Chapter 15

The dining hall is a cavernous space with ceilings so high that it almost feels like we're outside. Though there are no windows—just a roof hole for the smoke—the place isn't dark.

Fire pits roar, their flames dancing, illuminating the faces of hundreds of orcs. A shiver runs down my spine with the weight of so many gazes upon me.

The orcs sit in groups at parallel tables, chatting as they glance at me. My gaze sweeps over the long tables, the wood groaning under platters of food. My breath catches.

This place smells amazing.

There are sausages, something that looks like blood pudding, and several stockpots filled to the brim with stew. It's a mouth-watering medley of heavy, savory scents. The scent of herbs and grilled meat fills the air. I take a deep breath. Yes. They have something very similar to thyme and bay leaves here.

I adore cooking with bay leaves. My stomach rumbles in greeting at all that food. Wow. And this is just breakfast.

Interesting. For colossal creatures like orcs, it makes sense that they eat lots of protein, even at breakfast. Quite different from what I usually have.

My skin pebbles with awareness. I forget the food. Someone's looking at me. It's funny because everyone is looking at me and yet...

No. This feeling is different. It's a different kind of gaze. I sweep my attention over the orcs until I reach the one table over a dais at the very head of the hall, overlooking all others.

My gaze locks with his. The orc who kidnapped me yesterday.

He sits on a massive chair. It's clear he's the king. He commands the room with an ease that belies the power coiled in his frame.

Black eyes meet mine, unflinching, and for a heartbeat, the world stills.

I understand why he needs no crown. His chair doesn't even look like a throne; it's just massive. This orc naturally demands everyone's attention. He's bigger than all the others, stronger, and there's something unyielding but elegant in the way he carries himself.

He's fascinating to look at.

His bulky frame is covered by a linen tunic that doesn't befit his status, but it clings to every ridge of his muscular body. A thin leather strap hangs from his thick neck, disappearing inside his clothes. I glimpse dark leather pants and boots under the table. The one sign of his status is the massive black fur cape.

The king's black hair is long enough to be pulled back into a half-up, the sides trimmed short over his pointy ears. His massive tusks are so sharp, I'm impressed he doesn't poke himself in the eye with them.

He leans forward at our approach, all of his attention on me. His gravity pulls me in. My pulse quickens.

Scary-sexy is the perfect definition.

The crowd silences as our little group pauses in front of the king's table. His eyes never leave me, even as he parts his lips.

"What do you have for me, Drundak?" he starts in a husky voice that fits the scary-sexy definition to a fault. "And be quick." His voice lowers, with a hint of a threat at its edges. "I'm not in a good mood."