Serah's gaze catches mine across the compound. Something passes between us—recognition, longing, connection. Then her eyes slide to Kira standing beside me, to Kira's hand resting possessively on my forearm, and her expression shutters. The smile vanishes. She looks away, continuing her conversation with Lola like I don't exist.
That hurts more than it should.
"—your friend?"
I force my attention back to Kira. "What?"
"The human woman. Is she your friend?"
The question carries layers I'm not equipped to navigate. "Something like that."
Kira's expression turns speculative. "She's very pretty. Is she mated?"
My jaw tightens. "No."
"Interesting. My father mentioned your clan values human females for breeding purposes. She looks healthy enough."
The clinical assessment makes my hands curl into fists. Serah isn't livestock to be evaluated for breeding potential. She's?—
She's everything. And I have no claim to protect her with.
"Excuse me," I manage. "I need to check on something."
I leave Kira standing there, probably confused and offended, but I can't bring myself to care. I need to talk to Serah. Need to explain—what? That I'm being paraded around like prize breeding stock while the only person I actually want is slipping through my fingers?
I find her near the festival preparations, helping arrange supplies. Lola sees me coming and makes herself scarce with a knowing look.
"Serah."
She doesn't turn around. "Rakk."
"Can we talk?"
"I'm busy." Her tone is carefully neutral. "Shouldn't you be entertaining your guest?"
Jealousy. She's jealous. The realization shouldn't make me feel this surge of possessive satisfaction, but it does.
"Kira is Dad's political maneuvering, not my choice."
"Right." She finally turns to face me, and the careful blankness in her expression cuts deep. "Look, I get it. You're the Chieftain's son. You have responsibilities. You need to mate someone appropriate, make alliances, do whatever important orc stuff is expected. I'm not—I don't expect?—"
"Expect what?"
She swallows hard. "This has been fun. Really. But I understand it's temporary. I'm not stupid enough to think a human slave could ever be—" She stops herself. "I value our friendship. I don't want things to be weird."
Friendship.The word lands like a physical blow. Is that what she thinks this is? Just friendship and convenient sex?
Before I can respond, Kira appears at my elbow. She wraps her hand around my bicep, pressing close in a way that'sdefinitely possessive. "There you are! Your father wants us to join him for the opening ceremonies."
She doesn't acknowledge Serah's existence. Just claims my attention like she has every right to it.
Serah's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. Then that blank mask slides back into place. "I should get back to work. Enjoy your evening."
She walks away before I can find words to stop her. I watch her disappear into the gathering crowd, everything inside me screaming to follow. To grab her and demand she tell me the truth—that she feels this thing between us as intensely as I do. That it matters beyond friendship and temporary pleasure.
But Kira's hand is on my arm, Dad is gesturing impatiently from across the plaza, and duty wraps around my throat like a noose.
The festival isa blur of noise and obligation. I sit through the formal feast with Kira beside me, Dad on my other side radiating satisfaction. She keeps touching me—nothing inappropriate in public, but constant little contacts that stake claim. A hand on my shoulder. Fingers brushing mine when passing food. Her thigh pressing against mine under the table.
