Page 28 of The Orc's Protection
“Enough!” Vraag’s command is quiet but absolute. Even Grulk falls silent. “This conversation dishonors us all.”
Marga materializes at Grulk’s side, taking his arm firmly. “My brother forgets himself,” she says smoothly. “We have old friends to greet.”
She leads a still-grinning Grulk away, leaving us in a bubble of awkward silence. The ambient noise of the gathering seems suddenly distant compared to my thundering heart.
“Vraag,” I say carefully. “You need to explain yourself.”
Vraag looks as uncomfortable as I’ve ever seen him, his usual stoic expression replaced with something remarkably like embarrassment.
“StoneWatch tradition holds that offering personal protection garments carries specific meaning,” he finally says, eyes fixed somewhere above my head. “Especially when the garment bears clan scent markers.”
“Scent markers? You mean that cedar and spice smell?”
He nods stiffly. “Ritual oils applied to all personal items. Identifies clan affiliation and… individual claim.”
The implications slowly crystalize. “So, when you gave me your poncho, and then your coat…”
“In traditional interpretation, it would signal a protective claim,” he confirms, finally meeting my eyes. “An invitation to consider formal courtship.”
And suddenly, nothing about the last few weeks feels accidental anymore. It feels as though I’ve stepped onto ground that’s already shifting beneath me. My first instinct is a familiar one—the pull toward distance, toward the exit, toward the version of myself that doesn’t need anyone’s coat. I notice it. I don’t move.
Chapter Eleven
Riona
The gathering keeps moving around us—drums easing into a slower rhythm, orcs drifting toward the food tables, the ceremony folding into celebration. Vraag is very still beside me. He’s waiting, I realize. For whatever comes next.
“Were you ever planning to tell me?” I ask, aiming for lightness, though my heart is hammering.
“I wanted to be sure my feelings would be welcome before I gave them weight,” he says, genuine distress etched across his face. “I did not want to damage what we have by moving too quickly.”
“So instead, you just…” I gesture vaguely between us. “…let me walk around in your protective claim without knowing that every orc here had a preconceived notion about us being a couple?”
He doesn’t answer. There’s nothing to say.
The laugh that comes out of me has an edge to it. “You made a decision about me. Without telling me. And then you let me keep making it, every time I accepted something from you, every time I wore what you gave me.” I stop. The thing I’m feeling isn’t just embarrassment—it’s older than that, and it has a shape I recognize. My father never asked either. He just arranged things and called it love. “I have spent a very long time making sure no one does that to me.”
Vraag is very still. He doesn’t flinch from it.
“You’re right,” he says quietly.
The silence sits between us. I let it.
Then I take a breath and check in with myself—past the anger, past the fear—and find what’s actually there underneath.
“I’m not asking you to take it back,” I say finally. “I’m asking you to never do it again.”
His shoulders ease, just slightly. “You have my word.”
“Then no. I’m not angry.” I pause. “Although, I’m a little embarrassed to be the last to know.”
Something happens to his face. It’s subtle, Vraag is always subtle, but I catch it. The careful stillness he maintains like armor shifts, just slightly, and underneath it is something thatlooks almost like relief. And beneath the relief, something warmer.
He exhales once, slow and controlled, like a male who has been holding something for a long time and has just been given permission to set it down.
When he speaks again, his voice is quieter. More careful. As if the words matter more now.
“The traditional response would be to either return the clan token immediately if the attention is unwelcome,” he says, “or…”
