Page 25 of The Orc's Protection
As Grulk and Marga move on to greet other guests, Vraag guides me through the offerings. “This is deer meat,” he explains, indicating a platter of dark meat. “These are parsnips with hints of garlic, a close approximation to our mountain tubers.”
He points to a cauldron emitting a rich, spicy aroma. “And this is thunder root stew.”
The reverence in his voice catches my attention. “The dish you mentioned before, your clan specialty.”
“Yes.” Something unreadable crosses his features. “I haven’t had anything prepared this way since the Emergence.”
The weight of that settles between us; not just the food, but everything it carries. “I’m glad the elders chose to make it tonight,” I say softly.
As he ladles generous portions onto our plates, I notice several orcs watching us with undisguised interest. Their gazes feel assessing rather than hostile, but their attention is unmistakable.
“Everyone’s staring,” I whisper as Vraag guides me to a quieter corner with high tables suited to standing rather than sitting.
“Your presence is unexpected,” he says, placing his plate beside mine. “Humans rarely attend clan gatherings, especially…” He hesitates.
“Especially what?”
“Especially accompanied by unbonded warriors,” he finishes, focusing intently on his food.
“Unbonded? You mean single?” I clarify, suddenly understanding the nature of the attention. “They think we’re… oh.” My first instinct is to dismiss the assumption entirely. The second is to acknowledge that it doesn’t feel wrong.
I look at him—really look, the way I’ve been carefully not doing all evening. The ceremonial clothes. All that gorgeous green skin I don’t get to see in his school uniform. The way he’s been positioning himself between me and the crowd all night without making a production of it. The way his hand finds my back so naturally it barely registers until it’s gone.
“Vraag.”
He glances up from his plate.
“Does it bother you? What they assume?”
Something moves through his expression, held in check, but not completely. His jaw tightens slightly. His gaze holds mine for a beat longer than is strictly neutral.
“No,” he says finally. The single word lands with the weight of something much larger behind it.
The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. It’s the kind that asks a question neither of us is quite ready to answer out loud.
“I apologize for any discomfort,” he says, his voice returning to its formal register. “Cultural misunderstandings are inevitable.”
“That’s not what that was,” I say quietly.
He doesn’t argue.
Chapter Ten
Riona
We eat in silence for a moment—not uncomfortable, but brimming with unspoken sentences and paragraphs. Around us, the gathering continues, voices rising and falling, drums shifting rhythm. Gradually, I become aware again of the glances. The small adjustments in posture when Vraag moves. The way space opens for him without being asked.
“There are certain traditions regarding guests at clan gatherings,” he says finally, his voice back in its careful register. “Your presence will be interpreted regardless of intention.”
I take a bite of the thunder root stew, partly to buy time to process his words. The flavor explodes across my tongue—earthy and spicy, with a deep umami base and something almost electric that makes my lips tingle pleasantly.
“This is incredible,” I murmur, genuinely impressed. “I’ve never tasted anything like it.”
Vraag watches my reaction with an intensity that makes my skin warm. “You enjoy it?”
“It’s amazing,” I confirm, taking another spoonful. “The spices are so complex, layered in a way I can’t quite pull apart. Like something my palate doesn’t have a word for yet.”
“The original has properties no Earth ingredient can replicate,” he says quietly.
