5. Drakar

“Drakar! Over here!” Thrak raises his glass into the air, pulling my attention to one corner of the dimly lit lounge.

The sounds of casual chatter and the clinking of glasses fill the laid-back atmosphere as I stride over, pleased to find that he’s already ordered me a drink.

I reach the table to find him grinning like a kid with a secret. “Hey, there,” I greet him, sliding into the seat he”s kept warm for me.

Thrak slides the drink my way, a playful glint in his eye. “I took the liberty of ordering for you,” he says with a wink, clearly pleased with himself.

Without a word, I pick up the glass of whatever it is and down all of it in one go.

“Whoah, man,” he cautions with a chuckle. “It’s been that kind of day?”

I shake my head and put the empty glass back on the table. “Get me two more. It’s been that kind of day.”

Thrak signals a nearby waiter, shaking his head. “Is this about the company?”

I grunt. “Isn’t it always? And yet it never is.”

He gives me a look that says I’ve lost my mind.

“I run one of the most successful companies the world has seen, do I not?” I say, my voice starting to rise with frustration. ”I lead a team of diverse and talented individuals, and we”ve made a name for ourselves in the industry. But does anyone care about that? No. All they see is an orc at the helm.”

Thrak looks at me with concern, his brow furrowing as he takes in my words. ”Drakar, you know that”s not true. Your success is undeniable regardless of your race.”

”But is it?” I ask, my anger boiling over. I can feel the heat rising in my chest, my fists clenching in frustration. ”When we win a new contract, the papers say it”s a fluke. When we launch a new product, they say it”s only because we”re pandering to the orcish demographic. And when we make a mistake, which every company does, it”s front-page news and a confirmation of every stereotype out there.”

Thrak looks down at his drink, unsure of what to say. He knows that I”m right, that the world isn”t always fair. But he also knows that there”s nothing he can do to change it.

”I”m just tired of having to work twice as hard to be seen as half as good,” I continue. ”And I”m tired of people assuming that I”m some kind of savage. Just because I”m an orc, it doesn”t mean I”m some mindless beast,” I scoff. ”If I wanted to be, I certainly fucking would.”

My friend sighs, scratching the back of his neck. ”I don’t know what to say, man. You’ll fix the fuck-up like you always do.”

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. He”s right, I always do. But it”s getting harder and harder to keep up the facade, to pretend that everything is okay when it”s not.

Then I shake my head. ”The board is pissed. At me. As if I’m the one who did it.” I take a deep breath, trying to control my frustration. ”They don”t see the hard work I”ve put into this company, the sacrifices I”ve made. All they see is an orc, and they assume the worst.”

Thrak leans in with a smirk, his eyes twinkling with mischief. ”The only thing that’s going to make you respectable in their eyes is to be one of them.”

“What, find a fairy godmother and turn into a human?”

“No, of course not. But you could marry a human woman. It could smooth things over with the board and send a signal to everyone. You’re a good one, one they can trust. If your wife supports you, why shouldn’t they?” He delivers the suggestion casually as if discussing the weather, but I can see the seriousness behind his words.

The idea hangs in the air between us, skepticism etched on my face. I take a slow sip of my new drink, a strong, smoky whiskey that burns as it goes down. The taste is unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. It matches the feeling in the pit of my stomach, the unease that comes with considering such a drastic move.

”I”ll consider it,” I finally say, my voice a rumble of contemplation. I can”t deny the potential benefits of such a union, but the thought of marrying for anything other than love feels wrong.

My friend leans back in his chair, looking relieved. ”It”s just a suggestion, man. But think about it. A high-profile marriage to a human woman could do wonders for your image. And it might be enough to appease the board.” He pauses, taking a sip of his drink. ”Plus, it wouldn”t hurt to have an ally in your corner.”

I take another sip of my whiskey, considering the idea. It”s not like I haven”t thought about marriage before, but always in the context of love and companionship, not as a business strategy. But in this world, everything is a strategy.

I can”t help but let my mind wander, imagining what it would be like to be married to a human woman. Would it be a happy union or just a business arrangement? Could I find someone who would truly understand me?

The whiskey is starting to take effect, a warm, fuzzy feeling spreading through my body. I take another sip, savoring the taste. For the first time in a long time, I feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there”s a way to make this work.

I shake my head, pushing the thoughts away. It”s too soon to be thinking about any of this. But as my friend and I continue to talk and drink, the idea of a strategic marriage remains in the back of my mind, a possibility that I can”t quite dismiss.

”Where is she?” I mutter under my breath, scanning the crowded golf course with growing frustration. It”s been a few days since I first saw her, and her absence has left me feeling restless and uneasy.

I try to shake off the feeling, telling myself it”s nothing more than idle curiosity. But deep down, I know it”s more than that. There”s something about her that”s captured my attention, something that”s sparked an unexplained concern.

Her image flickers in my peripheral memories, a vision of auburn hair and glittering green eyes that”s haunted my dreams. I can”t explain why she”s had such an impact on me, but I know that I need to find her, to make sure she”s okay.

Especially with the way that creep was following her around the other day. Even just the thought of him all but trailing her makes something in my blood boil. I can only hope it wasn’t what it looked like.

As the day wears on, I finally catch a glimpse of her, standing at the edge of the crowd. She looks tired, the weight of the world seemingly on her shoulders. I watch from a distance as she deftly avoids a particular guest, her movements quick and graceful.

Something about the way she carries herself draws me in, a quiet strength that”s impossible to ignore. I can”t help but feel a pull towards her, a desire to understand what”s going on. I find myself moving closer, drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

She”s a vision, with her hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail and her green eyes scanning the horizon. But there”s something else about her, something that sets her apart from the other guests. It”s a determination that shines through even amid chaos, a refusal to be defeated that”s both inspiring and captivating.

As I watch her, I can”t help but wonder what her story is. Who is this woman, and why does she seem so burdened? And why am I so drawn to her?

Suddenly, she looks up and our eyes meet. For a moment, I”m frozen, caught in the intensity of her gaze. Then she looks away, quickly disappearing into the crowd.

The same guest she’s avoided follows her out of view and something in my gut twists, a premonition of danger sending a signal I can’t ignore.

”Sorry, gentlemen, I need to make a call,” I say, excusing myself from my group and sheathing my club. They nod and wave me off, not suspecting a thing.

I discreetly trail behind, my senses heightened and my instincts honed in on the potential threat. I keep my distance, staying just far enough away that I won”t be noticed but close enough that I can intervene if necessary.

As I follow them, I can”t help but feel a sense of unease. The man is clearly agitated, his movements erratic and his voice raised. The woman, on the other hand, seems to be trying to placate him, her tone soothing and her movements cautious.

My heart races as I follow them, every step bringing me closer to the source of my unease. I can”t explain why I feel so protective of this woman, why I”m so convinced that she”s in danger. But I know that I can”t ignore this feeling, that I have to see this through.

As we wind our way through the crowded golf course, I catch glimpses of them up ahead, the man”s hand reaching out to grab her arm, her quick movements as she tries to evade him. My anger grows with each step, my muscles tensing in anticipation.

Finally, we reach a secluded area, away from the crowds and the noise. The man pushes her up against a tree, his face twisted in anger. She tries to push him away, but he”s too strong.

”Let go of me,” she demands, jerking her arm away.

He leans in, whispering something I can’t hear – that I probably don’t want to hear – and my control snaps.

I’m going to show this asshole what happens when he touches things that don’t belong to him.