Page 10 of Ella’s Obsessive Orc

He steps closer and gestures, palm up. “Allow me to show you the best vantage. If you’re not in a hurry.”

I hesitate, but he’s already moving toward the central fountain, a spiral of basalt and bioluminescent rock that rises in three tiers. I catch up, partly because I’m curious, partly because the crowd is thick, and he clears a path just by existing. He guides me to the fountain’s edge, and suddenly the whole market comes into view. I stare down at the concentric circles of stalls, the ever-moving tide of buyers and sellers, the way the moss light picks out the seams in the ancient stones. It’s… spectacular. Inhuman, but spectacular.

“Do you miss your human city?” he asks, quietly.

I flinch. The answer is complicated, so I just say, “Sometimes. But it never felt like home.”

He nods as if I’ve passed a test I didn’t know I was taking. “You’re braver than most. Aric chose well.”

The compliment is strange, and I sense I’m doing something wrong, but I have no idea what. “Thank you,” I mutter.

Kael leans in, his voice smooth and creepy at the same time. “If you ever need guidance on our customs, you have but to ask. Integration is difficult, especially for someone so… visible.”

I bristle but try to keep it light. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Not happening. Something about this Orc makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

Suddenly, there’s a hardness behind his words. “You’re a challenge. Some admire this.” His eyes flick over me. “Some do not.”

He is so close that I can see the fine, silver lines of scar tissue crisscrossing his knuckles, the way his eyes flick from my face to my hands and back, always searching. My internal radar pings out a warning, and I’m searching for an escape route when he straightens and steps back, formal again. “Thank you for entertaining an old Orc’s rambling. I must return to Council business. Please, enjoy your market day, Miss Blume.”

He leaves me with a tiny nod and blends into the crowd with predatory smoothness. The moment he’s gone, I feel my lungs expand for the first time in five minutes. I rub at the back of my neck like I can erase the weird energy Kael left behind. Time to bail.

I cut through the far side of the square, bag thumping against my thigh, tunnel-visioned on the shortcut to Aric’s place. The residential arches stretch ahead, all glowing moss and echoing footsteps. I keep my head down and power-walk, not stopping for the next round of vendors.

The shortcut runs behind the training courtyard, and the second I step into its shadow, I feel the market’s noise vanish. It’s just stone, sunlight, and the faint chemical tang of metal polish.

I take the stairs two at a time and don’t slow down until I see Aric’s home up ahead. I exhale, adjust my shirt, and nearly trip over Oren Arch.

He’s pacing the front porch, back and forth, boots grinding stone like he’s trying to wear a trench into the world. His arms are folded, chest heaving with breaths I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want anyone to notice. When he sees me, he stops suddenly and stares at me.

He’s holding flowers. The bouquet is a gorgeous explosion of color that should look ridiculous in Oren’s mitt, except it doesn't. Wildflowers tangle with lush red and pink roses, the stems carefully arranged in a green crystal vase that shimmers in the porch light. It’s not delicate, it’s powerful. Like Oren himself.

My freaking crazy day just took a turn to the Twilight Zone. My brain short-circuits. No guy has ever brought me flowers before, let alone a seven-foot brick wall of Orc muscle who looks like he could bench-press my Civic. The bouquet is so big it almost swallows his hand, but he’s holding it with this ridiculous, careful gentleness, like it’s something sacred.

I’m officially knocked on my ass. He shoves them toward me like a challenge.

I take them automatically, because what else does one do when handed a botanical battering ram by a seven-foot warlord?

“Uh,” I say, because words are apparently optional now.

He grunts, looking even greener around the gills. “For you. I am told this is the appropriate… gesture.”

I stare at the flowers, then at him. Oren Arch, heir to the biggest Orc settlement in the country, is sweating over a fistful of plants. He looks anywhere but at my face.

“I—thank you,” I manage, searching for the right script. “They’re… wow. Is this, like, an Orcish tradition, or⁠—?”

He cuts me off, voice low and urgent. “Human mating ritual. According to research, it is customary for a male to bring the female flowers to signify intent.” He glances at the bouquet like it’s a ticking bomb. “I don’t understand the logic. Flowers die quickly. Seems inefficient.”

I clamp my lips together to stop a giggle, but a strangled noise escapes anyway. “You Googled how to court a human, didn’t you?”

His ears turn a darker green, which I suspect is the Orc version of blushing. “I consulted several sources.”

The silence stretches. I realize he’s waiting for a verdict, so I hold the bouquet up to my face and inhale the sweet scent. It’s not just the roses, but there’s something clean and wild about it, like walking into a thunderstorm.

“They’re lovely,” I say.

He nods, visibly relieved, then clears his throat. “Would you like to walk with me? The forest behind the house is—” He pauses, searching for words. “—less crowded.”

I clutch the flowers closer. My first impulse is to jump his bones. There’s something in his eyes I can’t read, and it tugs at me like a loose thread.