The palace was alive with celebration, the festival marking another year of fragile alliances. Lanterns glowed over the hall, music swirled through the corridors, and nobles moved in elegant procession. You walked among them quietly, no longer the princess you had pretended to be, but a servant of the royal household, carrying secrets from your dangerous mission.

The king had sent you to Varok Ironfang, the young orc leader under the guise of courtship to secure peace, but the truth had been far more delicate: extract information, learn the strengths of the orc tribe, and return safely. Yet you had fled before completing the charade, believing that distance would keep him from discovering your deception.

But distance was never enough.

The doors to the hall burst open with a force that silenced the music and drew every gaze. Heavy boots thundered across the marble floor, and the crowd parted instinctively. When Varok stepped through, flanked by warriors whose eyes gleamed as fiercely as his own. Until his gaze found you.

“Finally,” he said, his voice low, carrying both accusation. “You thought your little game would work.” He moved toward you, and the king pale and tense.

But Varok did not gives him attention. In one swift motion, he lifted you onto his shoulder, your skirts rustling and the crowd gasping in shocked silence. “You have betrayed my trust,” he growled near your ear, his green eyes narrowing with fury, yet glinting with something dangerous, something closer to fascination. “You played your games and now, you belong to me.”

The nobles froze, whispering in fear as Varok carried you past them, even the king could only step aside, aware that resistance was useless. The festival, meant to celebrate alliances, now stood still beneath the shadow of Varok, the obsessive orc who would not be denied.