Page 67 of The Orc's Protection
The silver yields—not to force, but to shared heat. His. Mine. The metal responding to both of us. Only when it softens does he move, pressing gently, carefully, shaping the band so it conforms perfectly to my wrist.
No hurry. No pressure.
Only patience.
When he releases me, the band rests exactly where it belongs. Only the slightest gap remains.
For a heartbeat, I can only stare.
The gathered circle exhales as one—not applause, but acknowledgment. A murmur moves through the orcs present, subtle and reverent. Something in the space reorients itself, like a compass settling.
Elder Korgath steps forward again, and I feel her gaze settle on me with the weight of assessment. Her eyes flick to my throat—to the mark Vraag left there, still tender, unmistakably fresh—before returning to my face. Something shifts in her expression. Not surprise. Recognition, maybe. And beneath it, the faintest hint of approval.
“Riona Walker,” she says, her gaze steady and kind. “Do you accept this bond of intent, witnessed and recognized?”
I lift my wrist, feeling the warmth of the silver against my skin.
“I do,” my voice rings out clear. “I choose him.”
Elder Korgath inclines her head. “Then it is witnessed.”
The gathering begins to loosen, quiet conversations resuming at the edges of the circle, but Vraag doesn’t move away. He remainsbeside me, his hand hovering near my wrist—not claiming, not restraining. Simply there.
“You alright?” he asks softly.
I look at him—the strength he no longer hides, the care he never withholds, the steadiness of a male who chose me without reservation.
“More than alright,” I say, my voice thick with wonder. “For a long time, I didn’t let myself dream something like this. I didn’t think it was possible to have both—to be held and still be whole.” The realization lands hard. “I was wrong.”
His mouth curves, just slightly. Relief. Pride. Something fierce and tender all at once.
The fire crackles. Winter breath curls around us. The silver rests warm against my pulse.
I don’t feel owned.
I feel chosen.
And standing here, witnessed and welcomed, I know this bond hasn’t taken anything from me.
It has given me a place to stand—without asking me to disappear.
Epilogue
Fivemonthslater…
Riona
By April, the land has softened.
The sharp edge of winter is gone, replaced by warmth that lingers even as the sun lowers. Grass has pushed through in uneven patches, green and stubborn. The air smells of earth and smoke and whatever has been cooking since early afternoon.
This is home now.
I move through the space without thinking about it anymore.
That still startles me sometimes, how natural it feels now. Not careful. Not tentative. Just… lived-in. I know where the benchesare stored. I know which table wobbles unless you brace it with your foot. I know which voices belong together and which will inevitably drift toward argument before dissolving into laughter.
And I know where Vraag is.
