"That doesn't sound so bad," she says cautiously. "You're strong and smart, and your employees—your clan—they respect you."
"The trials are designed for Orcish clans. Warriors who have trained their entire lives in our ways, who understand our traditions and can participate in the rituals. Your colleagues—they are brilliant and capable, but they know nothing of Orcish culture. They will not understand what is expected of them."
Cypress's eyes narrow with the familiar determination I have come to love. "Then we'll teach them. We have three days, right? That's seventy-two hours to turn a bunch of accountants and analysts into honorary Orcs."
"It is not that simple. The Council will be looking for any excuse to declare the clan illegitimate. If even one of your colleagues fails to show proper respect, if anyone breaks protocol or offends the elders..."
"Then we won't let that happen." She squeezes my hands firmly, her jaw set with stubborn resolve. "We just defeated a corporate coup and sent a billionaire to prison. We can handle a bunch of grumpy old Orcs with too much free time."
Despite my worry, I feel a smile tugging at my lips. Her courage never fails to astonish me, this tiny human who faces every challenge with the ferocity of a berserker and the cunning of a master strategist. She does not truly understand what we are facing, does not grasp the full weight of Orcish tradition and the Council's power, but her faith in our ability to overcome any obstacle is infectious.
"There is another concern," I say slowly, knowing I must tell her the full truth. "The Council mentioned our bond. If they determine that my claiming of you was improper, or that our relationship weakens my position as warchief, they may demand that I set you aside."
Cypress goes very still. "Set me aside?"
"Renounce our bond. Declare the claiming invalid." The words taste like ash in my mouth. "They could make it a condition of accepting my leadership—prove your dedication to the clan by removing this distraction."
Her hands tighten on mine until her knuckles turn white. "And what would you do? If they demanded that?"
I meet her eyes, letting her see the absolute certainty in my heart. "I would tell the Council to rot in the deepest pits of theunderworld and burn their precious traditions to ash. You are my mate, my partner, my equal in all things. No council of dusty elders will ever convince me to abandon you."
The tension in her shoulders eases slightly, though worry still clouds her expression. "But then they'd strip your titles. Take the company. Everything we fought for would be gone."
"Better to lose everything than to lose you." I cup her face in my hands, tilting her chin up so she cannot look away from the truth in my eyes. "This is not negotiable, my valkyrie. The Council can demand whatever they wish, but they cannot make me betray my heart. If they refuse to accept our bond, then I will walk away from Orcish tradition entirely and build a new legacy with you at my side."
Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, but she's steady when she speaks. "Let's not give up on tradition just yet. We have three days to prepare for a ritualistic presentation, and I have never failed to prepare adequately for an important meeting in my career." A smile crosses her face. "If the Council wants proof of your worthiness, we'll give them a presentation they'll never forget."
I pull her into my arms, pressing my face into her hair and breathing in the scent that has become more precious to me than gold or glory. Three days. We have three days to prepare for a trial that could destroy everything we have built, everything we have become to each other.
The scroll lies forgotten on the boardroom table, its demands and threats rendered meaningless by the simple truth of what I hold in my arms. Let the Council come. Let them test us. They will find that the bond between an Orc warchief and his human mate is stronger than any tradition they can conjure.
17
CYPRESS
The scroll's demands echo through my mind like a war drum as I observe the ancient parchment spread across Knox's mahogany desk. Three days to prepare a comprehensive presentation of financial dominance, strategic conquests, and clan worthiness for a council of Orcish elders who apparently consider corporate acquisitions to be a legitimate form of ritual combat. My tablet is already open to a fresh document, three different colored highlighters lined up beside it like soldiers awaiting deployment, and my coffee has long since gone cold because I've been too focused to drink it.
"The Council requires proof of tributary acquisition. They will want to see the conquered territories mapped out, the resources flowing into clan coffers documented with absolute precision, and the defeated enemies catalogued by name and net worth. In the old days, this would have been measured in cattle and grain stores and the severed heads of rival chieftains displayed on pikes. Now it must be translated into quarterly earnings reports and market share percentages."
"So essentially, they want a really impressive investor presentation, except instead of trying to secure funding, we'retrying to prove you deserve to keep breathing and leading a clan of humans who had no idea they were being conquered in the first place." My highlighter hovers over a particularly dense paragraph of requirements. "This section here mentions something about 'the ritual display of strategic superiority.' What exactly does that entail?"
Knox stops pacing and leans over my shoulder, his breath warm against my ear as he reads the passage I've indicated. The proximity sends a familiar shiver down my spine, but I force myself to focus on the task at hand rather than the solid wall of muscle pressing against my back. "The display must demonstrate that our financial conquests were achieved through cunning, strength, and the complete domination of inferior opponents. The elders wish to see that I have not grown soft in this realm of paper and coin, that I still possess the warrior's instinct even when the battlefield has shifted from blood-soaked fields to boardroom negotiations."
"Right. So we need to make our hostile takeover look as brutal and impressive as possible while simultaneously showing that we've turned a profit." I grab my tablet and start creating a new folder structure, my mind already racing through the data we'll need to compile. "I can work with that. We have all the documentation from the initial acquisition, the counter-strategies we deployed against the rival firm, the vendor negotiations, the gala client win, and of course the forensic evidence that sent Victor Ashworth to prison. If we frame it properly, this is actually a pretty compelling narrative of corporate warfare."
"You speak of narrative as though this were merely a story to be told. The Council will not be satisfied with pretty words and clever framing, my valkyrie. They will demand proof—hard numbers, undeniable evidence of financial bloodshed, themathematical corpses of our defeated enemies laid bare before their judgment."
I twist in my chair to look up at him, a smile tugging at my lips despite the stress of the situation. "Knox, I'm an accountant. Hard numbers and mathematical corpses are literally my entire professional identity. Just tell me exactly what format the Council expects, and I will build you a spreadsheet so beautiful, so comprehensive, so absolutely devastating in its precision that those elders will weep tears of joy and immediately start taking notes." I pause, considering. "Do Orcs weep tears of joy? Is that a thing that happens?"
“It has been known to occur in moments of great glory. My grandmother famously wept when my father presented his first successful raid report to the clan council. She claimed the formatting of his tributary calculations reminded her of the old songs."
"Then I'm going to make your grandmother's formatting look like a child's finger painting." I turn back to my tablet with renewed determination, pulling up the company's complete financial records from the past three months. "Let's start with the initial conquest. When you literally broke down the boardroom door—which, by the way, we never did get around to billing for the repairs on that—what was the company's exact valuation at that moment?"
What follows is the most intense seventy-two hours of my professional life, and considering I once pulled three consecutive all-nighters to rescue a client's books from a catastrophic accounting software failure, that's saying something. Knox and I work around the clock, pausing only for food, brief naps on the office couch, and occasional moments of stress relief that leave my carefully organized documents scattered across the floor and require significant reorganization afterward. He explains the intricate requirements of Orcishfinancial presentation while I translate those requirements into the cleanest, most visually striking spreadsheets I have ever created.
The final product is a masterpiece of data visualization and strategic storytelling. Every acquisition is mapped on an interactive timeline that resembles ancient battle formations, with color-coded arrows showing the flow of resources from defeated competitors into our growing empire. The vendor negotiations are presented as successful diplomatic sieges, complete with before-and-after profit margins that demonstrate the superior terms we extracted through a combination of intellectual prowess and physical intimidation. The takedown of Victor Ashworth occupies an entire section devoted to "the ritual vanquishing of dishonorable enemies," with his embezzlement schemes laid out in meticulous detail and his subsequent arrest framed as the ultimate victory of strategic justice over cowardly betrayal.
"This column here shows the projected five-year growth trajectory," I explain, pointing to a particularly elegant series of calculations as Knox reviews the presentation on the conference room's screen. "I've cross-referenced it with industry benchmarks and historical performance data to demonstrate that our current strategy positions the company for market dominance within eighteen months. The elders wanted proof of sustainable conquest, so I've included scenario modeling for three different economic conditions—recession, stability, and growth—showing that we maintain profitability under all circumstances."
