Sold to the Orc: A Steamy Monster Romance Novella (Orc Brides Book 1) by Tara Phillips

Author:Tara Phillips [Phillips, Tara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-07-04T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Four

The priest is terrified and mumbling a never-ending line of prayers as he kneels in front of my soon to be orc-husband and chants. I don’t have the heart to tell Atul that this priest is from the wrong sect. He’s a priest of Aros, the god of alchemy and healing, not a worshiper of Induimen, the goddess of the forge who maintains the fire in the hearth and home and joins two families in holy union with her hammer.

Atul smiles, his lips curling wide across his tusks, as he points towards the priest and holds up a short length of twine. It’s not the prettiest of marriages… but the fact that he raided a village to kidnap me this priest is… charming. Heartwarming, even. Has anyone ever gone to such lengths just to please me? My mind blanks as I try to recall and come up empty.

“Say your words, priest,” Atul orders gruffly.

The priest prays harder as he cowers.

I laugh before I can stop myself. “No… um, he means for you to marry us.”

The priest stops his chanting to look at me like I’ve grown a second head. He blinks, glancing between me and Atul.

“W… what? I’m not… I can’t…” the priest mutters.

Atul twirls his double headed axe and leans forward menacingly towards the poor, frightened man.

“It’s fine, just do the best you can,” I reassure him.

The priest swallows and stands on trembling legs. He takes the cord from Atul and begins to pray over our hands. When my orc stretches his arm out I lay mine on top of his and my belly flutters with nerves. I’m getting married to an orc. It feels surreal as the priest waxes poetic about honoring and obeying one another, forsaking others and turning towards duty and the sanctity of the heart. The priest stumbles a bit over the portion where the hammer pounds the metal, shaping it on the anvil with the blessing of the fire’s forge. The man blushes and rattles on. I take Atul’s large hand in mine, pressing my palm flat against his. Our fingers intertwine and he dwarfs me. The priest ties the cord around our wrists and knots it three times, then says a prayer to both the virgin mother and the sacred whore.

“Is it finished?” Atul asks as he glances between me, our bound wrists, and the priest.

The priest wipes his sweat beaded brow and nods, his face pale and pinched.

Atul smiles, but there’s nothing kind or reassuring about it. “Good. Now get out,” he orders.

The priest doesn’t need to be told twice. He flees, banging the tree house door shut behind him as he bolts.

I slant my eyes towards my husband… oh gods and goddesses… my husband… I’m married… “that wasn’t very kind.”

He grins at me, unperturbed. “I never claimed to be kind.”

Atul says this, but he’s been nothing but kind to me so far. He bought me, true. But so could any man with enough coins pay my bride price. He’s fed and clothed me, given me privacy, kept me safe… And he hasn’t raised a hand to me.

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