Lola's expression turns pained. "It's complicated."
"Uncomplicate it."
She sighs, setting down the herbs she was sorting. "Human women are rare in northern clans. Orc females are even rarer—their bodies aren't built for easy childbirth. We lose mothers regularly. So yes, unmated human women are seen as valuable for breeding purposes. Most do end up taking mates, willingly or through arrangement."
The room tilts. "Arrangement. You mean forced."
"Not always. Sometimes it's practical—accepting a mate offers protection, status, security. But—" She meets my eyes. "Yes. Sometimes females don't have much choice in the matter. Especially if they're seen as clan resources."
My hands clench into fists. Of course. Of course I can't just exist here peacefully. Of course my body is still currency to be traded, still seen as something to be used for others' purposes. Different cage, same fundamental reality.
"But you and Kaelen?—"
"We chose each other. I was given the option to choose one mate because of my years of service to the clan." She touches my hand. "Zurkar's protection means something. So does working as an apprentice. You have more agency than most human women would."
More agency.Not actual agency. Just slightly better than the alternative.
"What about Rakk?" The question escapes before I can stop it. "If he—if we?—"
Understanding dawns in Lola's expression. "If Rakk claimed you as his mate, you'd be untouchable. The Chieftain's son mating a human would be unusual but not unheard of. No one would dare challenge it."
Hope flares bright and desperate. Then crashes against reality. Because Rakk hasn't mentioned mating. Hasn't talked about claiming me or making this official. We're just—what? Having fun by the river? Enjoying each other's company?
Maybe that's all this is to him. A pleasant diversion before he accepts one of those political alliances his father keeps pushing.
"Don't spiral," Lola says softly. "Talk to him. Be honest about what you want and what you're afraid of."
I nod, but the words stick in my throat. Because what if I ask and he confirms my worst fears? What if this fragile happiness shatters the moment I demand definition?
Better to hold onto what I have. Enjoy these stolen moments. Pretend that love and choice and safety are possible for someone like me.
That night,Rakk meets me by the river like always. He grins when he sees me, that beautiful unguarded smile that makes my chest ache. "Miss me?"
"Always." I try to match his lightness, but the conversation with the older females sits heavy on my shoulders.
He notices immediately, expression shifting. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Just tired." The lie tastes bitter.
He studies me for a long moment. Then he pulls me into his arms, tucking my head under his chin. "You're a terrible liar."
I want to tell him. Want to demand answers about what this is between us, where it's going, if he sees me as anything more than temporary pleasure. But the words won't come. Because asking means risking the answer, and I'm not brave enough for that particular truth.
So instead I kiss him. Pour all my fear and desperation and need into it until we're tearing at each other's clothes and he's pressing me into the grass, and I can forget about fertility tonics and speculating warriors and the fundamental vulnerability of my position.
He makes love to me slowly, thoroughly, like he's trying to memorize every inch. Like this matters beyond just physical release. When I come apart beneath him, crying out his name, he follows with a groan that sounds like prayer.
Afterwards, we lie tangled together under the stars. His fingers trace idle patterns on my skin. I want to freeze this moment, live in it forever, never face the morning that will bring reality crashing back.
"Serah," he murmurs against my hair.
"Hmm?"
"I—" He pauses. "This is more than just sex for me. You know that, right?"
My heart clenches. "Yeah. Me too."
He tilts my face up to look at him. "I mean it. You're not—you're important.Thisis important."
