Her Orc Husband

It’s there that Mrs. Pimms finds me, still clutching Marut’s heavy purse, dripping water on the flagstone floor.

“Has that orc left?” she exclaims. “After claiming how urgent it is for you to get married today?”

With her hands at her hips, her breasts heaving with indignation, and a fierce frown marring her expression, she looks every bit as fearsome as a mother bear protecting her cub, and I’m immensely grateful she’s here to guide me through this.

“He’ll return shortly,” I tell her. “He only went to get his witness. And he left me this.”

I show her the purse, and she hums in answer. Then she takes it from me and extracts six of the gold coins.

“That’s my fee and the magistrate’s covered,” she says briskly as she pockets the money. Then she takes another one and says, “We’ll need something else. Wait here.”

Marching over to the clerk at the desk, she whispers something to the woman and passes her some bronze pieces. The city employee then calls a teenage boy, gangly and tall, and mutters instructions to him while throwing glances at me. The boy nods and takes off into the rain at a run.

“What was that?” I ask Mrs. Pimms when she returns to my side.

She gives me a secretive smile. “An essential.”

Minutes trickle by, and just as I begin to worry that Marut has indeed left me at the altar, so to speak, the door opens again, and he enters, followed by another cloaked orc. Marut finds me at the side of the room and immediately walks toward me, his gaze burning with intent.

“You are still here,” he says. “Thank you.”

I glower at him. “Was this a test?”

He shrugs, that half-smile playing on his lips. “Do you blame me? Now I know that you value this union more than a bag of gold.”

I smack his boot lightly with my umbrella. “That was unnecessary.”

He lets out a low chuckle that does funny things to my insides. I couldn’t call him handsome, not really. His face is too rough-hewn for that, his expression too intense. But I don’t know if I’m meant to be judging him by human standards. I suppose that’s unfair.

Then my gaze slips to the other orc, and I barely stifle a gasp. He’s older than Marut by a decade or so, and he clearly went through some horrific fights in his life because his face is deeply scarred. He throws back his hood, and I notice that half of his right ear is missing, chopped off by some awful blow that must have nearly taken his life as well.

“Ozork, son of Bram.” He bows lightly to me. “It is an honor to meet you.”

He doesn’t extend a hand toward me, and I wonder if Marut explained to him that I don’t like being touched.

I curtsy in return. “Hello. Thank you for joining us on such short notice.”

He grins at me, his craggy face lighting up. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. To see this grumpy bastard find a mate? Anyone from our clan would do the same.” Then he ducks his head. “Pardon my language, miss.”

“That’s all right. And call me Violet, please.”

Fighting a smile, I glance over at Marut, who is now glaring at Ozork. They seem to have a history together. From my short interactions with my future husband, I’ve seen he has manners, but this orc called him grumpy. I wonder when that side of him might come out.

“The magistrate is waiting,” Mrs. Pimms pipes up. “We’d better get there, or she’ll take on the next couple that’s scheduled to get married today.”

She hurries down a short corridor, and I follow, Marut at my side. Ozork brings up the rear, his footsteps almost silent, which is surprising, given his bulk. We enter a chamber with fancy furnishings that have seen better days. The chairs are upholstered in deep-blue velvet, but the fabric is worn, and the floorboards are polished but show signs of scuffing. A slightly harried-looking woman motions for us to step closer, and Mrs. Pimms leads the way to the massive oakwood desk.

Suddenly, the reality of the situation crashes down on me. I’m getting married. To an orc. From this day onward, I will be Marut’s wife.

Oh, gods.

Fast footsteps sound in the hallway, and the boy I saw in the entrance hall earlier bursts into the chamber, carrying…

“What is the meaning of this?” snaps the magistrate, rising from her chair.

Mrs. Pimms walks toward the boy and hands him another copper coin. “Thank you,” she murmurs. Then she takes the bouquet of flowers from him and turns to the magistrate and adds, “Forgive me, Your Honor, I simply thought that a wedding without a bouquet would be a sad affair indeed.”

The magistrate doesn’t quite roll her eyes, but she doesn’t berate the matchmaker further. Mrs. Pimms hands me the pretty bunch of hellebores and catkins.

“It’s not much, I’m afraid,” she whispers to me. “But it’s better than nothing.”

Tears sting my eyes, so I blink fast. “Thank you. They’re lovely.”

She smiles at me, and for the first time in ages, I get the urge to hug a woman who is a stranger to me. I almost wish she would wrap her soft arms around me and hold me close, the way my mother used to do when I was little.

The magistrate clears her throat. “Now, if everybody is ready to begin?”

Marut and I take our places in front of her desk. We sit on the ornate chairs—Marut’s groans under his weight—and listen to her recite the marriage agreement.

“…all her financial assets will become the husband’s property, therefore, she—”

“What?” barks the orc.

I start, jerking upright in the chair. I’d been thinking of how we might get from Ultrup to the orc kingdom, and I tuned out some of what the magistrate has been reading, but apparently, my future husband has been listening intently, because he’s leaning forward, frowning at the magistrate.

“Yes, Mr.…ah, Marut?” the magistrate asks, consulting her notes to read his name.

“What is this?” He motions at the agreement from which she’s been reading. “The wife’s assets become the husband’s property?”

The magistrate exchanges a look with Mrs. Pimms. “Er, yes.”

“That’s barbaric,” Marut exclaims. He turns to me. “Did you know about this?”

I open my mouth to reply, but the magistrate cuts in.

“This is a standard marriage agreement, Mr. Marut,” she says, her tone condescending. “Should you wish to amend it, you would have done well to come to me with more forewarning.”

“Marut,” I say quietly. “It’s all right. I don’t… I don’t have many assets as it is. It doesn’t matter.”

He frowns down at me. “But you might in the future. You will not be signing this agreement, Violet.”

“We don’t have time for this,” the magistrate says.

Marut reaches into his purse and slaps two gold coins on the desk. “Cross out this section,” he orders. “The entire paragraph. And read on, please. Don’t leave anything out.”

The magistrate’s eyebrows climb up, but she pockets the money, takes up the quill and inkpot that must have been placed there for our signatures, and crosses out the offending lines in all three copies of the agreement. Then she continues along the text, more slowly now, and removes two more paragraphs at Marut’s insistence. Finally, she concludes the reading and sets down her quill.

“Will that be all?” she asks.

Marut looks at me. “Would you like to add anything?”

I shake my head mutely. I don’t know much about law at all, but now that Marut pointed out the flaws in the contract, I can see how skewed it is. My position wouldn’t change much—I’m used to having my money tightly controlled by others. First by my father, who was a generous man, then my brother, who liked to remind me that my dowry wouldn’t last me forever and that I needed to be very frugal with it.

Now, for the first time, it seems that I’ll be the mistress of my own financial future.

It’s a frightening thought. But perhaps Marut would be willing to guide me along the way, given that he seems to know quite a bit more about this than I do.

“Well, then,” the magistrate says, “all that’s left are your signatures. You need to sign all three copies, please, yes, like so.”

She offers the quill to me first, and I scribble my name on the line at the bottom of each page. Then I hand the feathered quill to Marut. He frowns down at it, then places it carefully on the desk. He reaches into the pocket of his vest and pulls out a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles with thick glass lenses. He perches them on his nose, frowning all the while, and peruses the contracts with a critical eye. Then he scrawls a bold signature on the line next to my name. Mrs. Pimms and Ozork add their signatures as our witnesses.

And it’s done. We’re married, and—

“You may kiss the bride,” the magistrate announces.

I stare up at Marut, my eyes wide. His expression darkens for a split second, then he offers me that almost-smile and gently takes my gloved hand in his. He gives me a moment to pull away, but I don’t. It’s the first time he’s held it like this, and I marvel at how warm his skin is. The heat permeates right through the lacy fabric as he brings my fingers to his lips and kisses the tips ever so gently.

A shiver runs through me at the innocent contact.

Then he reaches into the other pocket of his jacket and draws out a gold ring. It looks so small and dainty in his large hand, but when he slips it onto my finger over the glove, it fits—barely, so it will be perfect to wear without my glove. I stare down at it, marveling at the oval-shaped green emerald surrounded by tiny white diamonds.

This must have been what he went out to do, besides fetch Ozork. To know that he took the time to buy it for me…

“It’s beautiful,” I murmur. “You didn’t have to, but I like it very much.”

He runs his thumb over the shiny stones. “It reminded me of your eyes.”

I flush, then offer him a small smile. “And it reminds me of your skin.”

He grins then, and my silly heart skips a beat at how it transforms his serious face.

He’s my husband now.

And I am his wife, until death do us part.