Chapter 1: Part 1

I stared at my mother, looking for some sign she’d been replaced by a doppelganger. But, no. She looked the same as always. The round ears. The greying hair. The beginnings of wrinkles. The softly brown eyes. The obnoxious grin she wore whenever she was announcing her latest scheme.

All adding up to confirm it was really her. Which meant I must have misheard her. Obviously. 

Half-elven ears are good, but they’re not as good as true elf ears, so it wasn’t impossible.

“Do you mind repeating that?” I asked.

“You’re getting married,” she said, still wearing that grin.

I leaned in, an eyebrow raised. “Did someone hex you into speaking nonsense? I swear you just said that I’ll be getting married. Even though I’m not engaged to anyone.”

She laughed. “Obviously you’re getting engaged first. It’ll be to one of Gorlog’s daughters.”

Gorlog. Gorlog… I knew the name. Who was—right. One of her party members back when mum was adventuring. Back before she’d met my father and moved to Dha’vin to be his mistress.

Which one was—the orc. A name like ‘Gorlog’, he had to have been the orcish fighter. The one who’d moved up north on the frontier to serve in the Commonwealth’s border army.

Which meant his daughters were… either orcs or half orcs. 

I’d never met either. Dha’vin was the heart of Elf country. Humans were rare here, let alone orcs. I’d not heard good things about what orcish women looked like, though. And my mum wanted me to marry into an orcish family?

“—broke his leg!” my mum was saying as I remembered I should be listening to her explanation. “So, anyway, that’s why he needs you to move up.”

Darn it. I’d missed the important parts.

“Can you run the why of the ‘marriage’ bit past me again?” I asked.

“Ah, right. I kind of skimmed that, well,” she explained, actually starting to blush a little. “You see, Gorlog and I… we were a thing for a bit. But then his parents didn’t approve, so—”

“His parents didn’t approve? Th-the orcs?” 

My mother stared at me. “Well, no. His mother is a pretty big deal in the Orcish clergy, and didn’t want her son moving down into the ‘decadent human lands’… anyway, he and I were really upset about it at the time, and made a silly promise that we’d have our kids marry to represent the love we missed out on…”

I was still at a loss for words as she paused, her eyes drifting off somewhere.

“Ah, young love... ‘course, I didn’t really care that much anymore. He’s gotten all worried about not getting to see grandchildren, though, since none of his girls have been talking about marriage yet. So he brought it up… and, well, since you’re an adult and your dad isn’t really visiting you anymore, we’re a little short on cash. I couldn’t bring myself to say no to the dowry payment Gorlog offered.”

There it was. That was the angle.

Money.

It was Grand Commonwealth tradition that the family giving over a child in a marriage was paid a dowry to make up for the lost hands around the house. Of course, being a half elf in elf country it was hard for me to find decent work (I didn’t have the decades of apprenticing experience the competition could bring). So my mum saw me not as extra hands but an extra mouth to feed. 

Plus, sure, the elven men she was dating these days liked her maternal vibes and figure, but an actual young adult child hanging around her house? I was just someone potentially ruining the mood.

So she’d basically sold me. To be a spouse to an orcish woman.

“They’ll snap me in two,” I mumbled, as I remembered stories about the hulking size of orcs, male or female.

“Orcs can be surprisingly gentle with their lovers, don’t worry,” my mother said, a look in her eyes I did not like seeing in my mother’s eyes. “Besides, Grolog’s w—”

“Maybe you were fine! But I’m a half-elf! I’m rather more fragile!” I countered.

“Humans are more solid than elves, but we’re not actually all that much more durable,” my mother replied. “You’ll be fiiine.”

I glared at her.

“Well, I would say you should get packing, but Grolog is paying for you to go by ‘porting, so… not much packing to do,” she replied. “You’ll be leaving in two days.”

My eye twitched.

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I sat on the bag-chair in my friend Rolick’s room, waving my hands in defeat and flopping back into the rest of the soft seat after I finished explaining. 

Rolick was dwelvish, and the only other mixed kid about my age, so we’d been friends since… well, since I was small and he was babysitting me. While a dwelf didn’t age quite as slowly as an elf, it was still slower than a half-human like myself. 

“Dang,” he said, nodding a few times. “Two days to get ready.”

“What ‘getting ready’ is there to do? I’m apporting. All I can bring is a sigil tablet and some coins to buy new clothes on the other end,” I muttered.

“Well, there’s selling some of your current stuff, I guess?” Rolick replied.

“Mum’ll be doing that. I just have to sort things into ‘ship’ or ‘sell’ for her to deal with later,” I muttered, not really feeling enthusiastic about it. “Unless I can figure out a way out of this.”

“Run off and find an adventuring party?” Rolick offered.

“That was barely feasible when my mum was doing it, the pay is even worse now… plus, she knows people in most of the thieves’ guilds, I’d be dragged home in no time,” I countered.

“Fake an illness to buy some time?” 

“Merely delaying the inevitable… and I’ve used up all my good fake illness already with school,” I mumbled.

He nodded, going quiet as he tried to come up with more options. Neither of us could really figure out anything, sadly. I wanted something, though. I hated the idea of being sold off by my own mother, for a bit of quick gold.

Eventually I had to give up and head home, double checking his messaging journal’s sigil to make sure I had it down right on my travel tablet. 

It was annoying how apportation spells didn’t let you bring magical artifacts, so I couldn’t take my own messaging journal. Not that that was the worst part about apportation. The worst part was definitely how you couldn’t wear clothes to do it. Too much risk of things being slightly misaligned and then—well, it wasn’t pretty.

Sure, you could pay to have your clothes sent after you, but that cost extra. It was better just to use the clothes provided at the arrival rooms. 

Not that I was too concerned about that as I walked home, still trying to find a way out. 

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I supposed there was always the slight chance my father would help out, but… that was a fantasy. As a half-human illegitimate child I was just an embarrassment to him. He’d probably be glad for my mother sending me halfway across the continent. I didn’t even have those ‘cute chubby human baby cheeks’ anymore, that kept him doting on me when I was younger.

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The next day was a blur as I worked through my belongings, figuring out what my mother should sell to give me money in the bank, and what she would send up on a boat to arrive in a few months. The latter being rather restricted as such long distance shipping got expensive.

I tried my best to ignore the way she mumbled about how she’d deserve a cut of the profits due to her doing the hard work of actually haggling and selling everything. I’d figured she’d pull something like that already.

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And there I was, in the departure hall, wearing cheap disposable clothing I’d never see again. Mother had waved me off, and I just had to sit for them to call my name. A dancing tapestry provided some entertainment beyond staring at the stone walls of the hall, but it was mostly advertising targeted at merchants and other frequent travellers.

Not poor souls sold by their own flesh and blood. 

“Anrik Goldfellow?” a voice called out.

I’d nearly missed it, lost in the gloom of my thoughts.

“That’s me!” I shouted down the hall, before walking over. 

The blind mage led me into the apportation chamber. He instructed me to strip and place my clothing in the basket beside me. I did as I was told, also handing over the small clay tablet with the contact sigils for my parents and few friends in town. Clay was simple to transport, so it was included in the ticket.

Or, something like that. It’s what the Apporting Guild said, and I didn’t know enough to argue.

I stepped out onto the dias with the various symbols to magnify the spell on it, and waited as the mage began the ritual. All the while glad that Apporting Guild mages were blind, because I’d never much liked being naked, and someone seeing me just made the whole ordeal worse. 

I was starting to wonder if I should sit down or something when there was a flash, and I found myself falling through a tunnel of light.

It was just starting to feel deeply unsettling when I found myself landing on a large cushion. Or, well, it felt more like a pile of hay covered with a sheet. But it softened my landing, at least.

Blinking as my eyes got used to the more normal levels of light, I realised I was in an arrivals chamber. There was nothing for it, but to get dressed and meet my doom (an orcish wife…).

Standing up and heading towards the clothing available, I heard the small ‘thunk’ of my address tablet landing behind me. I would grab it as soon as I was dressed. 

The clothing choices weren’t very good. It was a small country town on the frontier, so of course the clothing was rough and coarse and unfashionable. Especially when it was probably mostly orcs and humans. They didn’t care about fabric as much as elves.

I was well into digging about for anything acceptable when my hand touched something soft. Pulling it out with excitement, my heart fell as I realised it was a woman’s dress. 

A very pretty dress, sure, and apparently there was a whole women’s section to accompany it. The town was too small to go for gendered arrival rooms, it seemed.

I had to put it back, though. Sure, women’s clothing was nicer, even back in Dha’vin, but that was the point, right? Women were meant to care about these things more. Even among elves.

I had to… wait.

I looked at the dress again. Not only was it quite pretty, but… it looked like it was my size. If I—they wouldn’t know. A half-elf like myself… I was pretty. I’d had human men mistake me for a woman when I wasn’t even trying to look like one (which had always made me happy, as a sign of the strength of my elven heritage).

Were I to actually try… and, well, these were orcs. Even if I were fully human they’d probably still believe I was a woman if I wore a dress. And then, if they thought I was a woman, well… I’d be useless for Grolog’s desire to have grandkids around. Mum had said he only had daughters after all. So he’d send me right back!

It was perfect. Maybe I’d have to keep it up for a few days, since there’d probably be some haggling involved for apporting tickets, but I could handle that. Then I’d be home again, and my mum would be reminded to not drag me into her hairbrained schemes ever again.

And I’d get to see how cute I’d look in the dress.

For pure ego boosting benefits, of course. I looked good as a man, might as well see how good I looked as a woman.

So, I hunted about for a full outfit, trying it on in front of the mirror and being nicely impressed. Sure, I didn’t have any cleavage to show off, but… elven women rarely had much there. That was why mum was so popular back home. 

I grabbed my tablet as well as one of the messaging journals and stepped out, ready to play up a silly miscommunication. 

The group waiting for me in the arrivals section was a bit of a surprise, however. The large orcish man holding a sign with my name on it was what I expected. He was pure muscles, green and tusked. Easily one and a half times my height. As for the rest of the family… mum had rather understated how many daughters the man had. That was the first thing to strike me.

There were five of them. All but one a good two heads taller than me. The shorter one seemed to be a kid, but she was almost my height. I did have to admit they were prettier than I expected, which made the situation feel slightly less terrible, but… well, I still objected to the idea of being casually sold to strangers.

And still felt like any of the women in front of me could snap me in two… (for some reason that idea lead to more… complicated feelings, actually seeing them in front of me, but self preservation was still winning out).

The risk of them getting angry and violent at my little lie hit me, though, as I walked over. That would not be good. Oh well, it was too late to back out.

“Hello!” I said, doing my best to keep my voice high and soft, hoping I sounded vaguely passable as a woman (at least to orcish ears). “I’m Anrik Goldfellow. You must be Mister Grolog, right?”

I found myself being stared at by a half dozen orcs.

Or, well, five of them were staring in confusion. The one daughter was facing in my direction, but didn’t quite seem to be staring. 

Oh, she was wearing a Apporting Guild mage’s uniform. That explained that.

Either way, it was intimidating to have them all looking my way.

“You’re Anrik?” Grolog asked, his voice deep and grumbling.

“Y-yes? I’m Mezara’s daughter,” I replied, my voice honestly squeaking as I looked up at him. “My—my mother said I would be marrying your son?”

Grolog’s eye twitched as he processed my words. “She—you—that… girls, you stay here with Anrik. I need to go find the pay-crystals.”

“They are upstairs, just outside the departure hall, father,” the uniformed daughter replied.

“Right, thank you, Y’suk,” Grolog said, hurrying off. “I knew Mezara ran cons, but this…”

I forced a smile at the daughters who surrounded me, all seeming quite concerned. I, meanwhile, slowly realised where my head level was relative to their chests, and became convinced I was a dead man if they found out the truth about me…

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I haven’t abandoned my other projects, but I was reading advice that getting more short novellas out for sale on Amazon or Itch is a good financial decision, so I’ve decided to churn out a few shorter romance stories. Folks on Patreon pointed out that this one, specifically, would probably do very well on Scribblehub, though. So I will be posting it here (with a buffer for patrons, as per usual).

Some of the other stories I’ve started or will write soon will be patron and then sales exclusives, though. If you like my stuff and want more.

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