Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 29324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Now, half of my guards sneak off between shifts to “study history” or “research tactics.” Hell, even Gavric has been spotted in there, helmet and all, reading up on human war strategy. We hit the place at least three times a week. Nobody wants to admit it, but the library is now the heart of the settlement. The place is packed every evening. Orcs file in, snatching up manuals on siege tactics or cookbooks or even the trashy romance novels Brielle stocks on the upper shelves.
I snort, unable to resist. “Are you pining for offspring? You should find a mate first.” My first officer has been quite vocal about his plans to remain unattached for eternity.
Gavric doesn’t dignify that with a response. He turns, boots grinding against the stone, and marches away, every step an indictment of someone’s incompetence.
Aric lets out a breath, then glances at me. “I’ll keep you updated on my nanny search.”
The baby chooses this moment to wail, a sound so shrill it nearly shatters the glass in the lanterns overhead. Aric bounces her expertly, murmuring nonsense syllables and stroking her head. She quiets, eventually, and stares up at him with sleepy adoration.
Fucking hell. Just looking at the two of them together makes my tusks ache. Aric, acting like some goddamn textbook dad, all gentle hands and patient humming, while the little larva-goblin grins up at him like he’s the goddamn sun. I swear, if another one of my guards catches me standing here like a sentimental idiot, I’ll make them eat their boots for breakfast.
I clear my throat, way louder than necessary. “Back to work, Aric. Some of us still have a settlement to run.” I stomp off, boots pounding the cobbles, pretending I don’t notice how my chest feels weirdly hollow for a second. Like something’s missing.
It’s not jealousy. I’d rather gut myself than get soft like that. But as I pass under the main archway, all I can picture is Aric’s arms wrapped tight around that tiny scrap of human, holding her like she’s the most precious thing in the world.
Chapter 2
Ella
I was hoping the infamous Arch Orc Settlement would be less intimidating in person, but I couldn't be more wrong. The main gate towers before me, carved from mottled granite the color of storm clouds, its surface etched with swirling runes that seem to shimmer with an inner light. It stands at least twice the height of a city bus, and it's not even the largest arch in sight—just the entry-level intimidation, like the opening act at a rock concert where the bouncer's got veiny tree-trunk arms, a jaw that could crack walnuts, and a strict no-smiles policy enforced by tusks that gleam like polished ivory daggers.
I have to crane my neck to see the top. The stone is not just carved but sculpted, every block fitted so precisely it looks like the arch is growing out of the valley wall. The gates themselves are open, but the six Orc guards standing in front of them look like they’d rather drag them shut than let in any suspicious humans. Spoiler alert: I am a very suspicious human. My hair, for one thing, is a beacon. I can feel every set of eyes on me as I wait at the threshold, the only redhead for miles, clutching my purse so tightly the faux leather threatens to split.
The first guard to actually acknowledge me does it with a slow, exaggerated blink, as if I’m some species of slow-moving fauna. “Name?” he grunts. I hold my breath, hoping to sound confident, even when my knees are two seconds from knocking together.
“Ella Blume. I have an appointment with—” I squint at my phone, then back up at the guard. “—Aric Arch.”
The orc grunts again, less like a person and more like an industrial meat grinder. He mutters something in guttural Orcish, and the others relax their death stares by maybe half a percent. Progress. A little.
A shadow falls over me, and I turn to see another Orc approaching—this one not in the olive uniform of the guards, but in a tidy button-down shirt and pressed slacks that make him look more like a high-end bodyguard than anything else. The first thing I notice is his height. The second is the baby strapped to his chest, snoozing in a purple and gray sling that somehow fits him perfectly, like it was tailored for a linebacker.
“Miss Blume?” His voice is a full octave deeper than any I’ve heard in real life, but there’s a gentleness to the edges. His tusks are neat, the left one chipped at the tip, and his black hair is cut military short. “Welcome. I’m Aric Arch.”
He offers a hand the size of a snow shovel. I hesitate just long enough to look like an idiot, then shake it. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Arch.” He’s warm, not clammy at all. The baby in the sling stirs, and Aric’s whole demeanor shifts; he goes from stone wall to soft clay in a heartbeat, all his attention instantly on the squirming bundle.