I hung it from its rightful place on the wall, just out of reach should I need to defend myself in the night. I gazed upon the runic inscription for a little longer this time, remembering its sacred words. The axe had been passed down from chieftain to chieftain over dozens of generations. It had seen more battle and spilled more blood than any other weapon in orcish history.
A symbol of my power. Of my right to rule. And of the consequences should I fail.
As I pulled off my boots, I heard the sound of a deep breath. A soft sigh. Was she waking up?
I froze, watching for signs of movement. She shifted slightly. Rolled over. Went back to sleep.
That was a close one. I cursed under my breath and finished disrobing before returning to the bed.
I loomed over her from this height. The bed, made to be large and spacious even for an orc, absolutely swallowed her. I had to be twice her size, and many times more in physical power.
So why did I feel like the vulnerable one?
I stood there for a few moments longer, thought and desire warring in my mind, before she made the decision for me.
The lovely little human rolled over, opened her eyes, and screamed.