The Orc King

Princess Astera stood naked and shivering in the centre of the palace gardens. Moonlight danced across the cobblestone path, just enough that she was able to make out the bobbing shapes of the leafy plants around her. The lack of light didn’t seem to bother the two orc women who worked around her. They painted her body in strange symbols with a reddish stain. She fidgeted anxiously when a brush twirled around one of her breasts.

“Be still!” One of the orc women ordered her.

“Don’t be so harsh,” the other orc woman chided. “She is simply nervous. Do not worry, we will make you beautiful for King Volen.”

Astera felt a shiver rippled down her spine at the mention of her soon-to-be husband. The orc king. She had imagined her wedding a hundred different ways. Always a political alliance. It was to be expected, as the daughter-heir of the Sarai Empire. But marrying the orc king…

“How long will the ceremony be?” Astera asked. Anything to distract herself from facing the inevitable.

The two orc women exchanged glances. “Not as long as it should be. There will be no Ishten, no bridal scrimmage. Just the exchanging of vows.”

She didn’t dare ask what a bridal scrimmage was. She already regretted asking about the paint. A map of all the places your mate must mark you. The orcs were a brutal, secretive people. She knew very little what to expect from the ceremony. Her father had conceded to most of the orc’s demands regarding the wedding. Including allowing the orc women to prepare and dress her for the ceremony; however they saw fit.

Once the paint was applied, the orc women dressed her in a gown of spider-silk. The gown was so thin it was opaque against her skin, and pooled at her feet so that it would trail behind her when she walked. A veil was fixed over her face. Her cheeks flamed looking down at herself. For the orc king’s fealty, and his army, her father would give her away like a prized animal.

The three women began making their way from the gardens to the Fields of Remembering, where the ceremony was to take place. Behind them loomed the imperial palace, at the top of the craggy cliffs of the island.

As they made their way from the gardens down to the fields, she could see large stretches of the island laid out before her. The Fields of Remembering were swaths of grassy plains that surrounded the imperial grounds. The twinkling lights of the city of Thelfare were just visible on the horizon. Astera’s eyes were drawn to the hundreds of tents covering the fields. Each flew the reddish banner of the orc king, Soarruk Volen.

The cobblestone path to the Fields of Remembering was lined by stone pillars supporting an arched lattice roof. Vines and grapes grew in the ceiling and dangled down around them. She had grown up attempting to climb these pillars, trying to steal grapes to annoy the servants. Some of the pillars were crumbling with age, others from blackened pockmarks left by cannon fire.

There was a time when she had thought her father would lose the war against the Demon King. Ten years of bloodshed. The brutality had made it all the way to the gardens of the imperial household before they were able to put a stop to it. She knew her father’s decision to ally with the orcs had not come lightly.

Marrying her off to an orc had not been an easy solution. The orcs had lived freely in the forests and mountains of Sarai since the beginning of her family’s rule. They worshipped their own gods and king. Generations of rulers had been unable to bring the orcs under the imperial heel. Until the Demon King brought the war to their doorstep, and the orcs could no longer simply ignore the human’s war.

The orcs had strength, speed and the ability to resist most magic. They agreed to join the Sarai Empire on one condition: When the orcs won the war, their king Soarruk Volen would claim her, the emperor’s eldest daughter as his bride.

She considered the war, and other things as she was led through the flaps of the tent where she was to be married. She thought of the things her people had to endure: a decade of rationing, years of starvation and fear. She thought of rivers of blood and lakes of burning bodies left by the Demon King.

She tried to remember the sacrifices made by her people. It was a constant weight on her shoulders. As she walked through the entrance and knelt onto the plush pillow, she considered how small her sacrifice would be compared to theirs. It didn’t stop her hands from shaking.

She had heard stories of what happened when orcs and humans crossed paths. The only reason they had not been at war during Astera’s lifetime was because humans were too busy fighting the Demon King. The forests and mountains of Sarai belonged to the orcs. Whenever the humans encroached upon orc territories it led to conflicts. Which was often. Her hands tightened into fists at the thought. The orcs wouldn’t even let starving families forage for wild berries in their forests.

Her soon-to-be husband had gained his reputation murdering his way to his throne. The previous orc king had stolen many human women as his consorts during his lifetime. None of them survived the coupling.

Everyone expected the same, or worse for her. She had heard people discuss her impending marriage like it was her death sentence. If she survives, she’ll be bred like an animal. The thought made bile rise in her throat.

Around the room everyone was already seated. Her father sat on his solid carved-stone throne at the front of the tent. To his left side, her mother sat on a square cushion. The Emperor of Sarai and the First Imperial High Consort. The tent was otherwise full of everyone Astera knew and loved: all seven of her sisters, her little baby brother, her family elders, and her friends.

As she looked around the room, some people offered her reassuring smiles. Others looked away. She could see veiled looks of disgust and fear across the room. Her closest sisters shared her terror-stricken expression.

The ceremony began with airy string music. Her throat tightened with fear. Still, she remained seated, rooted to the pillow. The tent flaps pulled open. Behind her veil she squinted into the darkness. There he was. Her future husband.

Astera sucked in a deep breath as she took him in. He was more beast than man. Unlike the gentle orc women, orc men were massive. Soarruk Volen was tall and broad of shoulder. Her hands clenched tightly in her lap. It wasn’t just the orc men’s greenish hued skin and tusks that set them apart from human men. He had four arms.

Even under his military robes she could see he was all muscle. His hands, all four of them, rested in fists at his size. He exuded an aura of authority unlike anyone else she had ever met. Astera had spent the past week or so reading of his accounts on the battlefield. It was terrifying, placing the face to the name she had been studying.

His black hair was a wavy mess around his face, only partially tamed by the imposing crown on his brow. It was made of gold, with two large twisting horns protruding from the top. They were laced with glittering gems.

Astera felt her vision waver. He was wearing formal military robes of sorts made of dark blood-coloured material. The breasts of the robes were brightly decorated in ribbons and symbols Astera could not understand. At his hip was a wickedly sharp black battle axe. The blade was easily the size of her head.

That was what she would face if she tried to escape and failed. The famed weapon that had been used to chop up the body of the Demon King, ending the ten-year war. A war hero infamous for his brutality.

He crossed the room in a few short steps. Up close she could see how impressively sharp his fangs were. They jutted out on either side of his mouth. His lips were pulled into a scowl. He came to kneel on the pillows in front of her. He was a head span taller than her even sitting, so that she had to crane her neck up to look at him.

The human part of the ceremony began with the Priestess of Light’s blessing. The priestess stepped out of the shadows of the room, beginning her chant in a sing song voice. When she approached the couple with the binding ribbon her voice faltered slightly. Her eyes darted over the orc, clearly afraid to touch him.

“We must bind your hands.” The priestess sounded almost apologetic.

He reached for Astera’s hands. Her fingers disappeared under his grip. The priestess deftly tied their hands together using the ribbon. Soarruk Volen’s touch burned.

The Priestess of Light lifted Astera’s veil. Her future husband stared down at her with an unreadable expression. His eyes had no whites, they were purely black without any colour. His eyes narrowed on her cheeks, and she thought she could see his glare darken. Resignation rose within her, enough to return his withering glare.

The priestess finished her blessing, and announced the ceremony concluded. Astera squeezed her eyes closed to prepare for the sealing kiss. Her body trembled all over. But it never came. The orc king used his second set of clawed hands to slice through the ribbon binding them. He stood, hands pulling Astera to her feet as well.

An orc woman appeared before them. She held up a long flat box, bowing before the orc king. She opened the lid. Inside was a golden crown with shorter horns to match the orc kings. Carefully, the orc woman lifted the crown from the box and placed it on Astera’s brow.

“It is done then?” Soarruk Volen’s voice was rough, slowly enunciating each word so that his meaning was clear even through his heavy accent. He was staring at her father.

The Emperor of Sarai gave the orc a brisk nod. He didn’t look at Astera at all. “It is done.”

The orc king began leading Astera out of the tent. A delayed applause followed after them.

Under regular circumstances, there would be feasts and celebrations following the marriage ceremony. Astera knew better than to expect anything of the sort. She had once daydreamed of a great ball or festival for her wedding night. The end of the war had come swiftly though, and there was no time or leftover gold to plan a grand celebration. She had at least hoped for a hot meal and some silver-leaf wine to dampen her nerves.

She stumbled and then nearly fell when she took in the field. The orc king barely paused for her to catch up. Seeing the hundreds of orc war tents over the Field of Remembering up-close was enough to make her already frayed nerves unsteady. An entire war party at the base of her home.

“Must I drag you?” The orc king didn’t speak as slowly to her as he had her father.

Astera flinched at his words. The first thing her husband had said directly to her, and it was a threat. His eyes narrowed impatiently when Astera didn’t answer right away.

“Where- where are you taking me?” she asked.

The muscles in his jaw jumped. He stared out across the field. For a moment she thought he might just continue walking without her. But he pointed one clawed finger out to the largest yellow tent in the centre. “To complete the ceremony.”