Page 102 of That’s My Orc, Tusk Off

“They know,” Traig said softly.

The scribe watched how we moved together, Traig steadying me without being asked, and how I reached up to straighten Amanda’s crown, and he was already there, supporting Fred’s weight so I didn’t have to hold it all.

“What do the thornsprig’s light patterns mean?” the scribe asked. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. Whenever I’ve seen them in the forest, their crowns are pale green or brown.”

“Pink means happiness,” Traig said.

“Orange means uncertainty,” I added. “Yellow is⁠—”

“Excitement,” we said together.

Fred grumbled louder. Amanda’s pink crown brightened.

We finished preparing breakfast with Fred floating between us and Amanda’s crown providing running commentary on everything we did.

Toast—yellow.

Coffee—more yellow when I added cream.

The way Traig’s hand lingered on my lower back when he reached past me for the eggs—solid pink that didn’t fade.

Fred grumbled through it all.

We sat at the table and ate, savoring the meal.

“What side of the bed does she prefer?” the scribe asked the second I’d laid my fork down to show I was finished.

Traig’s teacup paused halfway to his mouth.

“The right side,” he said.

“Why?”

His jaw shifted. “I’m not sure. That’s just…where she sleeps.”

“You chose the left?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Silence stretched between the question and any possible answer.

“It’s closer to the door,” Traig said. “If something came through, I’d be between her and it.”

I couldn’t focus on anything but Traig. He’d positioned himself between me and danger without thinking about it. Without being asked.

“What’s the first thing she does every morning?” the scribe asked.

“After getting ready? She makes coffee,” Traig said. “She always drinks two cups.”

“I mean before coffee.”

Traig’s expression went carefully blank. “I don’t⁠—”

“You share a bed,” the scribe said. “You wake together. What does she do first?”

“She—” Traig looked at me, and a touch of vulnerability crossed his face. “I don’t know exactly.”