Chapter 27: A Gentle Embrace

The day continued in this bizarre, domestic rhythm.

At some point, Valkar ventured deep into the cave and took a quick bath in the hot spring.

His mother Zura always told him that a clean body leads to... well, saving your life.

Normally, orcs tend to have a naturally strong odor, and they didn't care much about hygiene.

However, when Valkar's people got teleported to this land, everything changed.

The orcs may be stupid, but their battle instincts were on another level, and after losing thousands of their brethren to pretty much anything that moved, they began to search for a way to get rid of their weakness.

Their body odor was a dead giveaway to any monster in a five-mile radius.

The orcs started to use the natural hot springs and the many aromatic herbs to keep themselves clean, to mask their scent. It became a new ritual, a new survival tactic in this unforgiving land.

Their bodies naturally mutated after 800 years of living in the Forgotten Lands; the glands that produced the strong orcish musk had shrunk to the point of near non-existence. The orcs of today didn't have a strong smell unless they were sweating heavily or in a state of rage.

So Valkar's bath wasn't about masking a scent, but a habit that Zura had drilled into him since he was a child. Furthermore, she also told him that most females, even orcesses, prefer a clean mate.

A lesson that proved to be very useful at the moment.

After his bath, he returned to the main chamber, steam still rising from his damp skin.

Sylvana slipped inside the moment she saw him. A hot bath was a luxury she thought she would never experience again. 

Elara, oblivious as ever, was still humming a happy elven tune while she grilled fresh bear meat over the fire.

The cave felt different now. It was warmer, not just from the fire, but from the strange, fragile sense of normalcy that had settled over them like a worn blanket.

Her dark hair was damp and clinging to her shoulders, her cheeks flushed pink from the heat of the spring. She had washed the dust of the goblin cave and the grime of the fall from her skin, and for the first time in two days she looked less like a hunted soldier and more like what she was: an elven noblewoman.

Valkar, who was turning the meat with a sharpened stick, glanced up.

And froze.

It lasted only a second, but Sylvana caught it. The stick stopped. The amber eyes lingered on her wet hair, her bare neck, the way her tunic clung a little too well to her shoulders.

"What?" she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Nothing," Valkar said, and went back to turning the meat. A bit too stiffly.

'Is he… embarrassed?' 

No. Impossible. This was an orc. A creature who had just announced his exploding testicles to two women like he was reporting the weather.

"Mister Orc, the meat is burning!" Elara cried. She waved her hands at the fire, where the edges of the bear steak were now blackening and curling.

Valkar cursed under his breath; he flipped it quickly. A little too quickly. One strip landed in the ashes. He picked it up, blew on it, and placed it back on the hot stone.

Elara watched him with the keen eyes of a child who notices everything and understands nothing. Then she looked at Sylvana, then back at Valkar, and tilted her head.

"Why are you both being weird?"

"We are not being weird," Sylvana said.

"We are not," Valkar agreed.

They had spoken at the same time, in exactly the same flat tone.

Elara decided it was best not to ask again and focused on the important thing.

"The meat is almost ready!" Elara announced, looking up with a proud grin. "I added some of those herbs Mister Orc found by the stream. He said they make it taste better!"

"Oh?" Sylvana raised an eyebrow. "You trust the orc's cooking advice?"

"He's been alive for who knows how long," Elara said with a shrug. "He must know something about food." 

"Orcs have survived in this land for eight centuries. We learned what is edible and what is poison the hard way." He paused, then added, "Usually by watching someone else eat it first." 

"That's... that's a horrible way to learn." Elara's face went a little pale.

"It is efficient."

For a moment, Sylvana simply stood there, letting the warmth wash over her.

'This is insane,' she thought. 'A princess, an orc, and a disgraced knight, playing house in a cave.'

But it was also... comfortable. In a way she hadn't felt since before the fall.

Dinner was quiet.

The bear meat was tough, smoky, and, by the standards of a royal table, barely edible. But after days of hunger, it tasted like a feast. Elara ate until her small belly was round, then curled up on the pile of hides Sylvana had arranged by the fire, her eyelids drooping.

"Sylvana…" she mumbled. "You don't have to carry everything alone, you know?"

Sylvana's heart gave a painful lurch. She smoothed the princess's golden hair back from her forehead.

"I know, Elara. Sleep now. We will talk tomorrow."

The princess was asleep before the last word left Sylvana's lips.

When she was sure the princess was deep in her slumber, Sylvana stood and locked her eyes with the orc. 

Valkar, understanding her silent message, gave a curt nod towards one of the dark passages.

"Back of the cave. There is another chamber. Smaller."

Sylvana's breath hitched. The reality of it, a solid, tangible thing, landed in her gut.

"Now?"

"The curse waits for no one," he said, his voice a low rumble. "The fire burns hotter now. The sun has set. My time is growing short."

She glanced at Elara, curled up and peaceful by the fire, her golden hair fanned out across the hides, a soft smile on her sleeping face. For a moment, Sylvana felt a fierce, protective ache that nearly brought her to her knees.

'I'm doing this for her,' she reminded herself. 'For us.'

She straightened her spine, squared her shoulders, and nodded.

"Lead the way."

... 

The smaller chamber was warm.

It was a narrow room carved into the rock behind the hot spring, its walls slick with condensation and its floor covered in a layer of old, dry moss. A single crack in the ceiling let in a sliver of moonlight, which fell across the stone like a silver blade.

Valkar set up another small fire pit, this one a simple circle of stones.

When he finished, he turned to face her.

"..."

"..."

The two of them stood in an awkward silence, neither of them sure how to proceed. This was their first night together, and neither of them was exactly an expert in the art of seduction.

Actually, Valkar did know how to do it; the goddess Ishtar gave him this knowledge when she 'fixed' his brain, granting him a human-like intelligence.

But knowing and doing are two different things.

"So," Sylvana said at last, her voice a little too bright. "How do your people… do this?"

"Do what?" Valkar blinked.

"This! The ritual. The, ah… courtship."

"Orcs do not have a ritual."

"…None at all?" 

"The male says he wants the female. The female says yes, or hits him with a club."

"And if she hits him with a club?"

"Then he knows she was not the one." He paused, then added, "Or he can challenge her in a fight, and if he wins, she has to submit."

"Truly romantic." Sylvana pinched the bridge of her nose.

"It is efficient."

"It is barbaric."

"It works."

She let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and realized, to her horror, that her shoulders were shaking. It was not fear. It was the absurdity of it all, the whole impossible week crashing down on her at once. A proud royal guard of the elven court, standing in a damp cave, about to 'negotiate' with an orc over…

Over the thing.

'Mother Tree, forgive me.'

Suddenly, a large, rough hand settled on her shoulder.

"!!!" She flinched hard, her head snapping up to glare at him, her violet eyes flashing with defiance. But before she could muster a word.

Valkar pulled her into a hug. 

The contact was shocking, not because of its force—it was gentle, almost tentative—but because of its sheer, overwhelming presence. His chest was a wall of hard muscle against her cheek, his arms like iron bands around her, yet they held a strange stillness. She could feel the steady, heavy beat of his heart through the thin fabric of her tunic. 

"Sylvana." Her name sounded strange in his deep voice.

"I do not want you to be afraid of me." He paused, the rumble of his chest vibrating through her. "The curse… it makes me… difficult. But I will not harm you."

For a moment she stood rigid in the circle of his arms, every instinct screaming to shove him away, to reclaim the space, the dignity, the control she had spent a lifetime perfecting. But she was exhausted, and surprisingly, she felt safe in his arms.

Then the fight drained out of her in a long, trembling exhale. Her forehead rested against the warm green skin of his chest.

"I am not afraid of you," she muttered into his sternum. "I am afraid of… this. Of what it means. Of what I am about to become."

Valkar's hand moved, slow and careful, up the length of her spine until his broad palm settled between her shoulder blades. The touch was almost reverent.

"You become my mate," he said simply. "Nothing more. Nothing less. The curse will quiet. You will live. The little one will live. That is all that matters tonight."

Sylvana pulled back just enough to look up at him. In the thin blade of moonlight, his amber eyes were steady, unblinking. There was no lust there. No triumphant gloating. Only a gentle urgency, the look of a man trying to hold back a flood.

"Your people truly have no… soft words for this?" she asked, voice quieter now.

"Soft words do not keep a tribe alive in the Forgotten Lands."