Chapter 5

Five

I didn't want to cause problems with my arrival to the Black Bear Hill, but it seems that's exactly what I've done.

"What do you mean, I won't have an easy time?" I ask, then look at Sarrai. "You said they've been enemies?"

She dunks her head underwater, then comes up slicking back her now-clean black hair. "Aye. I don't know either of them well enough to know the backstory, but we've had quarrels from them weekly."

"And the king had to intervene once," Ritta adds. "There was even talk of building a brand-new forge for one of them, but none of the outer rooms in the Hill were suitable for it."

I sink to my chin, worry gnawing through me. "Oh. That's—that's not good. I don't think I want to be mated to them if they're unpleasant."

"No, no," Sarrai hurries to say, "they aren't—it's just each other that they can't stand."

"That's true," Ritta jumps in. "No one else has had an issue with either of them. I know Ozork, who is one of the best males in the clan, is great friends with Torren, and he wouldn't be if Torren was bad."

Sarrai wrings out the water from her hair. "And I've fought Morg in the ring often enough to know that he's an honorable male." She grins and adds, "Even if his footwork could use some improvement."

I glance from one to the other, considering. "You two seem very keen on having me trust them."

Ritta lets out a long breath. "The truth is, a mating bond is a special occasion. It's something most orcs hope for in the course of their lives. As angry as they are with each other, they won't do anything to hurt you, I can tell you that."

Rose has been listening to our conversation in silence but now floats forward. From how deep the pool is, I can imagine her feet are barely skimming the floor. She looks me in the eyes, her expression serious, and says, "For all that, you do still have a choice here, Jasmine. If you wish to leave, no one will keep you here. You do not need to mate with either of them if you don't want to."

Sarrai and Ritta tense somewhat at her words. And I understand why—from what I've heard, the orcs don't have much of a choice. If I leave, would Torren and Morg ever get a chance to find another mate?

That's a horrible reason to stay, though. Feeling obligated is a bad foundation for a relationship, that much I know.

Yet the thought of leaving has my stomach churning. When I imagine taking all my things, saddling my horse, and riding away from the underground palace, a vague sort of panic descends over me. And I don't think it has much to do with the fact that I would then have to return to the human lands.

"Do humans feel the mate bond as well?" I rub my sternum under the water.

Rose's face lights up. "You feel it, too?"

"I didn't know this." Ritta floats closer. "How does it feel?"

"I don't know that this is it," I admit. "I just don't want to leave yet. I-I want to at least talk to them, I think."

Rose is nodding along with this. "I get very unpleasant when Uram has to go away for a scouting trip," she says, grinning. "And let me tell you, the fucking is?—"

"Aah!" I smack my palms over my ears. "I love you, Rose, but I'm not sure I want to hear about your, ah, private life."

The three women laugh at this, their voices echoing faintly around the chamber.

"Oh, you'll get used to that as well," Rose promises me, even though her cheeks are pink. "Orcs aren't taught to feel so much shame about intimacy as we are in the human lands."

"Which is a good thing because intimacy is amazing," Sarrai says. She climbs from the pool and stands on the edge, water sluicing down her toned, curvy body. "And why would you be ashamed of something that feels so good?"

"Hear, hear," Ritta says. Then she motions at me. "Come on, you must be tired. Let's get you settled in for the night."

We all clamber from the pool—the orcs much more gracefully than Rose and me—and dry off using the soft bathing sheets. I dig a fresh undershirt and simple everyday gown from my saddlebags and draw them over my head without putting on my stays. It's evening, after all, and I can't wait to go to bed.

Rose promises to meet me first thing tomorrow morning, and she and Sarrai depart down different corridors than Ritta and me. I've now gotten all turned around and even though I see the wooden signposts, I don't know exactly whether we're heading into the heart of the Hill or away from it. Still, I follow Ritta without objection, knowing I'll have enough time to get comfortable here if I do decide to stay.

Ritta's room is situated in a corridor with several more similar rounded wooden doors. She pushes the door open and steps inside. I try to follow—but the room is pitch-black, with only the soft light from a lantern farther down the hall illuminating the threshold.

"Give me a moment, and I'll light the candle," she says.

True enough, a small flame flickers to life soon after, and the room comes into view.

"It's not much, but it's home."

Ritta motions for me to enter, and I do, but I stop again two steps later and stare.

"It's beautiful," I breathe.

She has decorated the space to suit her, and even though I don't know her well at all, I can see that she's comfortable here. There are pillows everywhere, in deep green and brown colors, and little lanterns that would make the place feel very cozy if she lit them all. It's nighttime, so she doesn't, but I can imagine how the space would look if she did. There's a small orange pumpkin on one of the shelves hanging on the walls, and a thin garland of dried rowan berries strung around the room.

Ritta is flushed faintly, though her expression is pleased. "I'm glad you think so," she says. "I thought you could sleep on the day bed if we add enough pillows and blankets."

I squint at the heap of pillows on the opposite side from the bed. In the low light, I didn't even see that there was a piece of furniture under all that softness.

"I think that'll be enough pillows for me," I say carefully, not wanting to offend her.

She purses her lips but doesn't object and draws a soft wool blanket from a beautifully carved wooden chest. "If you're sure. Let me know if you need more blankets. I know humans are more sensitive to cold."

"I'm not cold at all," I assure her. "And this is perfect, thank you."

We undress for bed, and soon, I'm enveloped in the blanket. Ritta blows out the candle and wishes me good night, and I close my eyes, thinking I'm so exhausted, I'll be asleep in minutes.

But sleep doesn't come. Ritta's soft breaths from the other side of the room tell me she's resting peacefully, but no matter how much I will myself to be calm, I can't seem to slip into unconsciousness.

It's like a phantom itch that can't be scratched, a feeling of…not unease, exactly, just the sense that there's something I forgot to do. Something at the tip of my tongue that I desperately want to say.

I sit up, careful not to dislodge any of the pillows, and wrap the blanket around myself. Then I tiptoe to where I think the door is—the room is underground, and I've never encountered such complete darkness before. I move slowly so as to avoid bumping into any furniture or shelves, but finally, I reach the door and lift the well-oiled iron latch, hoping it won't squeak.

The light spills in from the corridor, strangely bright after all that darkness, even though the nearest lantern is at least ten paces from me.

And in the light, I find Torren and Morg sitting on the floor in front of Ritta's room.

I gape at them, then glance back to see if Ritta is stirring. There's no sound from the room, so I slip out into the corridor and pull the door shut behind me.

Morg stands slowly, though he doesn't come closer, and Torren follows suit, keeping well away from me. They're also keeping a healthy distance from each other, which is likely a good thing after the altercation they had in the great hall earlier this evening.

"Hello, Jasmine," Morg says softly.

He has cleaned up, and so has Torren, though we didn't meet them at the baths. But they are no longer covered in soot and dirt, and I can see them clearly for the first time. I stare at Morg, a shiver of delight going through me. He's very handsome, his black eyebrows straight, his cheekbones sharp, and his jaw clean-shaven. He's watching me with unabashed interest, studying my features just as closely as I'm studying his. I cannot be certain about his age, but he is several years older than me, and taller by at least a foot.

Then I turn to Torren, who has waited patiently thus far to greet me, though his hands are clenched into fists at his sides. He's an inch or so shorter than Morg and about a decade older, I think. Or perhaps it's his close-cropped black beard that has him looking that way, though I see old scars on his hands, too, testifying to experience that only years can bring. He's broad-shouldered and thickset in the way that I'd associate with a blacksmith, his chest large and his arms corded with muscle that strains against the fabric of his tunic.

I swallow at the thought of what it would be like to touch him, to feel all that power.

"Hello," I whisper at last. "What are you doing here?"

I don't want to wake up Ritta, firstly because she's tired and also because I want a chance to speak to the two orcs in private. I suspect that tomorrow we'll have company, and we need to have a conversation on our own.

"I've come to apologize," Torren murmurs, "for how I behaved earlier. I didn't want to frighten you."

"Nor I," Morg interjects. "It was just that this one claimed you were his mate, and I couldn't see straight after that."

Torren's face turns a slightly darker green, and he clenches his jaw so much, a muscle pops in his cheek. But he holds back whatever he wants to say.

"That's all right," I say. "I'm sure it was a surprise to everyone. But, um, Ritta will get mad if she sees you out here in the corridor."

Morg shuffles a step closer, then stops himself. "That doesn't matter as long as you don't mind."

I bite the inside of my cheek, thinking. I could tell them to leave, and they'd have to do it. But if I felt the need to get out here and talk to them, they must be feeling a much stronger compulsion to be near me.

"I don't mind," I admit. "But I am sorry that this mate thing has upended your lives."

Torren shakes his head firmly. "No, Jasmine. You have nothing to be sorry for. I'm very lucky to have found you. I didn't think I'd ever get to meet my mate. If it hadn't happened in four decades, I'd almost lost hope that it would at all."

I glance at Morg to find him staring at Torren with a slightly stricken expression, as if it pains him to hear his rival say that. Then he seems to remember himself because he draws back his shoulders and focuses on me again.

"I am not upset at all," he says, pitching his voice low. "I'm only sorry you are put in such a position."

"Yes, it's quite unusual," I agree.

In the human lands, I've heard of relationships involving more than one person, but they were mentioned with a snicker and a wink, as if loving two people at once was something of a joke. But this doesn't seem funny to me at all.

"Uram suggested we make an agreement to court you separately," Torren says. "And we both agreed it was a wise decision."

At that, he glares a little at Morg, which I take to mean that the younger orc had something to say about it.

But Morg only shrugs and adds, "Aye, that way you'll be able to decide which of us is the better fit for you."

"Decide?" I blurt out before I can stop myself.

They both stare at me expectantly, as if I might choose one of them at this very moment. Because they expect me to pick one of them. While I was considering the moral implications of having more than one husband, they were intent on proving their worth so I could make an informed decision. They're enemies, after all, and likely cannot even fathom the idea of…sharing me.

So why does the thought of keeping them both send a rush of warmth through my body?

I'm only being greedy, like always. I've coveted things I couldn't have my entire life, like my parents' attention, the bigger room at the inn, or the kind of love that made Ansel elope with his sweetheart.

"I mean, of course," I hurry to say now. My face grows hot as I add, "How will we arrange this?"

Torren's nostrils twitch. He takes a deep inhale and steps closer before he can stop himself. Morg immediately closes the distance between us, too, not to be outdone, and he must scent whatever Torren did because his gaze turns sharp, his attention fixed on me. I'm faced with a wall of orc, and though neither of them touches me, their gazes feel hot against my skin.

I'm breathless with a mixture of trepidation and want, my heart beating frantically, my palms sweating. I clutch my blanket closer to my chest.

"What are you thinking, love?" Morg asks, his voice a low rumble that seems to vibrate through the air. "I would like to know what has you smelling like that so I can do it again and again."

"I—"

My thoughts are a jumble of images and sensations that I've certainly never experienced before—and I can't even imagine trying to express it with words.

"Ah, we're scaring her," Torren says and retreats a step, then grabs Morg and pulls him back as well.

He's frowning again, his dark eyebrows drawn together. I don't miss how his hand lingers on Morg's arm, though, before he thinks better of it and crosses his arms over his chest.

"She doesn't smell scared," Morg says with a smirk.

That's likely true. I'm not afraid of them, even though we're alone in an empty corridor—and not just because Sarrai and Ritta have assured me that they're good males. It's likely the mate bond at work, so maybe I should distrust it, but it feels right.

Torren only sighs and draws a large gold coin from his pocket. It's a gold mark, and I lift my eyebrows at the sight of it. Not many people carry gold in their pockets—most of the guests at my father's inn pay in silver and copper, even though ours is a very reputable establishment.

"We'll toss for who will get your company first, if you agree," he says. "That was Morg's idea, just so you know."

Morg shrugs. "It's the only fair way of deciding."

I don't really like the idea of this decision being up to a coin toss but I don't have a better solution, so I just nod at Torren.

"Heads, Morg gets to spend the morning with you, tails, and it's me," he says, showing me the side of the coin with the image of the Duke of Ultrup.

"All right," I say.

Torren flicks the coin in the air with a practiced move, and we all watch it ascend almost to the ceiling, the gold glinting in the lantern light. Then it falls. Torren catches it into his palm and slaps it on the back of his other hand. He raises his eyebrows at Morg, and the other male nods to confirm that he's satisfied with the toss.

Torren removes his hand—and the single numeral stares up at us. My stomach does a very complicated flip, because I'm elated to know that I'll be spending the morning with Torren and at the same time gutted that Morg won't be there with me.

Morg growls, swivels away from us, and punches his fist on the wall. A small shower of dry earth sprinkles to the floor. He heaves a big sigh, then turns back to us.

"Forgive me," he says. "The disappointment is bitter, Jasmine, but I'll get my chance to spend time with you in the afternoon if you're up for it."

I nod. "Of course. I'm looking forward to it."

Then I face Torren, whose grin is wide but also a little bit wary, as if he's afraid I might have preferred Morg's company.

"Will you meet me here in the morning?" I ask, and I think my voice betrays my eagerness, because his gaze warms again.

"Aye," he says. "If that's all right with you."

He shuffles closer again, and this time, I'm better prepared, so I notice things that I didn't before when they both crowded toward me. The most interesting is a delicious scent coming off him, a spicy, warm aroma that reminds me of holidays and bonfires.

"May I…?" he says.

"Yes," I breathe before he's even finished speaking, because I want whatever he wants at this moment.

Torren's expression changes to one of heart-crushing hope. He steps toward me and wraps his arms around me. He's so much taller, my face meets the middle of his chest as he gently draws me in. His hands don't roam too low, but he brings his nose to my temple and inhales deeply, as if he's memorizing my scent.

I don't dare loosen my grip on my blanket, but I don't want him to think I'm only standing there, suffering, so I lean closer, content to let him hold me for a moment.

When he steps back, he's smiling, his expression softer than I've seen it. Then I glance over at Morg, and my breath stalls in my throat.

He's gazing at us with such naked longing, my heart throbs painfully at the sight. And it's not just me he's looking at but Torren, too.

I wonder if Torren sees this. A glance at him tells me that he does—his lips part as if he wants to say something, but then Morg blinks and visibly pulls himself back, shuttering his expression.

For some reason, that doesn't deter me at all. I release Torren and quickly step up to Morg. His eyebrows climb up, but he doesn't step away. I close in and lean on his broad chest, though I'm still clutching my blanket.

A moment later, he closes his arms around me, and his posture relaxes as he curls his big body around mine.

"Jasmine," he murmurs into my hair.

I squeeze my eyes shut to battle the onslaught of sensations coursing through me. I don't want to pick one of them. How can I? I don't know anything about them, and yet they both feel right. Maybe I let Morg embrace me because I wanted to compare him to Torren, though I don't think that was the impulse driving me. I only wanted to show him that he's important, too, and chase away his worries.

Finally, I step away from him, and he lets me go, even if he seems a little reluctant.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I whisper to both of them.

Torren echoes, "Tomorrow."

And then I'm slipping back through the door to Ritta's room, latching us inside. I make my careful way to the day bed and snuggle down in the pillows, heart thudding madly.

But a sense of peace descends on me when I close my eyes, the itch I felt finally gone. I know I'll see them tomorrow—and at least for another day, I'll get to pretend I can keep them both.