Page 52 of His Orc Lady
Owen jerks in place, his cheeks flushing pink, and a muscle ticks in his jaw. “You are a menace,” he growls. “I will remember this, don’t think I won’t.”
A shiver goes through me at his promise. “I will hold you to that.”
Before he can retaliate with more inappropriate touching, the door swings open again and Earna enters, followed by a train of younger orcs all carrying platters and pots of food. They set them on the tables, and Earna explains all the dishes to us, from boar roast and honey-glazed grouse to rosemary-scented potatoes, fennel-and-carrot salad, and of course, her delicious nut paste pastries.
When she bows and leaves, we all approach our seats at the table—but couples sit wherever they want, disregarding the seating plan completely. I stare at Orsha and her mate, who took the seats intended for Owen and me, and wonder if I should ask them to get up again. Then I catch Owen’s gaze from the other side of the table. He gives me a rueful smile and sits in the chair next to Willow, so I have no choice but to take the last remaining place close to Gorvor.
It’s a lovely meal, with delicious food and good conversation. I try not to stare too much at Owen, simply because I remember his wicked promise every time I do, and I don’t want my cousin getting wind of the fact that I’d much rather be in bed with Owen than at this dinner party. More and more, I feel like I’m only going through the motions, eating and laughing and listening to everyone’s stories, when all I want to do is finally talk to Owen and make things right.
Soon.
Every time our gazes meet, I try to tell him without words that I’m barely holding back from getting up, running to his side,and crawling into his lap, onlookers be damned. But he’s sitting next to Willow, who is still his superior, and he’d no doubt be embarrassed by such a display of emotion.
So I wait and cheer inwardly when the main portion of the meal is consumed and cleared away. I jump up and bring the pastries to the table in a simple attempt to speed things along to a point where we’ll be able to sneak away and leave everyone to celebrate without us.
Finally, Gorvor stands and lifts a hand, and the guests fall silent one by one, turning toward him.
“I have an announcement to make,” he begins. “A very good friend came to ask me a favor. He’s never once asked for anything, though he’s been at my side all these years, the most loyal companion an orc could wish for.”
I glance at Ozork. He’s staring down, his lips twisting wryly. Willow reaches for his hand, looking at him, her eyes bright. It’s clear she loves him already, and I’m so glad he’s found her.
“I invited you here tonight,” my cousin continues, “to celebrate a very special occasion and witness a small ceremony.”
Willow jerks in her seat, her eyes going round. I hide a smile at her reaction. What does she think will happen?
Gorvor steps away from his table, puts on his iron crown, and picks up some papers from his desk. I worked there this morning, but now, the setting seems much more official, what with the golden seal and his solemn expression.
“Ozork, son of Bram, will you come closer?”
Ozork stands and approaches the king. They clasp hands, then Gorvor releases him and asks him to kneel.
“I haven’t done this since before we left the old kingdom,” my cousin murmurs to Dawn. Then he faces Ozork again and says, “With this, I name you Lord Ozork, Duke of the Black Bear Clan.” He offers Ozork his hand and pulls him to his feet. “You’vealways been part of my court, friend, and giving you your due makes me very happy.”
As they lean over the papers to sign the deed and add the king’s seal, I glance at Owen, who’s grinning at me. He’s leaning back, his posture relaxed, but he tracks my every gesture with a focused, heated gaze. Willow, sitting next to him, seems too stunned for words, and she tugs Ozork closer to her, speaking quietly. I knew she’d appreciate his gesture. She is radiant, smiling at her mate, then accepting his gentle kiss.
The others move in to congratulate Ozork, and I wrap him in a hug, too, patting his back.
“I’m so happy for you,” I whisper. “She is lovely.”
“Aye, that she is. Your captain seems like a good man, too.” He pulls back and regards me seriously. “Don’t be afraid to ask for what you want, Mara.”
With that bit of wisdom, he releases me and turns to Vark and Hazel, who are next in line. I step to the side, needing to process what he just told me.
AmI afraid to ask for what I want?
Possibly. I’ve wanted to be useful and self-sufficient ever since I learned what happens to orcs who lose themselves like my mother did. I never wanted anyone to have as much power over me as my father had had over her, and with that in mind, I’d closed myself off and pushed away my fated mate, who still doesn’t know what exactly he means to me.
As if summoned by my thoughts, Owen appears by my side. He touches my elbow lightly and taps his boot lightly against mine. “Hello.”
His voice has a shiver of pleasure dancing up my spine.
“Hello,” I whisper. “Did you enjoy the ceremony?”
He leans in so his lips brush the sensitive tip of my ear. “I did. I’m glad I could be a part of the preparation.”
I step closer to him, just an inch or two. It wouldn’t seem like much to anyone watching us, but my hip touches his, my skirt brushing his pants.
“Mara…” He leans against me, and his warmth seeps into me. “You should be more careful, sweetheart. I’m two touches away from hauling you over my shoulder and right out this door.”