I should be disgusted by Murdok. I should hate him with every fiber of my being.

But I love him.

I should loathe this beast.

He's an orc. And I’m a human assassin who specializes in killing these beasts.

There is no finer assassin than me. And with Murdok I thought I had the ultimate target.

He's known for his brutality.

He uses human women for bed sport before sending them to the mines.

My job was simple. Pretend to be one of those that wants to warm his bed. Then when his guard was down…kill him.

Well, that’s what was supposed to happen.

Instead, I’ve witnessed firsthand how wrong I was.

He saved my life. I've seen how he protects the humans who joined his clan and pledged fealty.

He's been good, kind, and fair.

He’s supposed to be my target. My enemy.

But everything in my body is screaming the exact opposite.

He's becoming my beloved.

Chapter 1

Murdok

I step into the already sweltering meeting hall to find exactly what I expected. Orcs are brawling and barking at one another, so no one can tell who’s arguing what point, any longer. A slew of ale has been spilled, saturating the ground beneath their pounding boots as I stand well clear of the excitement, likely looking a little bored.

My clansmen dutifully remain beside me as we avoid the worst of it.

A bowl clatters against the roof, and food rains down from the beams, a fine addition to the foul slosh of ale and mud. Harok is nowhere to be found yet, but I have a feeling he’d be disappointed to witness the greatest chieftains of our day duking it out with fists and crude words.

I roll my eyes, but I ought to be used to this by now.

Orcs don’t bother with tact.

“There should be more women,” I mutter under my breath. “That’d quell the idiots.”

But Harok has strange ideals, which I have a feeling he means to impose on the rest of us in that diplomatic fashion of his. I should be miles from here, enjoying the spoils of our clan’s latest victory, not waiting for Harok ‘the Great’ to finally arrive.

What’s so great about him, anyway?

Servants are doing their best to control the chaos, but they only manage to arm the enraged guests with more frothing ale. A wayward orc is thrown against me, and I shove him off with disgust. My hands are sticky when they come away, and I nearly join in on the ruckus out of sheer fury. But one of my clansmen deals with him before I get the chance.

I think I recognize the brute, but he’s gone before I can put a name to that ugly mug.

Frustration grips me.

“We’re leaving,” I growl at my subordinates, refusing to be victim to another spill. “This was a waste of time.”

As I pivot to leave, Harok strides through the grand entry with Aqidah the Wise and their entourage, his fierce red eyes scanning the crowd with heated disappointment. As they pass over me, I give pause, reconsidering my prior assertion. Maybe he’ll knock some sense into these brutes, after all.

I hope he does.

An errant orc breaks from the fray and goes for Harok.

He comes in with a wide punch, which Harok dodges easily and sweeps his legs out from under him, throwing him face first into the muck.

The resulting splat silences the hall.  

Harok clears his throat expectantly. “I do hope my invitation has not been mistaken for a free for all,” he says easily over the shifting crowd. “There’s plenty enough for everyone here. Please, take your seats and help yourselves.”

Despite much grumbling from the other chieftains, seats are found.

Harok’s servants tidy up the messes and find new plates and cups for everyone as food is passed around with more civility than before. Harok seems to wait until we’re all served before beginning, as if he knows it will quell our raging spirits.

If so, he’s not wrong.

“Some of you,” he begins, taking his seat at the end of the main table, surrounded by his own soldiers. “-have come a very long way, and I appreciate your attendance this afternoon.”

No one dares interrupt him.

“I wanted to speak with you about something that has weighed on my mind for a very long time.” He takes a breath before starting, the crowd hushing with expectation. Even I’m impressed that he’s secured their short attentions. “We are not native to this planet. That, we know from the stories our shamans have kept alive, from memories that most of us here still struggle to reconcile with. We came from someplace else, someplace we were not wanted.

“But when we arrived, new troubles awaited us.

“Our females had difficulty bearing young, in this strange new environment, and our numbers are still dwindling. Soon, we will be outnumbered by the humans ten to one, if their rate of growth remains the same.”

The silence is deafening, and no one bothers to eat.

We all know this, subconsciously. It is not difficult to see the way things are going. But Harok is worried about it where I am not. So what, if the humans grow in number? We will defeat them the same way we always have and make them our slaves.

“They’re clever, the humans,” he continues, his gaze softening briefly. “Resourceful, creative, inventive. Yet we crush their ingenious spirits with slavery, when we could be sharing in their visions of a brighter future.

“They have more to offer than the sweat of their brow.” When murmurs of quiet dissent chase through the crowd, he hardens his voice. “It is easy to fall back on tradition, but where will that get us? In just a few hundred years, we will be extinct.” He lets the sentiment sink in before continuing. “Do you want to be the last great generation of orcs? Or will you help me carve a future for us, alongside the humans on equal footing?

“We can change, or we can die.”

He sits down beside Aqidah and his allies as the hall explodes in conversation of all colors. He has made them think, gods forbid. As the crowd argues with more couth than when we arrived, I rise and seek Harok out.

It has been a while since we’ve matched blows.

I grin in recall of the last time, when he tossed me out the ring with ease. I’ve grown stronger since then, but it appears he has, too. “Harok,” I say, sliding into his close circle of allies, which opens to me easily. “You’ve upset the Chiefs in less than a minute.

“That has to be a record.”

“Murdok the Vengeful!” He claps me hard on the shoulder, which I take without wincing. “I am glad that you could make it.”

I shrug off his greeting. “Your high ideals are dangerous, Harok. Not everyone shares your vision of the future.”

He glances over the crowd, which is thinning as we speak. I expect most of them don’t like the idea of standing on equal ground with their slaves, and I don’t blame them. Harok sighs but there’s resolve in his expression that doesn’t fade. “And what you think, friend? Do you think my vision is as hopeless as the others say?”

My jaw shifts as I consider it. “You have no human slaves here.”

“I did away with them after-” He shakes his head with a scowl, as if trying to rid himself of terrible memories. “It doesn’t matter. I never was keen on the idea. Not before, and certainly not now. It is a barbarous practice that should have ended when we came through the rift.”

I study him. “I don’t think it matters. They are useful.”

His nostrils flare. “You have seen their ruins just as well as I. You cannot dismiss such incredible feats as what their ancestors built. We can have that again, if we foster true alliances with them. But if they are our enemies, we don’t have a prayer.”

“Who needs prayer,” I spit, “when we have brute strength?”

A deep sadness comes over him. “You too, Murdok?”

“The world you envision is incompatible with the world we inhabit. I’ll admit, you have a point, but what about it? We are orcs, and, as you can see,” I say, panning my hand to display the pig trough his great hall has been turned into. “-we are hardly suited to diplomacy.

“I live to conquer, not contemplate.”

A snarl overcomes Harok. “Then why bother coming at all?”

“The offer of free food and ale, of course,” I say with a low laugh. “-and perhaps another chance at sparring with the Great Harok. Or is it Harok the Great?”

He spits into the sludge at his feet. “A rematch it is, then.”