Chapter 40

Thorn's thick fingers weave through my hair. He is patient as he separates the strands and braids them, leaving a few curls hanging around my face. I adjust myself on his lap, the brush of his knuckles along my nape sending shivers down my spine.

"You don't have to do this, you know," I say, glancing back at him over my shoulder. "My hair can be untamable. I'd understand if you want to throw in the towel."

Thorn's dark eyes glint with amusement. He waves off my concerns with a scoff. "Your hair is beautiful, little Spitfire. I've never seen hair like this. I've never met anyone like you."

His words wrap around me like a warm embrace. I almost giggle. Leaning back, I nestle back against his broad chest, savoring the intimacy of the moment. Thorn brushes his cheek against mine before making me sit up so he can finish the braid.

Tonight, I look like one of them. Well, as much as a five-foot-six human can in a village of orcs. The supple leather of my new pants whispers against my skin, and the fur-lined coat Thorn had made for me is so comfortable. It also makes me feel fancy.

After Thorn fucked me yesterday, I half-expected (and I half-feared) he would keep it low-profile, pretending nothing happened.

But no. He gave me new clothes that will make me fit in, and he's braiding my hair the way they braid their hair, and he's still marking me with his scent.

I curl my toes inside my boots, fighting against a grin. I force myself to focus on Eirik, playing with his toys on the rug.

"This feast tonight," I say as his fingers continue their work. "It's in honor of the guard who died, isn't it? In the last attack?"

Thorn hums in affirmation, a low rumble that vibrates through me. "Gyrax was a brave warrior and a loyal friend. His sacrifice will not be forgotten. In his memory, we'll keep fighting."

With a final twist, Thorn secures the end of my braid with a thin strip of leather. He flips the braid over my shoulder so I can look at it.

There's something wrapped around the end. I pick it up, studying it.

A carved bear claw. The symbol of the Bearclaw Clan. Of his family.

I find Thorn's expectant eyes behind me. Emotion swells in my throat, and I blink back the sudden sting of tears. In this simple gesture, he's telling me I belong. That I'm one of them.

That I'm his.

Thorn presses his nose to my jaw, his tusks cold against my skin. He takes a whiff of me, then helps me up.

I scoop Eirik into my arms, cradling him close as we step out into the torch-lit hallway. Ursha waits for us—her red hair also braided, her stance proud and fierce. She dips her head in greeting, then falls into step beside us as we make our way to the dining hall.

Ursha has been strangely quiet these days. And I can't help but wonder about the reason.

"So, Ursha," I say, keeping my voice casual, "the other day, when we decorated the dining hall tree, I saw you eating one of those snacks Morga brought in. Did you like them?"

From the way her eyes narrow at me, she is aware of who baked the macaroons. I smile at her, hoping she's not mad, but there's no actual heat in her glare.

Ursha shrugs. "I knew it was you who baked them. They're... adequate," she says, every word hesitant. "For human cooking, at least."

I clutch my free hand to my chest in mock affront. "Adequate? Why, I'll have you know my macaroons made all the elders very happy."

Ursha rolls her eyes, but I catch the twitch of her lips, the barest hint of a smile. Progress. "That's easy. Just give those old bags something sweet to eat and some gossip and you'll have them on your side." She glances at Eirik, then reaches out to adjust his clothes.

No matter how tough Ursha is or how badly she treats me, this won't change. She clearly cares a lot about Eirik.

"He's almost walking on his own, you know?" I tell her. "Soon we'll all be running after him."

Ursha's lips tilt up into a small smile, and her eyes are full of affection when she looks at the baby. "Surely we will."

I meet Thorn's gaze. He dips his head in pride.

As we approach the dining hall, Zog emerges from the shadows, his serious gray eyes appraising me from behind his spectacles. His black hair is shorn close to his scalp, save for a sleek top knot, and bone earrings dangle from his pointed ears. We slow down so he can catch up to us.

"That's a fine coat, Violet," he remarks, his deep voice carrying a note of approval. "It suits you."

"Thank you, Zog," I reply, a grin tugging at my mouth. "Thorn got it done for me."

"And how do you like it?"

"Immensely. It's very comfortable."

"I see you even got your hair done." Zog glances up at Thorn with a knowing glance. Thorn grunts in response. "I didn't know you had that in you, Thorn."

Another grunt. I can't help but smirk at him, blood flooding into my face.

Ursha rolls her eyes. "How annoying. Can we go already?"

"Are you in a rush because Morga told you I'm the one who baked the dessert?" I ask Ursha.

She slides a glance my way. "No." She crosses her arms, arching an eyebrow in indifference. "I didn't even like that one all that much." She takes a beat, then looks back at me. "Not that I care, but what is it?"

To my utter shock, Thorn throws his head back and laughs, a rich, uninhibited sound that sends a pleasant shiver down my spine. Zog's brows shoot up, but he smiles.

Ursha's eyes widen, her jaw slack with disbelief. For a solid minute, I'm pretty sure she's going to faint.

"What was that?" Ursha asks breathlessly.

"What was what?" Thorn says, his shoulders still shaking.

"That sound."

Thorn rolls his eyes and plants a hand on the small of my back, urging me on. "I'm still your king, Ursha. Show some respect."

Zog grins as he keeps up with us. "I don't blame her, Thorn. I didn't know you could laugh either." Zog shoots me an amused glance. "You've wrought quite a change in him."

Pride and affection grow inside me and I smile so wide that my cheeks hurt.

Thorn's arm snakes around my waist, pulling me flush against his side. His black eyes glitter when our gazes lock.

Movement catches my eye at the other end of the hallway. Nell and Morga walk toward the dining hall, too. Nell pauses for a moment next to an unlit torch and, with a literal flick of her wrist, she lights it up. Morga doesn't seem to react, prattling on about something I can't hear.

Sometimes I forget that there's literal magic in this place. It's crazy that Nell can produce fire out of nothing.

"Tonight, we feast on Gyrax's honor," Thorn says, his voice loud and clear. I look up to find his gaze on Morga and Nell. "But tomorrow, we hunt." He meets Zog's eyes, his face growing serious. "Once more, the gates were not forced open. Someone in this city is a traitor and I intend to sniff them out. They'll learn the hard way what happens to those who betray the Bearclaw Clan."

His words hang in the air, all laughter disappearing from the group.

As we enter the dining hall and the others greet us, I can't help but feel that something is about to change. For better or for worse.