13. Orlagh

THIRTEEN

My fingers dancealong the boning of a front-laced floral bodice, a treasure found amongst the delightful array of silk and spandex and leather and vinyl hanging in Lhysa's closet—if you can even call this gloriously gaudy temple of fashion and frippery a closet since it's practically the size of my apartment.

I sigh, holding the garment against my chest in front of her floor-length mirror, twisting from side to side as I admire myself within its gilded frame.

"Oh, I like that one," Penny says, clawed toes catching on the plush, high pile shag as she shuffles by with a plate of croissants and fruit, stopping to stretch her arms up and shove its contents beneath my nose entreatingly, "and I bet your nerdy boyfriend will too-oo!"

A small smile tugs at my lips as I pluck a ginger-stuffed date off of the tray, popping it into my mouth and turning back to the mirror.

Rok would like this, wouldn't he? And I'd certainly enjoy living out a lovely little romantasy with him while wearing it. This bodice screams lusty Elven maiden kneeling helplessly at the feet of her punishing Orcish captor, all wide eyes and empty hands, nothing of value to offer the terrifying and terrifyingly sexy brute but a very specific, very intimate form of currency.

Goddess, but I can see myself now, see what little bosom I have positively bosoming as I tear at the drawstrings of Rok's soft leather breeches, eyes wide when his cock bursts free of its constraints and bobs before me, hard and ready. I wouldn't even have to pretend to be hypnotized by the impossible veins pulsing along his incredible length, by the creamy pearls of his imminent release dotting his shaft, marking my path from root to tip and wordlessly beckoning me closer, demanding to be touched, sucked, fucked.

Of course, I'd need all the skirts.

Big, full skirts to swish and fly around me as they're flipped, bunching between us both as he thrusts into me over and over again, the slap of his sac on my sensitive skin a thrill. Skirts that billow in the air before his thick, green fingers catch them in his grip, maybe catch on the raised weave of this floral tapestry bodice I'm currently white-knuckle clutching as both hands grip my tightly cinched waist and lift and spin and flip, the rhythm of his hips invariable and unyielding and driving until it isn't, until it breaks and we break and…

I clear my throat, turning back to the mirror to find my cheeks and neck aflame, clenching my thighs as discreetly as I can in this plum kimono-style robe I've borrowed. Deep, measured breaths get me through the horny woodsmoke and citrus haze, one that I've found myself navigating more and more over the past few days, and practically nonstop since that word mate clicked into place at the Barbarian last night.

I'm still not sure what it means, exactly.

Being mated.

I did some more digging on my phone over coffee earlier, trying to find something substantial about the origins of Yervall, something beyond songs and storybooks, but there wasn't anything accessible to the public that I didn't already know, at least not that I was able to find. I even tried to figure out how this bond could affect orcs, how their mating bonds work. Because clearly Rok hasn't been glowing, but he has been kind of… territorial?

The info I found online about orc mating bonds was just as piddly though, so piddly in fact that I started to think that the problem may just be my internet sleuthing skills. But Rok told me himself how out of character it was to confront Wolf like he did when that asshole showed up drunk at my door, to manhandle him down the hall and nearly knock him out cold. And Brix told me how legendary these bonds are, especially in places like Brok'hal, where clans are so prominent.

Could this connection between us be why he was acting so unlike himself that night, and last night, too? Maybe it messes with our instincts, maybe even has different effects depending on sex, species, age?

I wish I knew.

Actually, what I really wish is that I could have just asked Taliagh and gotten the answer that I know she has instead of the telephone equivalent of a door slammed in my face, wish my sister weren't still upset about the way I left all those years ago. I expected our mother to be the one still holding a grudge against me for fighting my way free of that gilded cage she'd crafted for her daughters, still cold and shut off, but not Tal. And in my frustration before passing out on Lhysa's couch in the early hours this morning… I drunk-texted her to tell her how I really felt, no filter.

I told her that I figured out what the glowing meant despite her tight-lipped gatekeeping, that this orc I'm so crazy about is named Rok thanks-for-not-asking and that he and I are going to spend the rest of our lives together in perpetual mated bliss, that she didn't have to worry about the shame she's so clearly feeling about the mate Solstra herself chose for me or whatever because we were never, ever, ever going to do something so beneath us as to grace a bunch of bigoted assholes like her and the rest of Fair Isle with our presence. I told her I didn't give three and a half fucks about her unsolicited opinion, about my mother's unsolicited opinion, about whether or not this constitutes as making vulgar waves and losing the inheritance waiting for me on the other side of summer, that I didn't want it if it meant still being beholden to a family that cared more about appearances than actual family.

Taliagh hadn't replied, of course, but I suppose I never expected her to, anyway. The silence from her side has spoken volumes for years now, and it speaks volumes today as I'm staked out in Lhysa's closet, idling away the hours by flipping through rows of costumes and couture.

Originally I'd just been looking for something to wear while my clothes were being washed—because of course this insanely luxurious building has a daily laundry service as one of its many, many amenities—but that quickly turned into trying things on for fun while Lhysa picked out an outfit for her evening stream, and then that turned into trying to find myself something sexy and surprising to snap a pic in to send to Rok, and now here I am, right back where I started, my thoughts circling back to him and all the things we need to talk about no matter what it is I'm doing.

But I mean, it's really, really hard not to dwell on the dangers waiting for me outside of this penthouse apartment in the form of my psycho ex and his pack of unquestioning idiots, and even harder not to dwell on the bevy of complications surrounding me and Rok, none so complicated as the driving need to be near him, touch him, taste him, or the awareness of what this palpable electricity between us really is.

Lhysa peers over her shoulder from her tufted perch, using the eye that isn't currently occupied by an eyelash curler to glance me over appraisingly.

"It certainly suits your coloring. There's a cream chemise with sweet little ruffled sleeves that positively whisper across the skin that would go nicely, and more overskirts and underskirts and petticoats and farthingales than I know what to do with to the right of the wig wall. You'll want a wig too, I'd think. But…" She opens her mouth as if she's about to say something else and then snaps it shut again, turning back to the harsh lights of her stage-lit mirror to swipe mascara over her long, curling lashes.

My eyes narrow, a hand going to my hip. "But what? Goddess knows you've never held back with me before, Lhysa, so don't start now."

"So dramatic," she snorts, rolling her eyes before catching mine briefly in the mirror. Her full lips remain unmoving as she gazes back at herself, swiftly applying a pearlescent purple lipstick. "I just thought… don't you two need to talk? You clearly had a fight after all of that with Jex, one so bad it had you showing up on my doorstep at two in the morning needing a place to stay."

I frown, crossing my arms over my chest. "I mean, sure, we need to talk. And yeah, we've been texting off and on ever since I rolled off the couch desperate for water and coffee this morning?—"

"Afternoon!" Penny squeaks, snatching the lipstick from Lhysa's fingers to administer a touch up, moving in close and eliciting a smile from her.

"Sun above, are you ever going to stop reminding me of that?"

"Probably not." Lhysa practically purrs as Penny leans in, hands braced on her thighs, blowing lightly across her lips to set the lipstick before peppering her with several quick, light kisses.

"Fine, afternoon. But I haven't forgotten last night, and I know he hasn't either. There are just some things you don't do over text and it's… it's hard not to text him. I miss him. And if I haven't expressed how much I truly appreciate you both letting me stay on such short notice?—"

"Orlagh," Lhysa leans back from Penny, glaring pointedly at me, "you're over-explaining and falling into that polite-but-pissed Fair Isle cadence I heard you unleash on that bartender who so wisely carded you at your first masquerade. I know you too well."

She does, and it makes me frown even more. As does the impish smirk on Penny's face, now resting her head on Lhysa's chest.

"And don't look at me that way, Orlagh! I just…"

"We," Penny corrects her.

"We don't want to see you falling into old habits. And to be perfectly honest, I don't want to see you falling hard for another asshole—I saw enough when we lived together, and you deserve better."

"Sun above, Lhysa, Rok is better. He's nothing like Wolf," I stammer, brow furrowing as I shake my head. "Wolf would have lashed out at me after finding out what Jex did, what he said, probably would have accused me of enticinghis pack mates and insisted I was asking for it, would have screamed at me, thrown shit at me…" I trail off, swallowing hard before whispering, "worse."

"Gods, Orlagh," Penny says softly, walking over and putting a hand on my elbow. "He didn't…?"

"Hurt me? No. It never came to anything really physical, but… it was getting close to it, I think, in the end. He… he lost it and shoved me a couple times, blocked doorways. That kind of thing. But I always managed to force my way out before it escalated, left, went on a run."

"Orlagh," Penny's voice is still so soft, so gentle. "That kind of thing? It was abuse."

"I'll murder him," Lhysa deadpans, rising from her vanity on pleasers so high that they make any movement she makes an athletic feat of wonder, make Penny look like a little teacup goblin when they stand side by side. "No, fresh manicure. I'll have him murdered, then. The doormen here will do some truly scandalous things if you tip them accordingly, you know."

"I'd be lying if I said he'd be missed, so I'll keep that in mind. But I mean… well, you remember Lhysa, we were just bad together. From the start. And don't get me wrong, it was mainly him, but… some of it was me. I… I fed off his toxicity, turned into this feral, awful version of myself, would scream and throw things right back and him and… Solstra help me, but I hate that I'm still having to talk about him, deal with him! I just want to leave him in the past, leave that angry, isolated, stuck-in-denial version of me in the past, too."

Lhysa takes a long breath before joining Penny by my side, towering over us both in those gravity defying heels. Her lanky lavender arms wrap around my shoulders from the left as Penny hugs me around the waist from the right. "I want that for you too—which is why I'm so concerned now."

"Why we both are," Penny says, squeezing a little tighter.

I nod, resting my head on Lhysa's shoulder and putting my arm around Penny's. "I get that, I can see it, and I love you both for it. Things are moving fast with Rok, and things moved really fast with Wolf, too."

"Mm-hmm, so fast that you decidedly ignored all of Wolf's red flags and moved in with him. And now you're basically living with Rok after… what, a week?"

Penny clicks her tongue, giving Lhysa's ass a playful little smack. "Be nice. There's more to it than that and you know it."

"I'm always nice, Penelope."

"You are blunt, and beautiful, and never, ever nice. And I love you for it."

"Mmm, and you're a sweet, frosted cupcake with a gooey razorblade center, and I love you for it. Are the cameras ready?"

"All set. You still gonna be wearing the silverspun wig?"

"Mm-hmm, and I'll need the lunar scepter. And the crescent moon grinder will do nicely too, I think. I'm feeling very lazy, and the moon-elf-fucking-an-actual-moon angle sells itself."

Penny maneuvers her way around the accessory island and past the wig wall over to the walk-in closet—that's right, there is a closet inside of this closet. I grew up in a sprawling manor big enough to be considered a castle, and I can honestly say that a luxury architectural addition like that represents a level of excess that would make someone like my mother boil over in envy if she ever saw it. Well, right before she fainted from the impropriety of all the strap-ons, saddles, and various other sex toys that the closet is filled with, of course.

Lhysa heads over to the wig wall and I grab her hand, stopping her.

"Just… trust me about Rok, Lhysa? It's taken me a while to even start to understand what I'm feeling, to come to terms with the speed of it all, but what he and I have is so, so incredibly special. And our fight last night was different. Even drunk, even angry, I never once went to that toxic place I went to when I was with Wolf, not once. And sure, Rok was pissed. He was beyond pissed, but not at me, never at me. Nothing was directed at me, not really."

I thought of the power behind the rage absolutely radiating off of him last night, of the clattering silverware, the crack on the table. My mind had immediately gone to the week before, to an image of him standing in his doorway completely unaware of how gorgeous he was, clutching the doorframe so hard it had splintered. I'd never even gotten an inkling of that kind of power and capability when we were together, even when he was completely unbound between my thighs, driving me relentlessly into the cool, gray sheets of that enormous bed. I knew what Wolf was capable of because, even shifted, he never held back when we were together. Honestly, he never cared to wonder if he even needed to hold back in the first place, and that strength didn't hold a candle to what I'd seen Rok do in moments of unthinking. It made me realize how much care he took with me, how much he truly cared about me, and how much I truly cared about him. And it made me realize that, mated or not, I am absolutely head over heels in love with the orc next door.

"You're right," Lhysa sighs, hugging me tightly once more. "I'm sorry. I may not be nice, but I'd like to think I am kind, and it's not very kind to be putting you on trial over your own business, is it? Besides, anyone with eyes around you two can see that you have something special, and anyone who knows you like I do knows that you've grown leaps and bounds since you first came to Galtree, certainly enough to know your own heart. Now follow me because I have the perfect wig for you, too."

Rows and rows of sequined mannequin heads line the aforementioned wig wall, at least thirty or forty of varying colors, lengths, and textures. There's a faint, shimmering light surrounding each wig, and after a moment I realize it isn't the soft accent lighting weaved throughout the space doing it—it's magic.

"Sun above, are these all enchanted pieces?"

"Mmm, they surely are," Lhysa mumbles, clearly proud and pleased that I asked. "Let it not be said that alopecia doesn't come with some benefits. The money I would be spending on salon visits I can spend on premium lashes and all of these darlings instead."

Lhysa takes down one that is absolutely silverspun, metallic and molten and straight as a pin. The enchantment seems to negate the need for any wig caps or anything to secure it in place, because after Lhysa spins it into place and taps the crown of her head, all the front lacing disappears and it appears to kind of meld to her scalp. She gives it a tug, apparently satisfied, and grabs another wig off of the top shelf.

"Now this one up here I bought on a whim and all she does is sit and pout at me since I never wear her—the color is all wrong for my complexion, but for you, I think…" My jaw hits the floor when she turns to me, arms outstretched with the most gorgeous, bouncy bundle of cascading butter-yellow curls I've ever seen. "Orlagh, meet Dolly."

"Oh," I breathe, slowly reaching out my hands until my fingers are gingerly running through the gorgeous golden strands. "Hello, Dolly."

There is absolutely no hesitation on my part once I've got the enchanted piece fully in my grasp. I flip the wig upside down and wiggle my head into it, flipping it back while holding the sides and letting Lhysa help tuck away my own chin-length locks and activate the enchantment. The moment the lacing disappears and the cap sort of sucks down onto my head makes me gasp. My hair is super short—for an elf, at least—but even still, the feeling of that hair being replaced by this wig is a shock. A wild little giggle escapes my throat before I'm basically running to that standing mirror, enamored once more by the way its gilded frame is reflecting the soft lighting at this end of the massive closet, now with the added glow of this magnificent hair. The blonde tresses kiss my shoulders, dancing like sunbeams, catching the light and drinking it in before reflecting it back threefold.

"She's going home with you and that's that, Orlagh."

I open my mouth to protest, but the look Lhysa fixes me with leaves no room for disagreement.

"Just nod and say ‘yes, Lhysa, thank you, Lhysa.' Besides, those enchanted curls are likely to strangle me in my sleep if I stick them back up there to collect dust now."

"Wow," Penny stammers, eyes wide as she walks out of the closet within the closet with her arms full of sex toys. "You look…"

"Like a completely different elf," Lhysa laughs, running her fingers through the curls before picking up the bodice and holding it against me, head titled slightly to the side in consideration.

Wheels are spinning wildly within her mind, I can see it, see her flipping through the mental catalogue she keeps of everything within this massive closet. Making me look like whatever vision she's piecing together in her mind is going to be her new hyper-focus, just like when we were roommates—the only thing Lhysa loves more than getting dolled up herself is treating her friends and lovers like living, breathing Barbie dolls.

When she claps her hands, I know there will be no stopping her until she's done. Which… makes me smile from ear to ear, honestly. I missed these makeovers, missed my friends.

"Well, there's no way around it—I simply have to see this look through. Penny, go throw those in the studio and pick one of our pre-recorded sessions to stream, we'll film later. Then run back and grab two petticoats—cream, not white—because after I do her makeup we're really going to make her flounce. I don't even think she'll need a bustle with that fantastic ass of hers, but maybe just for a touch of that drama she so loves…"

I'm standingin front of the mirror, swishing my petticoats back and forth as I listen to Lhysa and Penny debate between the burnt orange overskirt and classic gingham one that I'm holding up to either side of myself when my phone dings. I throw the skirts over one arm and head to the accessory island—it's Rok.

Rok'nhar

Bad news, sunshine. Haf ain't showing, no fucking clue why, but I've gotta fill in for him tonight.

"No, no, no…" I groan, throwing myself down onto the closest slipper chair, the houndstooth one with the fuzzy orange throw draped over the back. The petticoats billow around me in the most satisfying way when I hit the cushion, and that mollifies me momentarily, but only momentarily.

How much longer am I going to have to wait to see him, touch him, tell him how much I love him? That believe it or not, he's my mate and our lives are now—and I suppose always have been—inextricably intertwined, a union apparently blessed by the sun goddess herself?

"What is it?" Penny asks.

I push my lower lip out as I look up at her, phone in hand. "Rok has to work late."

"Tragic, really," Lhysa mutters, taking up and comparing the two skirts in her hands, lips pursed. "Now get back up, I'm not done with you."

"Flaming hells, babe. Relax. Do you need more coffee or less? A snack? Sex? I can't tell." Penny grabs the skirts from Lhysa and drapes them over the back of the chair once more, smoothing them a bit before planting her hands on her hips as she stares up at her partner.

"Coffee. And sex, of course, always sex, but more coffee will do nicely until later. You know how loud I get."

Lhysa takes up our empty mugs and saunters out of the closet, still in those incredible pleasers. Penny follows a moment later, offhandedly calling back to me over her shoulder.

"You text your sweetie, we'll…get more coffee, probably."

I snort to myself, knowing full well that someone is about to be fondled while they're waiting for their pour over. One solid yank brings the blanket off of the chair and over my bare feet as I lean back and start tapping out a reply.

Orlagh

What???

How is he allowed to keep doing this

Rok'nhar

His face is on the billboard, so they say it's cause he's "talent" but really it's just good old-fashioned nepotism being that his uncle owns the place.

Orlagh

Of course he does, smh

Is it just me or is big tough Haf being a nepo baby kind of funny?

Rok'nhar

Lol it ain't just you

And I'm sorry sunshine, I hate to have to push things off a while longer and I sure as fuck don't wanna be here all night but I'm the only understudy they got for that asshole

Orlagh

Ughhhhhh

I was really really looking forward to converting you to a Geraldosian

I had a sweet, juicy piece of humble pie all ready to serve you after conceding that they're the best pizza place in Galtree

But in all seriousness I'm sorry you've been put in this position again

Especially tonight

Especially when I miss you so much

Rok'nhar

You're thoughtful to say so, thanks. And godsdamn but I miss you too. I'd much rather be forcing down a sub-par slice of pizza with the elf of my dreams than getting disappointed glares from whoever admission convinces to sit in the front of my section tonight, if anyone

I frown, wishing I could line up and repeatedly smack all of the people who had ever made Rok feel any less than the incredible, sexy, sweet orc that he is. The thought of some stuck-up idiot not appreciating him dressed like an old Orcish warchief, looking like he literally up and walked straight out of that lovely little fantasy I had earlier? Well, it doesn't make me feel very rational, that's for sure.

Lhysa and Penny walk back in after a while, coffees in hand and clothes slightly rumpled, both of them looking much, much more relaxed.

"Uh-oh, now you look mad," Penny says.

"Not at him," I say with a laugh, taking the steaming mug Lhysa's holding out to me. "At Haf, for being an asshole and skipping out on work, leaving Rok to save the day like he knows he will. And also at how self-conscious Rok feels about being in the show, because I know he's going to look like a literal dreamboat. I wish it were safe to just… go there and give him the standing ovation he deserves."

"And maybe a kneeling ovation after that?"

We burst into laughter.

"Yeah, maybe. They have to have dressing rooms, right?"

"Well, you're certainly going to be dressed like a touristy dinner theater guest. Why not go? There must be tickets, and if there aren't, well, I'll call the concierge and they can just bully them into printing more."

"Why not…? Lhysa. I'm here because I couldn't stay at my place alone even if I had a bed? Jex, Wolf, trashed apartment and stalking and actual physical threats? Remember?!"

"Well, of course I do, but you look nothing like yourself right now. I'm not even sure Rok would recognize you, and I know those idiot wolves wouldn't."

"That's… probably true, actually."

"Plus, I have a car at my disposal, and a driver. And don't you remember what I said about the doormen here? I'm sure I could get one of them to ride along with you, escort you safely inside."

Sweet sunbeams… she's right. I don't look recognizable at all. And if she's offering a share of her luxury amenities to help see me to Dinners Dragons safely… then I don't have to wait hours for Rok to come get me here at Lhysa's, and he doesn't have to suffer through the idiocy of some random, superficial tourist tonight—I could totally be the elf in the audience, ogling him unabashedly as he so rightly deserves.

An actual plan doesn't take too long to unfold after that, and next thing I know I'm sliding into the back of a luxury sedan in front of the Viridian, being driven down bustling city streets by an actual chauffeur: an ogre named Erkin who's somehow managing to aggressively wear his suit and tie, but he's got a kind smile that reaches his eyes and a jaunty little hat that evens the whole effect out. I'm glad I didn't opt for an awkward ride with one of the doormen, and that Erkin isn't much of a talker, turning on some soft jazz and rolling up the partition once he's sure I'm comfortable.

I check my makeup again, and marvel at how solidly Dolly remains in place on my head, even after giving a couple of nervous, experimental tugs. Traffic isn't great in the city, and my hands need something to do, so I take out my phone while we're stopped at a light. My messages are still open, and realize in all the excitement of hatching and enacting this super secret surprise plan, I left Rok on read and never replied.

I take a slow breath—sun above, but Lhysa really laced this bodice up tight, didn't she?—and tap out my reply.

Orlagh

Sorry, got caught up with the girls

And none of that nonsense because I love your body and I wish you did too

People may be simple and superficial but that doesn't change the fact that you're strong and sexy and soft and I wouldn't change a single thing about you

Minus your pizza preference, of course

Rok'nhar

No need to apologize, glad something positive came out of us butting heads last night.

And knock that off now, or I'm gonna be blushing under my warpaint all night long.

Orlagh

Is that supposed to incentivize me to stop?

Because now I'm thinking about you covered in warpaint and that is NOT helping

I mean

Look, I know we have… a LOT to unpack and sort out after last night

But I've been aching to touch you, taste you

I miss you, Rok

And I can't wait to see you

Rok'nhar

Gods, but I miss you, sunshine.

I'll text you as soon as I'm done here and then I'll come swoop you up, take you home and take care of all of those aches, see to some of my own

Orlagh

See you soon, then

Sooner than you thinkare the words I type out and then delete, smiling softly to myself and gazing out the window instead, excited about what the night holds in store.

Once we're at Dinners Dragons I thank Erkin, awkwardly pressing a few bills into his enormous hands, running over to the box office, full skirts flouncing marvelously and a gigantic smile on my face. I'm out of breath when I get there, so I brace my hands on the stone counter, gulping down air; it's been so long since I've worn a corset that apparently I've forgotten how to breathe in one.

"Hey—one—orcs—front?"

The clerk behind the counter blinks at me with their large, amphibious eyes for a moment before nodding and tapping away at their computer keyboard with elongated, webbed fingers. "You're all dressed up and lookin' for the immersive experience, I take it?"

I clutch at my side, hoping my smile doesn't look too much like a grimace. "Yes—give—favor?"

"Alright," they sigh, grabbing a spray bottle and misting their exposed skin lightly before crossing their now moist arms. "In that case, the management of Dinners Dragons requires me to inform you that the actors seen on the billboards and commercials promoting the live dinner theater provided by Dinner Dragons may or may not be the actors that you will see featured in this evenings live performance."

They look at me expectantly, pointedly, and then sigh once more, continuing with their unenthused recital.

"By purchasing a premium ticket after hearing this information, you are hereby giving Dinners Dragons both your acknowledgment and explicit consent of the fact that Dinners Dragons will not be inclined to or required to issue any refunds based on actor availability?—"

I slam my credit card down on the counter and the clerk yelps, their mottled black and red skin suddenly turning the same slate gray as the stone castle walls behind them.

"Just—don't—don't have to do that."

I breathe deep, finally getting the hang of keeping my ribs in place and pulling air up into my lungs, just in time to help temper the perfectly rational wave of anger washing over me. I'm furious on Rok's behalf, but I'm all too aware that this frogkin isn't the one setting company rules and standards, no more than I'm the one with the power to replace Perk Ya Later's ancient espresso machines or control which scones arrive from our vendor every day.

"Listen, I get that it's management making you put out a disclaimer for perfectly normal actors with perfectly normal bodies or whatever, but I don't need the spiel—I know what I want, and what I want is front row in Warchief Grok'hal's section."

A deafening roarerupts around me as the lights in the arena dim. I practically squeal in excitement alongside the raucous cheering of the crowd, breathless and intoxicated by the energy all around me. The sound of drums beating in the distance grows louder and louder as the incredible assortment of tightrope walking centaurs and fae jesters that opened the show scurry off together, making way for the night's main event: a royal joust, followed by a melee.

So far everything here at Dinners Dragons has been just as kitschy and wonderful as I'd imagined it would be, from the drawbridge leading into the building beyond the ticketing booth to the tourist-occupied public stockades—and, of course, there was the salacious pickle vendor.

He'd found me roaming amongst the ring of market stalls outside of the actual arena before the show started, proclaiming loudly to all the actors and guests within earshot that I looked like the kind of elf who knew the joys of wrapping her lips around a fat, juicy pickle. I'd almost told him how right he was, but I hadn't wanted to take any chances on word somehow getting back to Rok that there was an orc-loving sun elf in attendance.

The amusement and immersion had followed me all the way down through the stadium, past the two-pronged steel forks and drinking horns lining the long slab tavern tables as I'd trailed a serving girl to my seat. Most of the house had bench seating, but the front rows all had slightly more refined banquet tables and arched back dining chairs carved out of solid oak, one of which the generously bosomed Dwarven serving girl had pulled out for me, all curtsies and m'lady's and sweet freckled dimples.

"You look lovely," she'd whispered, pushing in my chair, "and that glow is incredible, really sets off the whole look!"

And she had been right, I'd realized.

I was glowing, am glowing now, all over, and in a way that has nothing to do with Dolly or any of the expensive cosmetics Lhysa had slathered all over me. My skin is shimmering, glittering, alive; buzzing and beaming like electrified gold dust. I can scent Rok all around me, everywhere, and the closer he gets to emerging from backstage, the harder it gets not to squirm in my seat, to keep control over this lusty heat vibrating through me and breathe.

It's the mating bond. I know it is, and I don't need to understand exactly how it works or exactly what it means to be sure of that, sure of the love I feel for Rok in my bones, my soul. The reality of those emotions doesn't scare me anymore, either. It makes my smile just a bit softer, my eyes a bit brighter as I sit alone at my table, all aglow in the middle of the front row and shining like a beacon. Honestly, it'll be a miracle if Rok doesn't spot me right away.

I pull out my phone to take a quick selfie and text it to the group chat so I can let Lhysa and Penny know our last-minute plan was executed perfectly—while simultaneously informing Brix that Haf is, in fact, a whole clown—and after I send the photo off, I see I have several texts waiting for me.

From Taliagh.

Taliagh

I'm flying in tonight.

Taliagh

You're not at your apartment?

I didn't get on a commercial plane for nothing, Orlagh.

We need to talk.

Taliagh

I'm not leaving town until we do.

Taliagh

Tell me where to find you or I'll have you found.

I'm so shocked that I freeze for a moment before stashing my phone away and taking a small sip of water, cheeks hot and hands shaking.

Have me… found? Like I'm some kind of lost dog or something? Sweet sunbeams, what does that even mean and why does it feel like a literal threat?

Just…. No.

No.

I don't want to know, I don't want to care, and I don't have to care right now. I can worry about whatever that's all about later—much later. Well after Rok and I talk, because I'm certainly not going to drop everything going on in my life just to rush off and get the dressing down of a lifetime from my estranged sister.

I'm… well, I'm going to ignore it. Ignore her like a totally responsible adult, and just sit here looking like I hopped off the cover of a romance novel while tearing away at my giant turkey leg, waiting for my mate—who will also be looking fresh off the front of a steamy paperback—to enter the arena.

I grab said turkey leg, staring down at it for a moment before setting it back down on my plate. I wish I could eat it, because I know what food Rok didn't have a hand in cooking tonight he had a hand in creating for the menu, but… it's probably best to just think about eating my giant turkey leg since I am practically vibrating in my seat, so full of nervous energy that there's no way I'd be able to keep any of this food down—though goddess knows it smells delectable and there's plenty of it to be had. Aside from the enormous turkey leg and roasted burdock that take up nearly half of the ogre-sized plate in front of me, I have a trencher full of roasted boar drenched in au jus, parmesan crusted corn ribs, a fresh fennel salad, and an endless parade of sickeningly sweet mead that the servers keep bringing by to try and ply me with.

Between the reaction from the jumpy box office clerk, the scripted disclaimer management had required them to have prepped and ready to go for nights like tonight where Haf abuses his nepo card, and the near constant, uncomfortable pressure to drink I'm getting from the waitstaff, it's obvious that Rok wasn't exaggerating or imagining things. They've had to deal with some shitty customers saying shitty things about my boyfriend—my mate—and now I'm more determined than ever to put on my own show when Warchief Grok'hal comes to claim his favor from the wayward maiden in his section, just for him.

Trumpets sound as the humans make their entrance first, and I think I spot Pete leading the ranks of at least a dozen heavily armored knights wielding flamberges, flanking their mounted queen. She's breathtakingly regal, clearly as broad and strong as any of the men and decked out in an engraved ebony plate armor so black that it swallows the light as it hits it, with a jagged metal crown upon her head as deadly and fierce looking as she is. The beautiful piebald destrier beneath her is one of the most majestic animals I've ever seen, the perfect compliment to the black and white banners decorating her section of the arena, matching the ones her knights hold aloft.

The procession makes their way along the entire length of the front row, stopping briefly at the middle section—the elves—to heckle a human sitting in the front. The queen doesn't spare them so much as a glance as she passes, though, immediately launching the piebald into a light canter until she's at the human section on the left, her section. Her knights scramble to get in formation behind her as she extends her flamberge toward the tables, the sharp, shining silver of the blade slicing through the spotlight and sparkling like a wicked diamond when she flips it, holding the hilt out to a guest.

A tall, well-muscled half-orc blushes prettily as their friends clap their shoulders, pushing them forward. Their hands tangle in their hair, undoing a ribbon weaved into a long, braided crown atop their head before walking around the table and tying it to the hilt of the queen's blade. The queen's eyes linger upon them for a moment before she winks, bringing the horse about and going to her throne. The crowd is eating it up, and the half-orc goes back to their cheering group of friends a few shades rosier.

The elves come next, and all of them moon elves, of course. About twenty assassins flank their king, each one of them positively dripping in deep sapphire silks that match their section's banners and decor, as well as compliment the copious amounts of exposed silvery gray and lavender skin they're revealing. Traditional moonstone chakrams hang at every hip, luminescent sisters to the lethal-looking glaive and crown of glowing stars adorning their royal charge. The king himself is about as painfully handsome as you'd expect an Elven king to be, with chiseled, haughty features and sheets of ebony hair cascading down his back. A truly tremendous amount of gauzy black fabric billows around his gleaming silver plate armor, shadows casting shadows and kissing the ground as he makes his way around the arena, passing right in front of my table on the back of a pure white direwolf.

The creature is gigantic, and despite being absolutely gorgeous and quite calm, I can't help but tense at the sight of its narrow muzzle and lolling tongue, at the two rows of deadly sharp teeth flashing in the light. But it's not this glorious animal that frightens me—it's the beast it reminds me of that does, that has me feeling shaken. I don't know why this creature finally brings me clarity about what a monster Wolf really is, but it does, drudging up all the latent feelings of worry I've been pushing away while trying to deny the very real threat he poses to me, to Rok.

My skin prickles as if on cue and I turn to look around me, but I don't have long to dwell on the uneasiness building within me, rising like the tides, as a band of Elven assassins approach, surrounding their mounted king, the spotlight running towards us.

"Well, well… what have we here?" The direwolf slows to a halt in front of me as the king tilts his head back, narrowing his eyes dramatically.

I sit up a little straighter in my banquet chair, chin high, as the elves gesture in my direction and cry out their answers.

"A traitor!"

"Turncoat!"

"Nay, a peach, I say, and so very sweet!"

"Hmm, yes. A peach, indeed," he murmurs, looking down his nose at me with an almost bored expression on his face. "Shame she's fallen so far from her tree only to roll amongst the filth."

I gasp along with the rest of the crowd, my chair scraping the ground as I jump to my feet, the overly dramatic, professionally condescending delivery of that line hitting me like a swift, stinging slap on the cheek.

The king halts his wolf, turning back toward me with one eyebrow raised.

"Something to say, peach?"

A small smile tugs at the corner of my lips as I throw my shoulders back, raising my voice just enough so the mics pick it up. "Why yes, Your Majesty. Just that I'm sure you've never eaten a peach properly in your life, and certainly never savored one the way only an orc like Warchief Grok'hal can."

The king's campy cruelty cracks as he throws his head back and laughs merrily, his entourage following suit. A wave of amused shock ripples through the audience as well, eliciting cheers from a number of orcs and boos from the elves, as it were.

"Would you look at that," one elf chuckles, resting a hand on the chakram at his hip and gesturing toward me with the other. "This one's fresh after all, Your Majesty!"

"Brush her off a bit and she'll be good for a few bites, at the very least," another says, waggling her eyebrows at me so exaggeratedly that I burst into laughter myself.

"That's right, come along, peach," another says, motioning for me to follow his comrades and king as they make their way to their section in the middle, "roll on over this way and we'll give you a washing most thorough!"

The human that had been heckled earlier was already on his feet and in front of his table, revealing a scandalously sheer set of hose and a most impressive codpiece. A single blue rose is clenched between his teeth as he sinks into the courtliest of bows. The Elven king smirks, sliding off of his mount like a rogue bolt of silk and handing off the reins as he approaches the guest. Hooking a finger beneath his chin, he tilts the man's head back, gently taking the rose from his lips before grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him close for a wild, passionate kiss.

I roll my eyes a bit at how ridiculous and contradictory the competitive speciest overtones in this show are, but then the king dips his lucky paramour and I'm swept up in the moment as they devour each other—that guy has to be an actor, right?—and cheering along with the crowd until they part, the elves taking their places around their own throne.

I'm scrambling, trying to figure out exactly what I'm going to do to top that, when the drumbeat quickens and a dense, theatrical fog rolls in from the wings, lights dimming.

A lone, backlit figure emerges, nothing more than a great, hulking shadow amongst the fog. My trembling hands find the edge of the table, heart in my throat, breathless lips parted and bosom most definitely bosoming. Multiple spotlights flicker to life at once, shedding light on the orcs now spilling into the arena behind the heavy footfalls of Warchief Grok'hal.

Rok looks impossibly rugged and fearsome, his bare chest and belly stained with the same black warpaint streaking his face. The leather breeches and hide boots are the same ones he wore during my stream, but his leather armor is bigger, bolder, draped in rich furs and made for the stage. The giant bearpaw pauldrons atop each of his massive shoulders and the bearskin cape flourishing behind him with every one of his steady, measured steps make him look every bit the brutal, exacting warchief of my fantasies.

A chaotic horde of fifteen or twenty hide-clad warriors follows close behind, clanging their axes on shields and bellowing in Orcish as they make their way into the arena, always careful to stay behind him. He stops and his horde comes to a halt behind him as he takes his time silently surveying the elf king, the human queen, and then the audience, until his gaze finally lands on me.

For a moment he seems to falter and I hold my breath, certain he's figured out that it's me, but then he shakes his head and moves forward, looking beyond me instead of at me as he closes the distance between us. The sounds of the crowd fade into nothing as my heartbeat picks up again, faster and faster.

This is it.

The moment I've been dreaming of since this afternoon in Lhysa's closet, the one Rok's likely been dreading all night: the part of the show where the orcs emerge and Warchief Grok'hal requests a favor from the beautiful maiden in the audience, from me.

My heart nearly stops when he's in front of me, the spotlights on us blinding, flooding my peripheral vision until he's all I can see. This corset is so tight that I can feel my meager breasts spilling over my ridiculously revealing neckline with every panting breath, feel my heart fluttering wildly, hear it thundering in my ears just as loudly as the drums of war in the distance, as the axes and hammers against the shields of his warriors.

My curtsy is deep, chin ducked and eyes downcast, letting Dolly obscure my face as he braces one foot on the low wall, bracing his arm on his knee and holding out his greataxe.

For a moment I can't speak, can't move. I'm too caught up in the fantasy, imagining some great forbidden love between this wayward elf maiden and her brutal orc chieftain. Some rivalry with that Elven king that stretched far back beyond tonight, began with this orc stealing me from my bed as his army raided our castle. Perhaps a war, even, begun after he claimed me as his spoils, declared me his mate and swept me off to his wild kingdom, rutting me in the woods beneath a sky of stars every night along the way.

"I—I couldn't stand another moment apart," I stammer, tilting my chin upward to reveal my face, finally meeting his gaze.

His jaw drops when the realization hits him, tusks practically hitting the floor, and the moment is even sweeter than I imagined it would be.

"Or—Orlagh? What… how…?"

Dishes and food go clattering to the floor as I sweep away what's on the table in front of me, cutting him off mid-stammer and stepping up onto my chair.

"It's like I told you," I smolder at him, bracing one of my feet onto the table and bending forward, grabbing the base of my petticoats and giving him a one-of-a-kind view of exactly what this bodice beholds. "I just couldn't stand another moment apart. Not from you, Grok'hal. Not from… my mate."

A smile breaks out on my face at the reaction of the crowd, at the look of utter astonishment on Rok's face as I snap back up, hiking my skirts to reveal a high-cut set of panties that are definitely not historically accurate and a frilly little garter around my bare thigh. Whistles and shouts break out all around us, but nothing is louder than the pounding of the drums in the distance, the low growl building in Rok's chest amplified for the whole arena to hear, or the frantic beating of my own hummingbird heart.

Rok easily scales the low retaining wall, throwing his greataxe down onto the table as he closes the distance between us.

His massive green hands skim up my thigh, head tilting to the side as he watches their path, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. One finger slips beneath the band, then another, and another, before he tears the delicate fabric from my body and my ears are filled with a great, roaring commotion from everywhere.

"Favor, for now," Rok leans forward, eyes locked with mine, before planting a kiss on the inside of my thigh. "And after, mate? A peach."

He fixes me with that lopsided grin before dropping back into character, cerulean eyes sparkling as he takes up his greataxe and turns to the audience. "But first… Grok'hal—must—WIN!"