I was just too desperate for connection to see it clearly.
"The mating will happen in three days," he says quietly. "That's tradition after a public claiming. I wanted you to hear it from me first."
Three days. Not a question. Not a discussion. Just information about my own future delivered like weather reports.
I laugh again, the sound hollow and wrong. "Of course. Wouldn't want to break tradition."
"Serah, please?—"
"Get away from me, Rakk." I force the words out evenly. "I can't—I can't look at you right now."
He stands there for a long moment, backlit by the festival fires. His massive silhouette blocks out half the canyon. A reminder of exactly how small and powerless I am in comparison.
Finally, he turns and walks away. His footsteps fade into the distance, leaving me alone with the river's relentless whisper.
I sink back down onto the stones. The cold seeps through my clothes, grounding me in physical sensation. Real and immediate and blessedly uncomplicated.
My hand drifts to my stomach. The possibility that his words weren't entirely performative—that I might actually be pregnant—hadn't even occurred to me until this moment. We've been careful, mostly, but careful isn't guaranteed.
The thought should terrify me. Instead, I feel nothing. Just vast, yawning emptiness where hope used to live.
I don't returnto the women's quarters that night. I hide away so I don't have to see anyone. Can't face Lola's sympathy—who I'm sure will come to check on me—or anyone else's reactions. Instead, I stay by the river until the festival noise finally dies and the canyon settles into uneasy quiet.
When I finally drag myself back to the settlement, dawn is breaking. I slip into the women's quarters through the back entrance, hoping to avoid conversation.
Lola is waiting just inside. Her expression is gentle but firm. "Serah?—"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"I know, but?—"
"I said I don't want to talk about it." I push past her toward my sleeping area.
She catches my wrist. Not forcefully, just enough to make me pause. "He made a mistake. A huge one. But Rakk isn't—he's not what you're thinking right now."
"You don't know what I'm thinking."
"I know betrayal when I see it." Her voice softens. "I know what it feels like to have choices stolen. But I also know Rakk. He loves you, Serah. He's just—he's an idiot about showing it."
The wordlovehits like a gut punch. "He claimed breeding rights. That's not love. That's ownership."
"In orc culture, those things aren't?—"
"I'm not an orc." The words come out sharper than intended. "And he knows that. He knows exactly what autonomy means to me. What choice means after everything I've survived. And he still decided his protection was more important than my consent."
Lola's expression crumples with understanding. She releases my wrist. "I'm so sorry."
I don't have energy left for anger. Just exhaustion. "I need to sleep."
She nods and steps back. But as I'm walking away, she adds quietly, "The mating preparations begin today. Zurkar will want to speak with you about the ceremony."
Of course. Because my humiliation requires proper ritual framework.
I don't respond. Just escape to my sleeping area and pull the furs over my head, blocking out the gathering daylight and the whispered conversations starting throughout the women's quarters.
Sleep doesn't come. I lie there replaying every moment with Rakk, recontextualizing each tender gesture through the lens of last night's revelation. The way he always asked permission before touching me—ensuring cooperation from his future mate. The careful attention to my pleasure—securing emotional attachment. The secrets shared in darkness—gathering ammunition.
Except. Except.
