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Wodred shakes his head. “Do not misunderstand me. Guruk is fine as far as kings go, but his strength seems to be in oppressing the weak, not challenging the strong, and such things leave a bad taste in my mouth.”

Everything in me goes still. Oppressing the weak. Does Wodred know how Guruk treats me in Ilustan then? Is this his way of subtly telling me that he thinks me weak for staying with Guruk? I no longer have a choice! Perhaps I could have left before Rognar was born, but now? I cannot leave my baby behind, and Guruk would hunt me to the ends of Anar’i if I tried to leave now with what is currently his only heir.

“Do you think me weak, then?” I ask, unable to stop myself.

Wodred’s body tenses, his eyes dark with intensity, glittering even in the low light of the battlements. “Are you saying that Guruk oppresses you?”

His words are low, his tone dangerous. I don’t know why my answer seems to matter to him so much, but I get the feeling that it does. Do I tell the truth? That Guruk hurts me and mocks me and belittles me in public? That it is common knowledge in Ilustan that the queen consort is a joke? What will it change if Wodred knows this as well? What would he do? Tell Guruk that I complained? No, that doesn’t seem like him. Probably just pity me like all the rest. And, for some reason, I cannot bear the thought of his pity.

“No,” I hear the words come out of my mouth. “No. My King is good to me.”

The lies taste like ashes on my tongue, mingled with broken hope and lost dreams. But they have the desired effect. Wodred relaxes, his face shuttering, no longer looking dangerous.

“That is good,” he says. “An orc should be good to his mate.”

“Not his mate,” I correct. “Only his wife.”

Wodred’s face doesn’t change, but I catch a hint of disapproval in his air. “I suppose that is the way of Orik now. To have wives . . . and mistresses.”

I nod. “It was the way of my home country Trillin as well. My mother was the fifth concubine to my Lord Father. He also sought to have a strong bloodline.”

“It may be common, my lady,” Wodred says carefully. “But I do not understand it. If I take a mate, there will only be one. My heart does not have room for more.”

My heart squeezes at his words. What I would have given for Guruk to think the same. I thought when he first courted me . . . well, it doesn't matter what I thought. I was wrong, and now I can only live in reality.

“She will be a lucky female,” I say honestly. “Unless you prefer the company of males?”

Wodred looks at me quietly for a moment, then shakes his head. “I prefer females. But I told the king the truth. My heart is in Orik, and I have no intention of staying away from home longer than necessary.”

I smile a little. “Where do you call home, then, General? Ilustan?”

Please no, I silently beg. I cannot imagine him coming to court and seeing how I am treated there. To have his kindness slowly turn to disdain like all the others.

“I am not often in Ilustan,” Wodred tells me, to my relief. “My lands are in the north, and they need me when I am not serving in the Horde.”

“On the border of Adrik?” I ask.

“A little south of those lands,” he explains, “but not by much. Toward the foot of the Whitbron Mountains. It is a peaceful, pastoral place, with roving hills and green fields. I cannot wait to return there.”

“I can see why you would miss it,” I smile. “It sounds lovely.”

Wodred shrugs. “It is that. But it is my sisters that I miss the most. I haven’t seen them in years. Not since before the war in Trillin.”

My eyebrows raise. “So long? That was almost six years ago now!”

“Yes,” nods Wodred. “But my king had need of me, first in his cohort, then in the Northern Horde. An orc warrior never ignores a call from his king.”

“I’m sure your sisters miss you dearly,” I say.

For the first time, I see a small smile on Wodred’s face. It renders him . . . warm. Yes, that is the right word. He looks inviting as a cozy blaze on a winter’s night. It is enchanting to see a smile on a face that is so often serious.

“Yes,” Wodred says, that small smile playing about his mouth. “They send me letters often, bidding me to bring glory to Orik. They are about to join the Horde in their own right, so glory is on their minds.”

“They must be almost twelve, then?” I ask. Orclings join the Horde as trainees at age twelve.

“Yes, but they are elfborn and have some healing magic, so it is my hope that they will join the Healer’s Cohort and never see combat.” His easy smile drops at these words. “If I could, I would make it so that no orcling ever saw combat again.”

This surprises me, with Wodred being a general in the orc army. “You are a radical, then?” I ask. “You wish for peace in Orik?”

“I wish for many things, my lady,” Wodred returns evenly. “But peace in Orik is one of them.”

My husband would not like to hear that one of his prize warriors was speaking thusly, but I will not tell the tale to him. Wodred should be allowed his opinions safely and, in truth, I admire him for them and agree. A peaceful Orik? What would that look like?

But I have tarried here too long. I need to get back to Rognar and the wet nurse. Also, Ethereal forbid that Guruk go looking for me and cannot find me, especially after he let me go from the feast. He’ll think I lied to him, and there will be the Nether to pay.

“I must go,” I tell Wodred. “I need to get back to my son. But thank you for the conversation. You have given me much to think about.”

“My lady,” Wodred acknowledges, tilting his head forward and giving me the sign of respect. “Follow the sigils on the walls that look like lions. They lead to the king’s wing.”

I curtsy lightly. “Thank you, general. Good evening.”

Turning, I head back into the castle, looking for the lion sigils as Wodred bade me. I resolve, then and there, to exert any influence I have when Rognar comes of fighting age to have him put in the Northern Horde for his training. Wodred will keep him safe. I know it. Though I do not feel that I can trust any other orcs, for some reason, I feel that I can trust him.

Hopefully, I am not wrong.