Wait.Wait. Had the orc had a… motive with this? Aplan?
Gwyn’s heartbeat kicked into speed, her breath catching in her throat — and the orc shot a furtive, betraying glance toward her face, and then away again. Purposefully away, almost as if he were…guilty?
“Y-you,” Gwyn began, her voice thick and hoarse. “You said you…”
But good gods, he hadn’t truly said anything, had he? He hadn’t answered a single one of her questions. He’d spouted that bit about her being quick and wise, yes, buthadit even been an answer? Or had it been yet another deflection, carefully calculated to help him gain his ends? To gain him — this? Whatever the hell this had been?
The orc’s head had slightly ducked, his shaggy hair hanging over his eyes, hiding him away. And that was on purpose too, he didn’twanther to suspect, to know — and before Gwyn could give voice to the thoughts now screaming through her skull, he’d slid his hands beneath her naked body, and effortlessly plucked her off the table. And then, with her in his arms, he strode off toward the bedroom, his gait smooth and easy, his body warm, close, powerful.
And gods, Gwyn wanted to sink into it, to drown in it. To believe that this truly had been about hungry lonely longing, about an inexplicable mutual understanding, about finding relief together in the night. About being known,seen, and yet still wanted, just as she was.Quick. Wise. Hungry…
But already the orc was placing her down onto her bed, his movements so careful, so controlled — and then the warm strength was gone, replaced by the feel of her heavy blanket settling over her. And when her hazy eyes blinked up toward him, he was looking back, his gaze very still, almost as if arrested on hers…
But then it was gone again, hidden behind the fall of his hair, guilty,guilty. And when Gwyn’s cursed hand somehow snapped from beneath the blanket, groping for him, he actually leapt backwards, swift and instinctive, his eyes still averted, his clawed hands clenching to fists.
Something brittle seemed to crack, deep in her chest, and there was an odd, quivering constriction in her throat. And good gods, she was not going to weep over an orc, and especially not while the orc dispassionately stood there and watched, and behaved as though this had meant nothing to him at all. As thoughshehad meant nothing.
“So — you got — all you wanted, then?” she heard herself say, her voice a rush of choked breath. “I won’t see you again?”
And it didn’t matter, it didn’t. Gwyn was betrothed to Royal Lindsay, and she was used to this rubbish, to the wash of beautiful soaring pleasure, to the inevitable crash of disappointment afterwards. It was always the same, and it was what she’d sought to escape in coming here — and now it had cornered her again, in the form of this arrogant, gods-forsaken orc.
And the orc wasn’t speaking. Wasn’t even about to give Gwyn the courtesy of a reply, let alone an explanation, or answers to all the questions still trampling through her thoughts. And before she could start sobbing — before she could betray to this distant, mocking orc the strength of what he’d done, what this had somehow been — she twisted around in the bed, facing away from him, yanking the blanket up to her face. Trying and failing to keep her breaths steady, to keep the prickling wetness from escaping her squeezed-shut eyes.
She needed to watch herself. To be smarter than he was. And that meant, she needed to face the truth that she’d just been brutally, thoroughly outmatched. That the orc had clearly had a motive, and a plan. That he’d obviously been spying on Gwyn. Targeting her. For a reason.
And when it came to reasons why an orc would be targeting a plant-obsessed midwife… well, there was only one.
“Was this — about my father, then?” Gwyn made her voice say, wooden and cracked. “You know he’s Lord Anton of Dunburg, I suppose?”
There was utter silence behind her, not even the sound of a breath. So quiet that she whipped around again in the bed, fully expecting the orc to have vanished entirely — but no. No. He was still standing there, his lean body perfectly still, his eyes fixed blankly to her face. To where — Gwyn wiped an angry hand at her wet cheek — she was trulyweeping, weeping over a horrid lying orc, curse her wasted life to hell and back.
“Get out,” she croaked, because it was all she could find, all she had left in the barrenness of this moment. “Leave me alone, and get the hell out of my life, forever.Now!”
And in that instant, it was as though the mask had slipped back across the orc’s too-still face. Replacing whatever that had been — surprise, guilt, regret? — with a cool, distant insolence. And if he immediately backed away from her, the movement absurdly graceful, why did Gwyn notice, why the hell did she care?
But part of her did, even now, because the orc was still facing her, and she belatedly realized that his trousers were still hanging down around his hips, his groin still fully visible in the dusky light. His grey length still jutting out slightly, still slick and shiny from what they’d just done — and when he put a deliberate hand to it, and slid up, Gwyn’s betraying gasp was still audible, enough to carry through the room.
And that was what this awful orc had wanted, what he’d expected, because he barked out a hard, triumphant laugh, and slowly, purposely, tucked himself away. Saying too much, too many things, and Gwyn’s swimming head couldn’t think, couldn’t bear it.
“Get the hell out,” she croaked again. “Go!”
And thank the gods, he spun on his heel and strode away, without a single look back. And when Gwyn heard the door slam shut behind him, she finally buried her face in her blanket, and wept.
7
It was another endless, sleepless night.
Gwyn tossed and turned in the bed, throwing the blanket off, yanking it back on again. Furiously shoving away the visions, the memories, the feel of that hot graceful body moving over her, that slick tongue tasting her, the heat of his growl.
You are sharp. Wise. Hungry…
But no.Hell, no. The orc had all but admitted it, he might as well have shouted it, hurled it out into the open between them. He’d come to Gwyn with a goal. A goal of seducing her… on account of herfather.
And gods, it didn’t take a genius to figure it out, did it? Because the shit her father had been stirring up lately hadeverythingto do with orcs. That damned law, those coerced terminations, those blatant targeted threats toward any women the orcs touched.
And now, Lord Anton’s only daughter had been compromised by an orc. And if she were to become pregnant with an orc’s child, she would be obliged to testify. To publicly humiliate her lord father, while the entire realm watched and laughed.
Or, perhaps more likely, the orc had expected Gwyn to run weeping to her lord father, and beg him to protect her, or change his awful new law. To weaken it, perhaps, or create loopholes that could then be fully exploited by others. To set a precedent that any affected women after her could follow. To find a way to save the orcs’ unborn sons.
