Page 45 of The Horde King of Shadow

“This is an outlier circumstance, Mazra,” I told her. “I’m sure you understand.”

She blinked. Her lips were pursed, and I studied the lines that extended from the corners of her mouth. Mazra had two emotions that I’d seen: displeased or jovially happy. Never anything in between.

“I’ll do my best,Karath. But…you will not even allow witnesses?”

“No,” I said firmly. Impatience cut through me, and I tried to tamp it down. Of course the horde would want to be involved. Of course they would be curious, I reasoned. I would only marry once, after all, and it was a rare thing indeed for an Elthika—especially one such as Zaridan—to give her blessing to a rider’s mate so swiftly. My people wanted to knowwhy. They wanted to know everything they could possibly glean about Klara, this strange hybrid Dakkari human from across the sea.

I left Mazra shortly after, hearing her bark orders at her cooks, given she had to prepare an entire wedding feast for the horde by tonight and it was already late morning.

“Do you not think it an insult to your bride to not allow witnesses? To throw together a quick ceremony like this? Your horde wants to celebrate you, Sarkin. This will be a new age for us all,” Feranos reasoned. “Perhaps you should put this off until?—”

“I only need you as a witness so that I can send the confirmation to Elysom,” I told him. “Everyone else will simply be a distraction. It is not meant to be an insult to her. I just want thisdone.”

Feranos blew out a sharp breath as we walked toward the field.

“I will send the Dakkar scouting report alongside your letter of confirmation that we received Lishara’s blessing from the temple,” I told him, seeing Zaridan waiting for us, her black scales gleaming in the warm afternoon sunlight. I turned to Feranos. “Twomysarcommands fulfilled. Then we will be rid of Elysom’s influence. For good. Free of…”

The shame,I almost said. Or perhapsfree of my father’s complicated legacy, which had almost cost me my future.

But Feranos was an old friend and he knew what I meant.

He inclined his head. Understanding and acceptance were in the line of his shoulders, in the glint of his eyes. “Karath.”

My title, falling from his lips was an agreement. A reminder of who I was to him, despite our longstanding friendship.

Tracking the sun in the sky, I was eager to leave. It would be long hours until we reached the temple of Lishara, though the weather was on our side. A surprisingly bright and warm day, warm enough to dissipate much of the moisture in the air from the falls.

“I’ll scout ahead,” Feranos told me, walking toward his Elthika, Vorna, on the other side of Zaridan. “Meet you there.”

When I approached Zaridan, I placed my wide palm on her snout, running it up until my fingers encountered the long notch of a nearly invisible scar. Zaridan seemed on edge this afternoon, her head constantly raising into the sky, searching, her ears perking and twitching with something unheard. She only did that when her sibling was near.

“Do you sense him here?” I asked quietly. Lygath. Another Vyrin, another descendant of Muron, and Zaridan’s hatchling brother. “He must feel you’re near.”

Zaridan’s eyes burned into mine, and I patted the side of her wide jaw, feeling her hot huff of air rustle through my hair. Her pupils shifted over my shoulder, and I turned.

There, Klara approached, led by the two females—Bezeth and Yar’la—I’d put in charge of her earlier this morning.

My nostrils flared, and I turned to fully regard her, Zaridan straightening at my side, standing proud and tall. My heart quickened in my chest.

Adorned in the ceremonial hatchling-scale dress, Klara was a sight to behold. The material flowed over her body like a gentle waterfall, skimming and caressing her lovely, soft curves. Hatchling scales were sheer but nearly indestructible, shed from young Elthika as they grew and a valuable resource among the Karag. They reflected in the late-morning light, shimmering with iridescence with every step Klara took, going from soft blues to bright silvers to gentle purples.

Half of her hair was pulled back, secured with an intricate braid and interwoven with dragon scales and silver clips. The rest of it ran down her back, a dark tumble of wild waves that made me want to bury my hands in it.

She was so unlike every Karag beauty I’d ever seen. The Sarrothian valued physical strength in their women, all hard lines and striking forms. Yet Klara was small, weak, and…soft. There was not a single hard edge on her body, save for the harshness of the scar on her face, but it made me squeeze my fists together at my sides, trying to fight the urge to explore every pleasing inch.

It was an inconvenient thing, I realized, to be immensely attracted to one’s own wife. Especially when this marriage was meant to be a transaction—both a fulfillment of a command from Elysomanda way to help my people secure more heartstones. It was meant to be a cold, logical decision. Only thefire that sparked within me at the mere sight of her was proving to be the opposite of that.

Fuck.

As if hearing my thoughts, Zaridan snorted. Closer and closer, Klara approached, and she shyly met my eyes when she stopped in front of me, Bezeth and Yar’la falling away when I waved my hand.

My gaze tracked down the line of her body as she shifted. There was a large group of my horde gathering on the outskirts of the field, curious and wanting to see us off. I hadn’t announced the marriage, but I’d shared the news with a few individuals instead. Like fire, it had spread. I hadn’t walked anywhere this morning without catching the whispers.

“The dress was not the practical choice,” I grunted.

I’d left out two garments for her to choose from this morning. One had been this dress. The other had been a much more logical choice of pants and a fitted tunic, meant for a dragon rider.

“Then why give me the option?” she asked, quirking a brow. Clever female.

---