Page 31 of Ashes, Apples, & Amorous Orcs

"Draven? What in the⁠—"

"Isolde. Is she..." I stop, suddenly aware of how I must look. How I must smell. "I was supposed to..."

"Oh, honey." Maddie's expression shifts from alarm to something that looks suspiciously like pity. "She waited. Made roasted chicken with those little potatoes. Kept checking the window until well past nine."

The words hit harder than the wolf's claws. I lean against the doorframe, suddenly feeling every hour of the past two days.

"She's asleep now," Maddie continues, her voice gentle but firm.

"I had to track the beast that hurt Sarah. The moore wolf⁠—"

"I know." She holds up a hand. "I'll tell her you came by. That you explained." Her gaze travels over my injuries, the exhaustion written in every line of my body. "Get home, Ruk. Clean yourself up and get some rest."

The door closes with a soft click, leaving me alone on the porch with the weight of what I'd missed. The absence hits like a physical ache—sharper than my wounded arm, deeper than my bone-deep exhaustion.

CHAPTER 19

ISOLDE

The bakery's warmth hits my face as I push through the door, but it does nothing to thaw the chill that's settled in my chest since last night. The scent of fresh bread and cinnamon should be comforting—instead, it reminds me of the dinner I prepared and watched grow cold while staring out the window like some lovesick fool.

Calla sits at the corner table with a steaming mug, her dark hair pulled back in its usual neat style. She glances up from what appears to be proofs of the next newspaper edition, her sharp eyes taking in my appearance with the efficiency of someone trained to read situations quickly.

Maddie emerges from behind the counter, flour dusting her apron and concern creasing her brow. Her auburn curls escape their pins in wild spirals, as if she's been running her hands through them.

"Good morning, sweetheart."

The gentle sympathy in her voice makes my stomach clench. I move to the display case, studying the arrangement of pastries with more attention than they deserve.

"I need two of the honey cakes for Mrs. Henworth's tea service this afternoon."

"Of course, but⁠—"

"And I don't want to talk about it."

The words come out sharper than intended, cutting through the bakery's cozy atmosphere like a blade. Maddie's hands pause in their wrapping of the cakes, and even Calla looks up from her papers.

I force my shoulders to relax, modulating my tone. "Please. Whatever happened or didn't happen last night—I'm not discussing it."

Calla sets down her mug with deliberate care. "It'll get better. Once the gossip dies down eventually."

A bitter laugh escapes. "Right. Because The Whistle has been such a beacon of restraint lately."

The accusation hangs in the air like smoke from a badly tended fire. Calla's composed expression flickers, and she has the grace to look genuinely contrite.

"I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have let Jamie write that piece about the attack." She runs her fingers over the rim of her mug. "I was too distracted planning this vacation with Brakkor, and I should have known Jamie would do something particularly dramatic. It's part of his flair, but that doesn't excuse my oversight."

Maddie ties the bakery string around my package with unnecessary force. "It doesn't matter what the paper writes. It's really more about what the townspeople are talking about."

She glances toward the window, where Mrs. Penwhistle can be seen gesticulating wildly to a small cluster of women outside the haberdashery.

"Alma's been speaking about Vaelis and Draven, and this imaginary relationship they've conjured up." Maddie shakes her head, curls bouncing with the motion. "I'm not sure why Vaelis is so set on Draven when they're nothing alike."

"Because he's useful." The observation slips out before I can censor it, carrying more venom than I intended.

Both women turn to stare at me. Calla raises an eyebrow, while Maddie's expression shifts from sympathy to something more calculating.

I take the wrapped cakes from Maddie's hands, focusing on the neat brown paper rather than their faces. "Draven provides protection and status without requiring actual emotional investment. Perfect for someone who values appearances over substance."