Chapter 3

3

THORAK

T he words slipped between my tusks before I could stop them.

"My fiancée is human."

Gods above. Why would I say that?

I glance back over to Mariah, who is inelegantly coughing up her scone at a table in the corner. Even red-faced and wheezing, she's beautiful. Always has been.

If I wasn't sitting directly across from the man who holds my brewery's future in his hands, I would get up and bolt out of here before I could make even more of an ass out of myself in front of her. Mariah's seen enough idiocy from me to last a lifetime.

"Really?" Robert's eyebrow quirks up, a challenge in his gaze.

I grunt an affirmation and nod. Just digging myself into an ore-deep hole now.

But truthfully, I would say and do anything to get Robert to agree to distribute my ales. And it is very, very clear that this prejudiced man will not agree to do business with me unless he thinks that there's a human somewhere behind the scenes, acting as the brain behind my brawny muscle.

Still. Human fiancée . I don't have a girlfriend anymore, let alone a fiancée, let alone a human one.

Maybe I'm as dumb as he clearly thinks I am.

My only explanation is that this entire morning—one unending series of disasters—addled all the sense out of my damned brain.

The day started badly when I was awoken by ten panicked texts and a series of missed calls from my sister Gruna. After figuring out that something was up at the brewery, I hightailed it over there still half-asleep and groggy.

I shoved open the back door of the brewery with enough force that it slammed against the wall, leaving a dent to deal with later. The chaos hit me like a wave—the stench of burnt barley and hops, the hiss of escaping steam, and Gruna ankle-deep in frothy, sticky wort painting the floor.

"Thorak!" she yelled over the clamor. Her amber eyes were wide, her hands coated in the sweet, gooey mess as she struggled to wrench the valve on a malfunctioning mash tun.

Without hesitation, I waded in beside her, our movements synchronized by years of teamwork.

"Three...two...one!" We turned the wheel together, muscles straining until it gave way with a reluctant groan. The flow ceased, leaving only the sound of our labored breathing and the soft drip, drip, drip of the aftermath.

"Still think opening a brewery was a good idea?" Gruna teased, a smirk playing on her lips despite the catastrophe surrounding us.

"Better than letting Dad keep all the fun to himself," I grunted, surveying the damage. Brewing isn't just tossing ingredients together; it's alchemy, a dance with elements both mundane and magical. And right then, that dance had turned into a stumble.

We set to work cleaning the mess, our arms moving in rhythm as we shoveled the ruined grains into bins. Gruna's laughter rang out when I accidentally flicked a dollop of wort onto her cheek. She retaliated, flinging a handful back at me, and for a moment, the weight on my shoulders lifted.

"Watch it, or you'll wear the next batch," I warned playfully, though there was a warmth behind my words reserved only for her.

"Promises, promises," she shot back, and we fell into a comfortable silence, save for the scrape of shovels and slosh of mops.

As the mess receded and the equipment began to gleam anew, my thoughts drifted to the meeting I had in a few hours at the Moonflower Inn.

Of all the places Robert could have chosen, he picked Mariah's inn.

My chest tightened as memories of high school foolishness played across my mind. How I tormented her, how her face twisted in pain from my cruel jibes.

The best thing I'd done over the past decade was give Mariah some space from me.

Perhaps she wouldn't be there this morning. She could be out on an errand, and I'd continue to avoid responsibility for being a fucking idiot.

"Let's focus on getting things running again," I declared, trying to shake Mariah out of my mind.

Gruna nodded, and we set to work recalibrating the mash tun. The rhythmic clanking of metal on metal was a soothing balm to my frayed nerves. My large hands maneuvered with practiced ease, tightening bolts and checking gauges. We moved in a silent dance, the unspoken language of siblings who've weathered many storms together.

"Thorak," Gruna said, her voice carrying over the hum of machinery, "Mum and Dad were asking about Ygra again." She paused, watching me for a reaction. "They still think you two are destined for each other."

I groaned.

Ygra and I had dated for four years. My parents loved her; still did. She was a giantess whose clan hailed from an area nearby our family's historical clan.

At first, things were great—Ygra was fierce, ambitious, and stunningly beautiful. But over time, the cracks started to show. Ygra thought I should have taken over my parents' brewery, which is the most popular in the magical world. She wanted me to expand our wealth and influence. Ygra liked the status and power that came from operating a conglomerate like that.

When I told her about my plans to strike out on my own and open a craft brewery, Ygra laughed in my face. It was the beginning of the end for us. We broke up a year ago.

"Not this again, Gruna," I said, my voice a low rumble. "That part of my life...it's over."

Gruna clicked her tongue, pausing to look at me. "They just want you happy, big bro. You know that, right?"

"Happy," I echo, the word tasting like unsalted porridge. The truth is, my happiness lies here, in the brewery, not in rekindling old flames. "Right."

Once the brewery was cleaned up, I left Gruna to go get ready for my meeting, and then headed to the Moonflower Inn. The quaint, cozy building seemed to mock me with its welcoming glow. I paused at the door, my hand hovering over the weathered wood.

Just get it over with, Thorak. In and out. You're here for business, not Mariah.

I pushed open the door and stepped inside, immediately smelling freshly baked bread and something floral I couldn't quite place. My eyes scanned the room, searching for Robert Kingsley, but instead landed on her.

Mariah.

Gods above, she was as gorgeous as ever.

She stood behind the reception desk, her chestnut hair pulled back in a messy bun, a few stray tendrils framing her heart-shaped face. Even in a simple white blouse and jeans, she radiated an effortless beauty that made something turn over inside of me. For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

Mariah was a dream I never allowed myself to have, a wish upon a star that I extinguished with my own hands.

Our eyes locked across the room. Surprise flashed across her face, quickly replaced by a guarded expression. I couldn't blame her. The last time we'd been this close, I'd been a heartless brute, spewing venom with every word.

I approached her for directions to Robert and she was politer than she needed to be. Our interaction was brief, and if it had been anyone else, it would've been forgettable.

But nothing about Mariah has ever been forgettable to me.

I walked into the cafe in a daze, and haven't been able to shake it ever since.

Now, steam from my freshly brewed cup of elderflower tea curls upwards, cutting through the tension that's settled over the table like a thick fog. Robert Kingsley's eyes—sharp as the blade of a ceremonial dagger—narrow slightly, scrutinizing me with an intensity that could carve stone.

"So your human fiancée," he says. "Does she help with Orc's Anvil Brewing?"

The lie that slipped out earlier now coils around me like a serpent, squeezing tighter with every breath. Mariah's presence in the cafe is a constant hum in the background, her proximity a reminder of the tangled web I've inadvertently woven.

"Not directly," I respond, trying to walk things back already. "We orcs take great pride in our craft."

Robert's brows furrow, and I can tell I've given him the wrong answer. Why fabricate a human fiancée if she's not even going to be filling this role he so clearly wants her in?

I remind myself that Robert Kingsley is the only distributor that I've found who would even consider bringing our ales to human lands. I need this deal to go through if I'm going to expand the business the way I've envisioned.

"She gives me great counsel, though," I continued. "She's not technically an employee of the brewery—" Since she doesn't exist. "—But I don't make any business decisions without her weigh-in."

There, that should satisfy him.

"Very well." Robert stands abruptly, the legs of his chair scraping across the wooden floor like claws on bark. "I look forward to meeting her. Dinner tomorrow evening, then?"

My stomach bottoms out.

"Tomorrow?" The word chokes me, lodging itself in my throat like a bad omen.

"Indeed." He extends a hand, and I grasp it, ignoring his vice-like grip. "It will be enlightening to see how an orc navigates a human relationship."

With a final nod, he strides away, leaving me to grapple with the enormity of my blunder. The silence left in his wake rings louder than any spoken word, and I sit there, motionless, the warmth of the tea now a cold comfort.

"Damnation," I growl to myself, my eyes scanning the room for an escape that isn't there. The walls of the Moonflower Inn close in on me, adorned with enchanted wind chimes that tinkle merrily, mocking my distress.

I push to my feet, the chair groaning in protest, my mind a tempest of strategies to wriggle out of the lie I've spun. I could use MagicMatch; swipe right until I find someone willing to play the part.

But no, it's too risky. Too false.

"A human, huh? That's a surprise." Mariah's voice cuts through the fog of my thoughts, a sharp blade of familiarity.

I straighten up to my full height, turning to face her. She stands there, arms crossed under her chest, her emerald eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that feels like a physical force.

"Mariah," I say, my voice rough around the edges. "Look, I?—"

"Save it," she snaps, cutting me off. She moves closer, the scent of her lavender perfume wrapping around me. It's disarming, that smell, reminiscent of the wildflowers that grow on the outskirts of Elderberry Falls, where our two worlds blend into one. "I know that was a lie."

She leans in, and I brace myself, expecting a storm of accusations or a scathing rebuke. Her hair falls in waves, a cascade of chestnut that brushes against my arm, stirring something ancient and protective within me.

"I'll be your fiancée."

The words hang between us, a lifeline thrown into the turbulent sea of my conscience. I blink, unsure if the magic of the inn is playing tricks on my ears.

"You...what?" I stammer, caught completely off guard.

Her gaze never wavers, her determination etched in the set of her jaw and the steel in her stance. "You heard me, Thorak. I'll pretend to be your human fiancée."