Page 42 of The Horde King of Shadow

I helped her wrap my inner thighs with the thick swaths of clean bandage. Once they were covered, she urged me to eat, though I was too tired to properly be able to appreciate it. She set out yet another jar of the paste for me, leveling me a look that said,You’ll need this—trust me.

“I’ll check on you tomorrow, but otherwise, rest. Sleep well, Klara.”

“Kakkira vor,Kerisa,” I said quietly. Dakkari forThank you, Healer.

She paused at the threshold of the door, giving me a knowing smile. She nodded.

“Veekor,” she ordered back to me. In Dakkari, it meantsleep.

With that she left.

Once I’d eaten, with my wounds tended to and my body clean, I found a fresh tunic from Sarkin’s cabinet, which ended at my knees, and then pulled the thin blanket off the bed. I curled up on the hard floor to sleep.

And for once, I dreamed of nothing.

I was woken by hands and an angry-looking Sarkin, his face illuminated by the hearth I definitely hadn’t lit, a flickering fire that changed colors—from blue to gold to purple.

I tensed when he pulled open my thighs, and I kicked out at him. “What are you doing?” I exclaimed groggily.

He held them open, my tunic shoved up to my stomach, his calloused hands on my calves. He whispered a curse under his breath, and I looked between my thighs, saw the bandages had already bloodied through the night.

Sarkin unwound them, and when I tried to fight him, he growled, “Faryn.”

I stilled immediately, a primal part of me obeying whatever it was I heard in that tone. I recognized that word. It was the word that had made Zaridan pull back herethrallon the wildlands outside Dothik.

I assumed, now, it meantstoporcease.

“I found blood on Zaridan’s harness. Driedredblood,” he growled. “Then Ryena came to tell me. So why didn’t you?”

When the bandages fell away and he saw the red streaks, angry and chafed, he whispered out a rough curse, sliding back to lean against one of the stabilizing poles at the foot of the bed, one long leg stretched out in front of him.

“Do you think me such a monster than I wanted you to suffer throughthis?” he asked, angrier than I’d ever seen him as he glared.

His head leaned back against the pole, and he blew out a rough breath before bringing his hands up to rub at his tired, no doubt wind-stung eyes.

“I didn’t want you—or your riders—to think I was weak,” I mumbled, coming fully awake.

When his eyes crashed to mine, I realized that I was sprawled out on the floor, half-naked, with my legs spread wide. I struggled to sit up and close them.

“Don’t,” he rasped. “We should reapply the salve anyway. It’s been a few hours.”

He dragged his body up, graceful and strong, crossing to the table and snatching one of the jars off. He was uncapping it as he returned, crouching in front of me.

“I’ll do it,” I said quickly, embarrassed.

He only growled. It was a warning, making me bite my tongue. I’d never seen him like this. I was used to him being in control, bordering on stoic and cold.

“Open, Klara,” he commanded, and I didn’t dare disobey him.

With a loud swallow, I slid my legs apart, turning my head to the side as he slid the paste across the skin. The numbness had worn off, the flesh sensitive again, and I sucked in a breath. His touch never paused. It was methodical and careful. Even…gentle, which I hadn’t expected.

When I turned my head back, our eyes met briefly. The moment felt charged, the tension palpable. It was a strange sensation, to be in pain and yet…his touch was making me feel warm. His touch was a distraction.

His nostrils flared, something flickering in his eyes, making them so molten I nearly gasped. With a soft curse, he finished, leaning back on his heels, and I reached for the roll of bandage before he could, wrapping my upper thighs again.

“Again I find you on the floor,” he said after a long, lengthy silence had passed.

“But at least I was sleeping this time,” I returned.

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