Orc’s Prize by Mina Carter

ChapterThree

“Good morning, my lords, ladies, and gentlemen!”

The queen’s voice rang out over the tournament field the following day. She stood before her throne, set beneath a canopy to shield her and her court ladies from the sun’s harsh glare.

Adharian, for one, was glad that Oonais had pale skin. Her ancestry was that of the deep forest fae, and she burned easily, so at least this way, she got to stay out of its relentless glare.

“I am pleased to see so many of you with us, especially after last night’s celebrations.”

Polite laughter rippled through the crowd at the queen’s words. No one would dare not be here this morning. The queen often considered nonparticipants in her events as traitors, and no one wanted to join the orc chained by his neck and wrists to the stone post in front of her.

Adharian was careful not to look at him too closely. Not after last night. She could still feel the way her heart had thundered in her chest. She’d been so sure he would kill her, and that she’d breathe her last right there in the throne room. But he hadn’t. He’d just looked at her, seemingly as confused as she was when he hadn’t killed her.

Why hadn’t he killed her… and was he the reason her son had ventured to the court? Was her son here to rescue him? She frowned. Why would her son risk his life to save him?

“And,” Oonais continued over the laughter, motioning in irritation to show she hadn’t finished, “I have an extra special surprise for you today!”

Adharian folded her hands in her lap, the very picture of elven elegance and grace. Somehow, even though she sat near the back of the group of court ladies, the big orc chained to the post saw the movement, turning to look at her with unreadable silver eyes.

She looked away quickly, not missing the fact that someone had thrown a tomato at him. A red smear splattered across his massive chest and one shoulder.

“Thanks to the diligent efforts of my heroic champion, Lord Naebalar,” the queen swept a delicate hand toward Naebalar. He sat on a mini throne like a prince, smiling and waving to the crowd like he was royalty as well.

It made her feel sick, so she looked away, searching through the crowds until she found a flash of silver hair. Her son was here, dressed in mail and armor, ready for the day’s tournament. Her heart leaped, pounding in her chest. He couldn’t compete. He might get hurt, or worse, discovered to be an orc.

The queen turned to watch the champion preening with an indulgent smile. She knew her husband had his eyes on the queen’s bed and a place at her side. If that happened, she would be surplus to requirements, and there would be an unfortunate accident.

“Thanks to Lord Naebalar,” the queen announced dramatically. “We have the orc threat right here in this very court!”

The crowd gasped as she motioned toward the big orc in front of her, as though they’d only just noticed him. She resisted the urge to shake her head, just in case the queen had a spell that enabled her to see out the back of her head. There was no way any of them had missed the nearly seven-foot, heavily muscled monster of an orc. The more she looked at him, the more she realized he wasn’t just an orc. He had to have either troll or giant blood as well.

“As a special treat, I am proud and pleased to announce that the tournament winner today will have the immense and unique honor of executing this foul creature right here on this field!”

Applause broke out from the assembled crowds, and the knights in attendance made their way toward the canopy the ladies sat under. The knights were almost blinding in their polished mail and armor as they approached the lady of their choice to ask for a favor to wear on the tournament field.

None of them would approach her. She was the champion’s wife, so none would dare. Not anymore. Once a young knight had thought it a good idea to try, flirting with her at a ball and asking for her favors to wear the next day.

Her husband had had him knifed in a dark alley in the city that sometimes surrounded the palace, depending on the queen’s mood. No one else tried it after that.

It wasn’t that Naebalar wanted her, but she was his property. She gritted her teeth and fixed her gaze on the tournament field rather than have anyone think she was bothered that her husband didn’t approach her for her favors but one of his whores instead. He wouldn’t tolerate any other man looking her way but took a new lover every week.

So instead, she focused on her son, picking his silver hair out in the crowd. It helped that he was easily one of the tallest knights on the field. She gasped as she realized Naebalar was headed right for him, malicious intent in his eyes.

Her son—she’d asked her maid to discover his name after the ball last night. His name was Larreth, which seemed a very elven name for an orc. It had to be a false name, but it was all she had to call him by—realized a second too late to avoid the collision. She saw when he stopped trying to and half turned to set his weight, so her asshole husband bounced off him.

Naebalar landed on his ass in the dirt right in front of the ladies’ tent, the fancy armor he’d had specially made getting dirty. She sat on the edge of her seat, her heart in her throat as Naebalar leaped to his feet, his cheeks flaming scarlet. “How dare you, sir! I demand satisfaction!”

Larreth didn’t move, looking down at the furious champion. “I think, sir, that your argument is with Mother Earth for daring to besmirch your attire.”

“You threw me to the ground,” Naebalar snarled.

“I am but a simple knight from Faeranthorn. How could I hope to beat the best knight of the court, the queen’s champion no less?”

“Gentlemen, gentlemen…” The queen clapped her hands for attention as she stood. “Save it for the tournament field, please. My ladies and I look forward to the entertainment! Now, my knights, if you wish to claim a favor, please do so!”

“My lord.” Her son nodded sharply to Naebalar and turned to make his way to the tiny woman she’d seen him with last night. She still did not know who the woman was, but from how she looked up at Larreth, it was obvious they were in love.

She tore her gaze away, feeling like she’d intruded on a private moment, and looked directly into the orc’s steel-grey eyes. He moved his clawed hand, opening it so she could see what he held.

Her eyes widened.

It was a ribbon from the dress she’d worn last night.

The fairy tournament was pathetic. With a front-row seat for the fights, Gudvar curled his lip back. A single elf or fairy was no match for an orc and definitely not for a half-breed troll like him.

But he watched anyway. Some were half decent, including a female knight who beat every opponent who dared step onto the field with her. Her midnight-colored hair and armor said she was from the Black Plains. He made a note of her appearance to warn the others when he got back.

Kneeling in front of the post he’d been chained to, he watched through his hair as he ran the little ribbon through his fingers over and over again.

Most of the elves and fairies present did their best not to look at him, but he sensed someone’s eyes on him in the afternoon. Flicking his hair back, he looked up, trying to see who it was. Who was brave enough to look at him directly? It wasn’t the little elven woman. She was behind him. No, this was someone on the field—one of the participants.

Then his gaze collided with the last person he expected or wanted to see. That fucking idiot Graal. Gudvar’s lip curled back even more. The younger orc was wearing some kind of enchantment, making him appear to be an elf. A fucking tall, silver-haired elf who, if anyone here had ever seen him in his real form, wouldn’t fool them for a moment. All he was missing was his green skin and his tusks.

He turned away and spat on the ground in disgust. The last person he wanted here was Braestak’s brat of a son. If things went sideways here, he’d have to rescue the pain in the ass, which would put him at risk… well, at more of a risk.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the court. The scores are in, and we have our final two competitors!” the queen announced behind him. “And they are… Lord Naebalar, my champion and… Lord Larreth of Faeranthorn!”

He spotted Graal’s reaction, the frown as he straightened up to his full height at the queen’s announcement. To be honest, he shared the younger orc’s confusion. Even though he hadn’t wanted to, he’d been tracking who was ahead in all their bouts. He’d had little else to do while chained to this damn post, especially since he couldn’t see the pretty little elf from last night so he could torment her some more with the ribbon in his hand. She’d hidden out of his line of sight after that.

But he knew one thing: Graal wasn’t in the final two. He’d been sensible for once and hidden his light under a bushel, losing at least a couple of bouts, which took him out of the running.

Well shit…

He tensed his body, testing the spells and strength of the chains that held him again as Graal walked toward the central arena where the last bout would take place.

That little pissant, Naebalar, was already in the middle of the arena. He turned with a swirl of his purple-lined cape, looking Graal up and down.

“This will not take long,” he scoffed to the cohort surrounding him. “I’ll have this country bumpkin on his ass and crying for his mother within minutes.”

Graal chuckled, the sound low and dirty as he loosened his sword in its sheath. “You might not want to talk about mothers, my lord. I hear yours is fond of riding orc cock.”

Gudvar chuckled, for once amused by the younger orc, especially when Naebalar went purple.

“You knave! I will have satisfaction for such vile lies!” he spat.

Graal just shrugged. “Satisfaction is what she was looking for from what I hear, and your father’s flaccid cock just wasn’t enough.”

Gudvar’s amusement increased, but movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He turned to find Naebalar’s wife, the pretty little silver-haired elf, watching, her face ashen and hands white-knuckled in front of her.

Naebalar bellowed and launched himself at Graal, his sword raised to slash wildly. Someone screamed as he leaped back, arms spread to avoid his guts spilling onto the ground.

As the fight raged, Gudvar kept his attention on the elf woman. She was much more invested in this than he expected, given how her husband treated her. The asshole had opted to protect the queen rather than his wife, so surely she couldn’t be worried about him? If it were him, he’d have been cheering Graal on.

He swung his head to look at the bespelled orc again—Graal, who had silver hair.

Fuck’s sake… she was Graal’s mother. The elf Braestak had gotten himself killed mooning over.

He snuck another look at her. She was beautiful, hauntingly delicate… far too frail to share his bed. So why did a hot shard of jealousy slice through him at the idea of her sharing Braestak’s bed? He’d already discounted that little prick Naebalar. He was too self-obsessed to care about anyone else, especially his wife’s pleasure in bed. But Braestak… fuck, the orc had been a lusty bastard, a favorite with the camp followers.

He gritted his teeth, wondering why he cared if Naebalar’s wife had ridden orc cock before. She’d never had a troll before, and they were way better.

He returned his attention to the fight. Naebalar swung again, but Graal blocked the champion’s swing. Then the fight was on. They danced around each other, Graal turning all the champion’s attacks with lazy ease.

The clash of sword steel filled the air as Naebalar grew more frustrated. Gudvar grinned broadly. Graal was taller and broader with a greater reach, so the puny elf couldn’t physically beat him.

Then they locked sword hilts, the elf snarling in Graal’s face. “You are not worthy to be on the field with me,” he hissed. “When I’ve killed you, perhaps I’ll pay your little wife a visit.”

“Keep her name out of your fucking mouth,” Graal growled. “Don’t even fucking think about her.”

Pivoting, he slammed three hard blows against the elf’s sword, each one heavy enough to rattle Naebalar’s skeleton in his skin. Shock showed on the champion’s face as the concealed orc beat him back, step by step, toward the edge of the arena.

Kill the asshole, Gudvar urged. It would mean one less fucking elf on the battlefield. Graal picked the elf up and threw him out. The champion bounced on his ass in the dirt, kicking up billows of dirt and dust. The crowd roared as Graal turned, punching the air in victory.

Graal turned, his gaze clashing with Gudvar’s. Despite himself, he inclined his head a fraction of an inch in grudging respect. It had been a good bout, and Graal had fought well. Even he could see that,

“Graal!” a woman screamed. “Behind you!”