Chapter 2: The Bathing Chamber
His amber eyes caught me, pinned me in place where I stood beside the throne. They traveled down, slow and deliberate, over the bodice of my gown where my father’s blood had dried to a rusty stain, across my hands where soot and shattered glass still darkened the creases of my palms. His nostrils flared, and when he spoke, his voice came low and rough.
“Neither of us should look so filthy for our wedding.”
The words struck me like a slap. I had not thought of a wedding. Only of vows forced from my throat, of iron cooling against my skin, of Mythias screaming in the dungeon. But Gromm’s gaze held no mockery, only a flat practicality that cut deeper than cruelty. He meant it. He wanted us presentable.
I swallowed the bile that rose. “The royal baths lie beyond the eastern corridor. Through the garden court.”
He turned without a word, expecting me to follow. I did, because my feet had learned obedience before my mind could catch up. Two of his guards fell into step behind us, their boots scuffling against the marble. The garden court lay in ruins, torn by the siege, but the bath house remained untouched, its marble columns still gleaming, the steam rising from the heated pools like breath from a slumbering beast.
Gromm stopped at the threshold. He gestured once, a sharp flick of his thick fingers toward the amber-lit chamber beyond.
“Strip.”
The word hung in the air. My cheeks burned, a sudden, searing shame that bloomed across my chest and throat. I stood frozen, my hands twisting in the filthy silk of my gown. I had never been seen naked by any man. Not once. Not even by Mythias, who had guarded me for years. And now I was to bare myself before an orc warlord and his two guards, their eyes already fixed on me with a hunger that owed nothing to desire and everything to power.
My breath came shallow. I could not move.
A low rumble vibrated from Gromm's chest, not quite a growl, not quite a word. His head tilted, those amber eyes tracing the line of my jaw, the pulse fluttering at my throat. He took a step closer, then another, until the heat of his body washed over me, carrying the scent of leather, smoke, and something earthier beneath.
"The guards," he said, without turning. "Wait outside."
They hesitated. I saw it in the flicker of their gazes, the slight stiffening of their broad shoulders. But they obeyed, retreating through the archway until the heavy curtain of cedar beads clattered back into place, leaving us alone.
Gromm looked down at me. "You are trembling."
I said nothing. Could say nothing. My teeth had locked together, my jaw aching with the effort of holding still.
He reached out, and I flinched. His hand stopped midair, hovering between us, calloused palm open and waiting. "I will undress you," he said, and his voice had dropped to something quieter, rougher, a stone dragged along a riverbed. "Or you may do it yourself. But we will both be clean before the sun sets."
The choice was no choice. And yet he had offered it.
I shook my head, a tiny, broken motion. "I cannot."
Something shifted in his expression. Not softening, not precisely, but the hard edge of his patience seemed to wear thin, replaced by a flat resolve. He let his hand fall.
"Then I will."
His fingers brushed my shoulder, and I went rigid. He was careful, more careful than I had thought possible for hands that had shattered my father's ribs. He found the clasp of my gown, the silver filigree belt, and worked it loose with a slowness that felt deliberate, almost ceremonial. The silk whispered as it pooled at my feet.
The air kissed my skin, cool against the sudden expanse of my chest. I felt my nipples tighten, pebble into hard peaks beneath the damp heat rising from the pools, and I could not stop the shiver that rolled through me. My arms crossed instinctively, a futile shield, but his gaze had already traveled downward, tracing the curve of my breasts, the dip of my waist, the thin scrap of silk that clung to my hips.
His breath caught. I heard it, a slight hitch in the rhythm of his lungs. His amber eyes darkened.
"Such a fine thing," he grumbled, and his voice had roughened to gravel. He reached out, not slowly this time, and his calloused fingertips brushed the waistband of my panties. "This will catch on my hands. Tear before I can work it loose."
I opened my mouth to speak, to protest, but the word died before it could form. His fingers curled, and with a single sharp tug, the silk gave way with a sound like a wounded breath. The fabric fell, sliding down my thighs, pooling at my ankles beside my gown.
I stood bare before him.
His chest rose and fell, once, twice, the boiled leather creaking with the motion. Then he stepped closer, his body a wall of heat at my back, and I felt the rumble of his voice against my ear before I heard the words.
"Get in."
The command vibrated through me, loosening something in my knees. I moved on instinct, my feet carrying me to the edge of the pool, the steam curling around my calves as I descended the marble steps. The water embraced me, warm and silk-soft, rising to my hips, my waist, my breasts. I sank deeper until the heat lapped at my collarbone, and I could pretend, for a moment, that I was hidden.
I heard the leather of his armor creak, the heavy thud of it hitting the stone floor. I did not turn around. I could not bear to see him as he would see me.
The water shifted behind me, a gentle displacement that sent ripples across my skin. I heard the heavy sound of him descending the marble steps, the wet slap of his massive feet against the submerged stone. Steam coiled around us, thick and fragrant with oils I had not asked for.
I should not look. I knew this. Every instinct, every lesson my mother had whispered about modesty and maidenhood told me to keep my eyes forward, to stare at the mosaic tiles on the far wall until he was finished.
But curiosity was a worm burrowing through my resolve and I wondered how different our bodies were.
I turned my head, just barely, just enough that my wet hair could curtain my face. The strands clung to my cheek, my shoulder, and through them I saw him.
He descended another step into the steaming water, the droplets catching the amber torchlight and sliding over the broad expanse of his chest. The scars there caught the light too, pale ribbons carved into dusky green. But my eyes did not linger on his chest. They traveled lower, drawn by some terrible gravity, and I felt the blood drain from my face.
I had seen drawings. My tutors taught me how to fulfill my duties as a future queen by showing me books on the process of creating and bearing an heir. They had sketches of elven lovers, slender and graceful, their proportions pleasing and familiar. I had thought I understood.
I understood nothing.
His cock swung between his muscular thighs, thick and heavy, the shaft marked with a deep vein that pulsed with his heartbeat. The head was broad, flushed to a dark purplish shade, and the whole of it seemed impossibly large. Almost as long as my forearm, and thick enough that I’d not be able to close my fingers around it. I could not comprehend how such a thing could exist, let alone how it might fit inside a body.
My breath caught, and I felt heat flood my cheeks, my chest, the space between my thighs. I turned away so quickly that water splashed against my chin, and I heard a low rumble behind me.
Not a laugh. But close.
I kept my back to him, my arms wrapped across my chest beneath the water's surface. The steam curled around my shoulders, my neck, my wet hair floating like seaweed around my waist. I could feel his presence behind me, a weight in the water, a displacement that sent tiny ripples lapping against my skin.
"You will be wed by sunset," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the marble walls. "And you will lie in my bed tonight, naked before me, as you are now."
The words dripped into my belly like warm oil. I pressed my thighs together beneath the water, a reflexive motion I could not control, feeling the strange heat pooling there. Shame and something else, something I refused to name, tangled in my chest.
I heard him shift behind me, the water sloshing gently. When I dared a glance over my shoulder, I saw him standing chest-deep, his amber eyes fixed on the curve of my back where it disappeared beneath the surface. And lower, beneath the shimmering water, I saw the shadow of him stirring. Rising. Thickening against his thigh.
My breath caught. My cheeks burned so fiercely I thought the steam might boil around me.
He saw me looking. A slow, predatory smile spread across his tusked mouth, revealing the gleam of his canines.
"You will learn to take it," he said, and the promise in his voice was neither threat nor comfort. It was simply fact. "Tonight. Tomorrow. Every night until you carry my heir beneath your heart."
The heat between my thighs throbbed, a pulse I could not silence. I was terrified. I was furious. And yet my body, treacherous and foreign, responded to his words as if it had been waiting for them all my life.
I turned away, staring at the mosaic tiles until my vision blurred. But I could still feel him watching. Still feel the weight of his gaze, and the impossible shadow of him, growing beneath the water.
The water shifted behind me, a slow, deliberate displacement as he moved through the pool.
Then his voice came, low and rough, carrying through the humid air.
"Did they teach you how to fuck, little elf?"
The word struck me like a stone. I had never heard it spoken aloud, not like that, not with that gravelly weight. My fingers curled beneath the water, pressing into my palms.
"I know well enough," I said, and my voice came steadier than I felt.
A pause. Then the water shifted again. I felt him closing the distance, step by slow step, until the heat of his body pressed against my back. His chest brushed my shoulder blades, his breath stirring the wet hair at my nape.
"And have you fucked before?"
My cheeks burned. "Of course not. I'm a virgin. Kept pure for my husband."
A low groan rumbled from his chest, vibrating through the water, through my skin. I felt him against me then, the thick, hard length of him pressing into the hollow of my back. Hot. Rigid. Alive.
I trembled, my hands rising to cover my breasts, but he caught my wrists with surprising gentleness.
"I will not take what belongs to your husband," he said, his mouth grazing my ear. "Not until we stand before the fire and speak our vows."
Relief warred with something hotter in my belly.
"But I will show you that it is not so frightening."
His hand slid down my stomach, slow and deliberate, parting the water. I gasped, my thighs pressing together on instinct, but he was stronger. His fingers found the tender crease where my leg met my hip, and I stiffened, my body screaming no even as my breath quickened.
"Shh," he rumbled. "Breathe."
His palm cupped me, the heel of his hand pressing against the mound of my sex. I jerked, a sharp intake of breath, but he held me steady, his fingers stroking through the slick heat of me beneath the water.
"Relax," he murmured. "Let me show you."
I could not. My muscles locked, my thighs straining against his hand. But his fingers found a rhythm, slow circles that coaxed and teased, and I felt something loosen inside me. A sigh escaped my lips, unbidden.
His other arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me back against his chest. His mouth found my shoulder, my neck, his tusks grazing my skin with a tenderness I had not expected. His fingers continued their work, slipping lower, parting me, finding a place that made my hips buck when he touched it.
I gasped, my hands flying to his forearm. "What are you..."
"Trust me."
His thumb circled, pressing, and a shock of pleasure shot through my core. My knees buckled, but he held me upright, his massive body a wall behind me. His fingers slid deeper, one, then two, curling inside me with a rhythm that stole my breath.
I cried out, my head falling back against his shoulder. The sensation built, coiling tight in my belly, spreading like liquid heat through my thighs. I had never felt anything like this. Never known my body could sing like this.
His thumb pressed harder, circling that secret pearl, and I shattered. My body arched, a cry tearing from my throat as waves of pleasure crashed through me, pulsing around his fingers. He held me through it, his lips pressed to my temple, his voice a low murmur against my skin.
"There," he said. "Not so frightening, is it?"
I could not answer. I could only float in the aftermath, my body limp against his, the steam curling around us like a vow.
“Now finish washing up. We have a wedding to prepare for.”
Then, just like that, he moved back to his side of the pool and reality had returned.