The Orc and Her Bride

The Orc and Her Bride Copyright © 2023 by Lila Gwynn Cover & map design by Sarah Waites at The Illustrated Page Book Design https://theillustratedpage.net/design/ All rights reserved. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher. Published by Eldest of Three https://lilagwynn.com ISBN-13 (eBook): 979-8-9853385-5-3 ISBN-13 (Paperback): 979-8-9853385-6-0 Contents MapContent WarningsChapter OneChapter TwoChapter ThreeChapter FourChapter FiveChapter SixChapter SevenChapter EightChapter NineChapter TenChapter ElevenChapter TwelveChapter ThirteenChapter FourteenChapter FifteenChapter SixteenChapter SeventeenChapter EighteenChapter NineteenChapter TwentyChapter Twenty-OneChapter Twenty-TwoChapter Twenty-ThreeChapter Twenty-FourChapter Twenty-FiveChapter Twenty-SixChapter Twenty-SevenChapter Twenty-EightChapter Twenty-NineChapter ThirtyElketh & RugaThank you!Coming Summer 2023…Also by Lila GwynnAcknowledgementsAbout the Author Book One of The Sapphic Orcs of Torden Lila Gwynn Eldest of Three Content Warnings This book contains an unlikeable main character, explicit sexual content, alcohol consumption to excess, and a near-drowning scene. For more information about content warnings, spice level, and happily ever afters, please visit https://lilagwynn.com/books/sapphic-orcs-of-torden. Chapter One The storm was a bad omen. Elketh didn’t believe in such superstitions. It was her last day of freedom, and not even bad omens could interfere with her plans. By sundown, Elketh’s father would call her into his study and inform her whom he had selected for her to marry. At the end of the fifty-day engagement period to become acquainted with her betrothed, her father would finally retire, and Elketh would become the elf queen of Branwen, something she had anticipated since she was just a seventy-year-old girl. Elketh Ceridwen used up her last day the way she would spend every day of her life, if she could—calling on old lovers to share one last roll in the hay (or the stable, or their mother’s bed, or at the glen behind the orchard). Her father was lenient about just one thing: Elketh had a strong preference for women, so he promised that her future spouse would be one. There were other things he was not so lenient about, namely that she would have to be loyal to her bride, and she wasn’t permitted to be involved in the choosing. Elketh had her eye on one of the Olwen daughters, a buff elf named Rhiannon whom Elketh often admired swinging a sword around whenever the Ceridwens had to conduct their diplomatic visits to the other Elven Islands. She dropped hints about this whenever she could, inquiring after Rhiannon in front of the king and discussing her crush with her brother when she knew her father was listening. If there was one thing Elketh had inherited from her father, though, it was his stubbornness, and his unwillingness to do anything he was told. Truthfully, Elketh was excited to meet her new life partner. There was something enticing about the excuse it gave her to break off prior attachments. Not to mention the excuse it gave her to make one last request for an amorous encounter, to which hardly any of them had said no. More than that, she anticipated inheriting the throne and the island it ruled over. She already had a list of changes she was going to make—starting with the drab gray clothing the servants wore. Elketh thought her father a dusty old fool who didn’t like things to be different than they were. After her fourth amorous encounter of the day, when Elketh struggled to stand after a particularly rough go of it, she steadied herself against a stable’s doorframe and caught her breath as the horses snorted around her. Fipple—or whatever her name was; Elketh could never remember—was already gone, buckling her trousers as she walked away briskly through the rain. “Really, Elketh? Fiona, too?” Elketh turned, straightening her posture even though her thigh muscles were like jelly. “What are you doing here?” “Looking for you,” her younger brother said. Owain had a bad habit of being able to find Elketh, no matter where on the island she might be hiding. “It’s time. Father is not in a good mood.” “Already? It can’t be past noon.” Owain gestured to the dark sky. “It’s most certainly the evening.” “Ah, stars. Alright, alright, I’m coming.” Ceridwen Hold’s castle was mostly open and airy. Large windows let in plenty of light and gave the sense of being outdoors, and very few rooms were completely closed off to the outside. The castle stretched to the heavens, an asymmetrical spiral that pierced the sky, stone that reflected the sun and moon like iridescent opal. It was extravagant, and it was home, and it almost always felt like you could kiss the stars from within. The study was one of those cut-off places. Tall, imposing, and sheltered with not even a single window. Setting foot inside was like entering a different world, an area held in abeyance wherein Elketh could only hold her breath until it was, finally, time to leave. She found it very unsettling. “Have a seat, Elketh,” her father said from his grand oak desk. She should have known something was wrong then; she was dripping wet, and her father would not want her on his leather chairs under normal circumstances. But she was too excited at being told the answer to a long-awaited mystery to notice. Her father’s chair was practically a throne, a plush red extravagance which stood out sharply beside the mismatched chair next to him, wherein her mother sat. The queen consort Gwenhwyfar was radiant—Elketh liked to think she inherited that from her mother—in a midnight-blue dress trimmed in silver that set off her deep brown skin. Her mother took in Elketh’s state—rain-soaked in her riding clothes—with a raised eyebrow. Elketh’s bottom squelched as she took her seat. She had to hold her knees in her hands to stop them from bouncing. “I don’t suppose you can have Isolde send for