Page 131 of The Horde King of Shadow

Then my eyes were only for my husband, lounging against the stone wall.

“Welcome home, wife,” he murmured, those multicolored eyes warming on me.

“Sorry I’m a little late,” I said, my eager grin widening on my face. I rushed into his arms. They came around me, and I thought,This is home.It didn’t matter where we were—in Sarroth, in the Arsadia, in Dothik.

Sarkin was home, and I breathed him in shamelessly, savoring his heat and the comforting press of his unyielding body. Though I’d just seen him this morning—pressing a kiss to his cheek as I’d rushed out of the citadel to meet Lygath, eager for a day of interviews—I felt like it’d been much too long.

His lips met mine as my hands stroked through his hair. My fingers clenched the dark strands as his bit into my hips, holding me close. Desperation was rising. I’d been thinking of him all day. A small madness we both shared. I often woke with him between my thighs, to sweet but wicked kisses along my breasts…yet I felt like wealwayswanted each other. That need would never be satisfied.

“Oh,” I heard, and we broke apart when we realized someone had managed to sneak up on us. It was Droshin, the head of the household staff in the citadel.

Sarkin was a minimalist when it came to his own creature comforts. Before me, his residence in the citadel in Sarroth had been used for sleep and nothing more. Most of his time was spent in the Sarrothian villages, meeting with the councils there, or with Zaridan and his riders, traveling between the territories and patrolling his homeland.

But he’d expanded the staff when we’d returned from the Arsadia…and I knew it was for me alone. He’d hired more cleaners—for it was a large house, one with rooms that I’d yet to even explore—two cooks, and personal helpers for me, should I require their assistance.

“My apologies,Karath,Sorrina,” Droshin said, though he was no stranger to finding us in compromising positions in the last few months.

“What is it?” Sarkin asked, recovering more quickly than I did, though his hands never left my hips. I knew he preferred to have as few people in his home as possible, even though the citadel was grand and we very rarely ran into a single soul, as discreet as they were. He was fonder of our home in Rysar, in the Arsadia. Our quaint little dwelling up on the hill at the base of the mountain, where we had more privacy than we knew what to do with.

“Brear would like to know if you prefer the wine from Grym this evening or the brew from Elarin.”

Decisions likethatmy husband hated most of all, I knew, and so I smiled at Droshin. Kyavor was partial to brew, not wine, and he was our honored guest tonight.

“The brew will be fine. Thank you, Droshin,” I replied.

He inclined his head, seemingly eager to leave us be, and I chuckled after he left.

“Three more months,” Sarkin sighed, pressing a more chaste kiss to my lips lest we get carried away again. “And then I won’t have to worry about interruptions when we are back in the Arsadia.”

Another riding season would begin soon.

“There will always be interruptions,Karath,” I murmured, untangling myself from his arms before intertwining my hand with his, pulling him through the back door of the citadel. “But if it means having you, then I don’t mind them.”

“Then let’s go lock ourselves in our wing until our guests arrive,” he suggested. “Tonight will be long. I want to savor you while I can.”

It always felt like I was free-falling off Lygath’s back when he said things like that. The rush and flurry in my belly felt like a sweet, exciting thrill.

“All right,” I whispered, anticipation surging, and he led us up to our private section of the citadel, where even Droshin wouldn’t bother us unless it was absolutely necessary.

Our rooms in Sarroth had once been…sparse. The first time I’d seen them had been the night I’d dreamed of Lygath and taken a tumble off the cliffside. Sarkin had brought me here to bandage my wounds and tie me to him in sleep. Other than a table near the fireplace, a large cushioned chair that had been well-used, and the bed, it had been bare bones, befitting the Sarrothian king who always seemed to be on the move.

It hadn’t worked for me, however, and Sarkin had given me free rein to change whatever I saw as necessary.

Over the last few months, I’d made various purchases throughout Sarroth. Smooth and soft rugs for the stone floors—which had already gone a long way toward adding color and life into the room—window dressings, paintings and glass mosaics that glittered in sunlight, decorative silver vases filled with blooms and greenery that reminded me of the Arsadia. A new foot stool here. An expertly woven blanket there.

Sarkin had often observed new furnishings within our wing with soft yet bemused amusement, his eyebrows quirking on me whenever he spied new decor on the gray walls or a trinket that I’d purchased from the marketplace, displayed proudly on the mantel.

My husband never made comments or gave his opinions about specific items I purchased…but I knew he enjoyed seeing them. He’d told me once that he liked me “nesting.” Featheringour home with things I enjoyed. He liked seeing my mark on our dwelling, evidence I was burrowing into our life. I’d often caught him observing the little pieces I’d acquired, a peculiar yet pleased expression on his face.

My favorite addition to our wing, however, was the wall of books in our sitting room by the hearth. The citadeldidhave a dedicated library, much to my endless delight. It needed some love and care, a project that I planned to focus on after the bulk of my interviews were done in Lakir. Most of the books were in Karag, however, and while I did work with a tutor in the nearest village to help me with my husband’s native tongue, I’d decided to lug all the books in the universal language up to our rooms for safekeeping.

Having shelves built into the walls had been one of my first projects upon arriving to Sarroth, as any good scholar worth her ink might do. Most of the books in the universal tongue had been trade ledgers from village to village, oddly enough, but I’d still read nearly every single one. Others, however, had been translated Elthika tales, mostly fables meant for children. But some were useful tomes on Elthika and Karag history, much like the book Sarkin had gifted me from Elysom. Those were the ones I repeatedly reached for whenever I needed a break from my research or if my husband was away from Sarroth.

“Thinking of your books again,” Sarkin said, cutting through my thoughts. I averted my eyes from the shelves as he drew me into his arms, now that we had a brief but private moment together. “I always know when you do. Should I be jealous of them?”

“Of course not. How can you be jealous when you know how much I loveyou?” I teased, laughing.

“Mmm,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my lips. “How much?”

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