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As the sweet child nestles in his arms, so tiny and precious against his gruff facade, something softens inside me. He is good with her, and infinitely patient. One does not expect it in an orc, yet nurturing comes naturally to him.
He will make a good father someday, and that brings a great rush of longing to the fore of my emotions.
And as we pass through the crowded streets, surrounded by our silent escort of orcs, I feel the dark undercurrents around us again. I had fooled myself into thinking that there was less danger here, but now I sense it at every turn.
The child is dangerous.
And innocent.
She is also a target for those who want to use her and those who want her dead.
ChapterTwo
Jasmine
The general whose home we reside in, along with Melody and Bard, is a huge green-skinned orc by the name of Edwin. He is not an unkind master. He is indulgent with the fairy child and she takes shameless advantage of it. My first impressions of the Blighten was that they were murderers and heathens. But as I submerge myself in their world, I see that they are not all the same. And even though I’m kept as a bondservant, I’m not treated cruelly.
Yet I keep in mind that this time, too, shall pass, as all times do. I cannot forget the execution of those who fled during the bear attack. How they were put on their knees and had their throats slit. Nor can I forget the destruction of my home and village, the death of my parents and neighbors, and how children like me were taken away.
Nor can I dismiss the danger I sense surrounding Melody and the monstrous capabilities in her innocent hands.
Yet, for the sake of my sanity, I must find ways to let these worries go. I am able to do that each night when, after I help Bard to put Melody to bed, Doug and I are given leave to retire.
Our quarters are in the back of the general’s sprawling house. We have a tiny room just off a stable block. Beside it are storerooms and then the barracks where the general’s private guards sleep. It is a long, narrow room with whitewashed walls, a wooden floor, and a single straw mattress that takes up most of the space. There is a pitcher and basin on a small table where I wash up. The door is rickety and old, and there is not a single window. But as the door closes on us at the end of the day, the sense of intimacy wraps around us.
When you’re a bondservant, you do not have your own time, yet these moments, when our duties are done, and we may rest for the night, are a form of freedom for my mind.
Tonight, a tear trickles down my cheek as Doug rattles the rickety door into the jamb and turns back to me. He instantly stills, then steps forward and raises his hand to sweep my hair back from my face. On the outside, he looks nothing less than a vicious brute, and if I should have met him on the street of Krug without knowing him, I would assume as much. Inside, he is sensitive… So, although he is also wicked with his attention, and will not let me touch him in return… I admit to feeling the beginnings of love.
He brushes the tears from my cheek and searches my eyes.
“It is nothing,” I say.
It is assuredly something if you are crying,his grunt seems to say.
It is funny how he portrays much with no more than a look, grunt, or huff.
“There is no easy way to become a bondservant,” I say, reflectively, trying to let him know where my thoughts have led me. “I was taken from my village as a child. My parents were killed and left dead on the ground in front of our home. The orcs took me and the other children of my village to one of their outposts. There I stayed, for many years, tending to the children who were taken from their homes and families before they were moved on to other places as bondservants to orcs.”
I’m aware of his stillness, of how he listens intently to what I say. “I love these times when we are together like this. When I feel you touch me. When you bring me pleasure. For this brief time, I can pretend that I am free.”
His face softens. He brushes my hair back behind my ear. His hands are enormous, calloused, and easily twice the size of mine, yet he is so gentle with them.
“Can I touch you?” I blurt out.
He takes his hands away and scowls at me.
I dash a tear from my cheeks. “I don’t like that you won’t let me touch you. Do you not like human lasses in that way?”
He scrubs at his brow, looking exasperated.
“I don’t understand,” I say. “Why won’t you let me touch you?”
He looks toward the door like he is about to make a bolt for it. As has happened often of late, and without my conscious permission, my eyes lower to the thick bulge that tents his hide pants: long and girthy, it passes a goodly way down his leg. I am fascinated by it, by how monstrous it is. I have no idea how it might fit within me. It ought to terrify me, but it is part of Doug, and there is nothing about him that terrifies me anymore.
The more time I spend among the Blighten, the more I see that not all orcs are bad. Some, for certain, are wicked and cruel. But many of them are no different to me, caught up in something bigger, beyond their control. We are none of us masters of our own destiny. We are all just dandelion seeds floating in the wind.
“If you don’t mate me, then we are not together properly.” I sound combative, but I won’t take it back. “I want to touch you—to tend you. I want to give you pleasure in the way that you give it to me.”
