4. Sloane

Chapter 4

Sloane

I'm reeling from the encounter with King Dexari. The way he looked at me like he wanted to devour me, the way his presence filled the room, making it hard to breathe…I've never experienced anything like it before.

My damp panties are proof that my hormones want to take the wheel. Not surprising since our sexual chemistry is off the charts. But my gut is screaming that the orc king is dangerous in ways I can't afford to ignore.

The sound of a key turning in the lock again followed by a knock on the door jolts me out of my thoughts, and I instinctively tense. Is Dexari back already? Doubtful, since he didn't knock last time.

When the door opens, an older orc female steps into the room, carrying a tray of food. Her drab robe, covering her from neck to feet, looks like something my granny would wear.

She greets me with a respectful nod. "Mistress Sloane."

I blink in surprise at the title. Mistress? I've been called many things—slave, wretch, lowling, human—but that's a new one. Wary, I eye the orc as she sets the tray down on the dining table. She has a sturdy build and a no-nonsense air about her. Her gray-streaked black hair is pulled back in a tight knot, and her eyes are sharp but not unkind.

"I am Mornah, King Dexari's maid."

She gives me a quick, appraising look, as if trying to gauge my character. Then, to my surprise, she offers a small, encouraging smile. It's a simple gesture that surprises me. Kindness is not something I've come to expect since my abduction, especially not from strangers.

Part of me wants to keep my guard up, to not trust anyone in this strange new world. Another part of me longs for an ally, someone who can fill me in on the ins and outs of life here. "Hi, Mornah. I'm Sloane, King Dexari's prisoner."

Mornah chuckles, a warm, rolling sound. "The guards warned me about your sharp tongue—and your skill with a blade."

Grinning, I raise my hands in mock surrender. "You're safe with me. Look, no knives."

"I apologize for the late delivery of your morning meal. The king asked me to bring it to you myself, and other duties held me up. It will not happen again."

"Don't apologize, Mornah." Her regret seems genuine, which makes me angry on her behalf. "You're a slave, just like me. Bringing me breakfast is just another burden on your already busy day."

"Slave?" She shakes her head. "I choose to serve King Dexari, Mistress, just like I choose to serve you at his request."

She's not his slave? Interesting. "I didn't mean to offend you. In my experience, I just assumed…well, never mind. Thank you for bringing my breakfast. I appreciate it."

Mornah waves off my thanks as she moves toward the wardrobe. "After you eat, perhaps you would like to change into something more suitable for palace life."

She opens the wardrobe to reveal several long robes similar to what she's wearing, although the fabrics aren't drab like hers but bright and colorful. They also look softer and more flowing than her utilitarian style. They're pretty, I suppose, if you're into that sort of thing. Which I'm totally not.

"I've never been much of a girly-girl, and those dresses look a little…heavy for my taste. Maybe you could find me a clean pair of pants and a tunic to wear."

"It is customary for females to dress in robes when in the palace," Mornah explains, her tone gentle but firm. "Especially in the presence of the king."

The thought of putting on one of those flowing robes irritates me. It's not just about the style—it's about what it represents.

Submission to the orc king.

I cross my arms defensively, planting my feet firmly on the ground. "I'm good with what I'm wearing."

Mornah's eyes narrow slightly, her tone shifting. "Mistress Sloane, I must warn you about angering the king. It would be unwise to defy him."

"What's he going to do, throw me in the dungeon?" My reply is flippant, but a flicker of uncertainty passes through me. There are worse accommodations than this suite.

"King Dexari is a fair ruler," Mornah says, her eyes never leaving mine. "Yet he has little patience for disobedience. Especially from..." She trails off, but I can fill in the blank.

"Well, I'm not interested in pleasing the king, even if he is ridiculously handsome." The words slip out before I can stop them, and heat rises on my cheeks.

Mornah's expression softens. "Child, I understand your resistance. Yet, your fate lies in the king's hands. Survival often means choosing your battles wisely."

Her words hit me harder than I expect. I've been fighting for so long it's become second nature.

"Enjoy your meal." Mornah gives me one last look of warning that seems to say choose wisely before she turns and leaves the room. The sound of the key turning in the lock echoes in the silence she leaves behind.

The thought of giving in and wearing one of the robes to play nice for the king goes against my very nature. But what do I gain by resisting? If I want to survive long enough to escape, I need to use my head instead of acting on emotion.

After what feels like hours of internal debate but is really only minutes, I reluctantly decide to put on a stupid robe. It's not surrender, I tell myself. It's strategy. Playing the king's game, at least for now, will buy me time to gather information and find a way out of here.

I approach the wardrobe, but before I can pull one of the robes off the hanger, a scratching sound coming from the window freezes me in place. Seconds later, the scratching comes again, more insistent this time.

Fear and curiosity war within me. Nothing good can be out there, right? The smart thing would be to ignore the scratching, change my clothes, and eat my breakfast.

Except, when have I ever done the smart thing?

My feet move me toward the window before my mind has fully made the decision to investigate.