sleeve that became tighter at the wrist and a plunging neckline loosely laced to help display his impressive musculature.
It was much more elegant than Taegan would have expected, a delicate balance between elven fashion and orcish practicality. His appreciation must have been quickly recognizable for Zorvut, who only met his gaze briefly, but Taegan could feel a now familiar, faint tingle of attraction coming from their bond in return.
He took a seat between Zorvut and his father. “It seems I’m late,” he said, but the king waved his hand dismissively.
