Page 9 of The Horde King of Shadow

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the guards trying to right my father, who’d fallen over at the dragons’ chorus of roars. Alanis stood away from my stepmother and Lakkis, who were safely hidden behind a circle of guards. My eldest sister was standing next to theLaseta Kalliri, the priestess’s lips pressed together as she regarded the stranger, her beautiful gown stained by dark earth at the hem.

“No,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I don’t.”

“She denies you, Zaridan,” the male announced, his eyes never leaving mine. A maelstrom of colors were swirling in his eyes, all reflected in warm torchlight.

Behind him, the dragon stomped and her hot breath blew into the circle, blasting my hair away from my face and snuffing out all the torchlight until I blinked into the darkness, my hand scrambling to find Dannik’s.

“Get them lit!” came Alanis’s hiss to the guards.

“She is one of the ancients, you must understand,” came the stranger’s voice, amplified in the dark, and I saw those glowing golden orbs behind him, fastened on me, stealing my heavingbreaths. “Proud in her bloodline. All of the Elthika are. But Zaridan has lived much longer, and she deserves your respect.”

“I…” I trailed off, and the torches began to light, one by one again, until I saw the male, standing closer than he’d been.

There were nine others behind him in a line. They hadn’t moved an inch, but all of their hands rested on the hilt of a blade at their hip. All were dressed in varying colors—dark greens and blues, silvers and blacks—but all of them wore the same scaled clothing that this male wore.Armor,I realized now. And they weren’tpyrokiscales. They were dragon scales.

“I believe she does,” I replied, lifting my chin. I pressed my fingertips to my brother’s hand and gently stepped away from his grip, approaching the male. “Yet you give her name so easily for one to be respected.”

“Names should not be hidden, Dakkari,” the male rasped, his eyes narrowing as he studied me. Surprised that I stepped beyond my brother’s protection? “Names should be feared.”

“Then what is yours, dragon rider?”

The edge of his lip lifted. He moved. I heard the creak of leather on my brother’s hilt as his hand tightened on his sword.

The stranger circled me, and I stiffened when he ran his hand over my waist, sliding it down until it cupped my hip. That palm dragged over my backside, and when my brother made a sound in the back of his throat, I shook my head, my hand gesturing for him to stay away.

This male was sizing me up. Studying me and inspecting me, like I was something for purchase at the market.

His palm was searing through my thin dress. Strong and sure. When I looked down at my waist, I saw the same black dust glittering in the torchlight, smearing across the white material. A mark. A warning.

He came to stand in front of me, and it took everything in me to hold my tongue, to not swallow too loudly, to not tremblebeneath his gaze. His hand cupped my cheek, tilting back my face so he could inspect my scar. Internally, I cringed though I held still. I couldn’t stand anyone to look at it. The curtain of my hair hid it, and I always made sure it was partially covered except when I was alone in the confines of my room.

But this male could do whatever he wanted to me with a dragon at his back. I knew that. Dannik knew it. Even my father knew it—theDothikkar, the king. I imagined he was watching the exchange closely and carefully…but he would not interfere. Not like I feared Dannik would.

“I am Sarkin Dirak’zar,” he told me, his voice gentle like how I imagined a lover’s might be. But there was no mistaking the edge of malice in his gaze. “Rider of Zaridan. And king of the Karag horde of the Sarrothian.”

My lips parted as I stared, as my heart pumped mightily in my chest. I could feel the ripple of that name as it made its way across the clearing. I thought maybe even the stretch of mountains heard them and felt the quake of their power.

No, it wasn’t a name. It was a warning of what would come if we didn’t submit to him.

My dreams told me what he wanted. They’d been woven through my veins like a tapestry, and now the image they made was suddenly clear.

“And what is your name,aralye?” he asked, his tone slightly mocking, the dangerous glint in his gaze making my tongue feel like a heavy stone in my mouth.

“Don’t you already know it?” I asked, realization slotting into place.

In the market, he’d asked,Who are you really?

Those words had struck me as odd. Now I understood why.

He’d known who I was the moment I’d bumped into him. He’d known my bloodlines…but my scar had surprised him, taken him off guard. Why?

Sarkin’s eyes narrowed. Behind him, his dragon stomped, shaking the earth.

Strength,I thought.

“Klara of Rath Serok and Rath Drokka,” I told him. “I have no great name like yours, Sarkin Dirak’zar, rider of Zaridan, king of the Karag horde of the Sarrothian.”

Sarkin’s chin lifted, and behind him, the line of dragon riders made a simultaneous chanting sound, a rumble of deep, short thunder. Like a war cry that the hordes would make upon aVorakkar’s return.

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