I didn’t allow myself to feel relief until Zaridan guided us back to the citadel landing. She extended her wing, and I snagged Klara’s waist, feeling her tremble uncontrollably as I got us back onto solid ground.

The anger rose, hot and bright, but I kept it masked, especially when I saw the wetness of her cheeks.

“Fool,” I rasped, but I didn’t think the harsh word was directed at her. She was completely naked, but I swept her up into my arms because I knew she would collapse if she tried to walk. Her hand was bloody and a long gash was along her right abdomen.

I strode into the citadel, quiet and dark at this time of night. Marching up the left staircase, I took us to the highest floor, my private wing, and kicked open the door to my quarters.

The blue fire was still burning in the hearth. I sat her on the table, disentangling her hands where she held me tight.

“I need to get bandages,” I informed her.

“For what?” she whispered, her eyes wide and glassy. She was in shock.

“For your wounds,” I replied, trying to keep my voice gentle. Her blood was red. Not black. Like human blood? I didn’t know why that fact fascinated me.

“I was dreaming,” she said quietly. “I never…I never saw the edge.”

“I know,” I said, restlessness eating away inside my chest. I left to retrieve a healing pack from my washroom.

With my newfound privacy, I let out a deep, rattling breath, striking the wall repeatedly with one of my fists until the dull ache of it helped to calm the maelstrom in my chest. The bones throbbed. I never should have left her alone. It had been an oversight. One that had almost gotten her killed. My pride had almost cost her her life.

And I wouldn’t allow it to happen again.

Despite the desire to keep her at arm’s length, she was my responsibility. And the moment we sealed the bond in the Arsadia, she would be my damned wife.

The fear in her eyes when she’d tumbled over the edge…I would never be able to shake that. It was my punishment. It was forever imprinted in my mind, like so many terrible, unshakeable memories. Like Haden getting thrown off his Elthika, rejected after the first flight. Like Tyzar’s mournful roar when my father had sent him away. Like Kyavor with his grim expression as he’d told me my parents were dead.

When I returned to Klara, I observed her sitting on the edge of the table, and my guilt only tripled. Her body was bruised not only from the fall but from riding. I’d pushed her too hard coming here. I’d been a young rider myself once, long ago. I remembered the pain so intense I couldn’t sleep no matter how exhausted I was. I remembered the brokenness.

This wasn’t me. Where was the honor in punishing her like this? And was that what I’d been doing? Punishing her for a decision I had made?

When I stepped up to her once more, I cupped her face in my palms, forcing her to meet my eyes.

“Are you all right?” I asked softly.

To my surprise, she nodded. “Yes.”

She’d seemed to have calmed when I’d been retrieving the kit, whereas my restlessness had only amplified.

“Do you have a blanket?” she asked.

My gaze trailed down her body. It was no time to admire her curved lines, the fullness of her breasts, and her soft belly and hips…but I would’ve had to be blind or dead not to.

“Let me tend to this first,” I informed her, controlling my physical reaction to her. It had been much too long since I’d had a female underneath me, I decided. She was soft and warm. She smelled like naro blossoms on a hot harvest day, and I gritted my teeth, swallowing down the sudden need I felt. I wasn’t surprised by my reaction. Adrenaline and frustration were often coupled with lust. But finding this maddening Dakkari princess beautiful was entirely inconvenient. It would pose its own set of problems.

The gash along her side wasn’t too deep, but she didn’t even hiss when I cleaned it with a cloth.

“Why are you naked?” I rasped.

I caught a flush of redness of her cheeks. Fascinating.

“I was too tired after my bath. I went right to bed,” she answered. Her arm came up to shield her breasts, the other falling in her lap. She had no hair between her thighs, and my nostrils flared. I forced my gaze away. “Why are you?”

That brought out a small huff from me. When I looked down, I saw that I was, indeed, naked. I’d forgotten. Which made my half-hard cock all the more alarming.

“I was asleep,” I answered, watching the way her eyes flickered everywhere but me. “Does it bother you?”

She didn’t answer. Perhaps the Dakkari were shy about such things, whereas the Karag were not. I had to remember that my new bride was not of my kind. We couldn’t be more different.

I stepped away, snagging blankets off the bed. One I tied around my waist in a neat knot. The other I handed to her, which she spread over her lap quickly. I watched as her long, graceful fingers caressed the soft fur, and I cleared my throat, hunching down to inspect the gash above her ribs.

Once it was clean, I applied salve and a clean bandage. I’d patched up my own wounds more times than I could count, so I worked quickly. When I finished, she wrapped the blanket more tightly around her body, and I took her bloodied palm in mine, blotting it.

It was quiet between us, the energy in the room charged.

“Heartstones are like seeds, aren’t they?” she asked softly. I paused, casting a long, assessing look at her. Her eyes flicked back and forth between mine. “Or maybe not like seeds. More like…fruit of a tree.”

“They are both,” I murmured. “They used to grow in a place called the Arsadia. Heartstones were planted to grow thalara trees. And then the trees created more heartstones at their root systems.”

“Used to grow?” she asked, catching my misstep. “They don’t now?”

My jaw tightened.

“Is that what you dreamed?” I asked. “Is that what you saw?”

Our faces were close. I could see golden strands in her very human eyes.

“Yes,” she admitted.

“Where?”

“How would I know that?” she said. “Besides, it wasn’t so much a location as a realization. I was being shown. I’ve seen the trees before though. At least…I think I have.”

“The thalara tree,” I told her, stilling. “You’ve seen it in Dakkar?”

“If you call my homeland Dakkar, I wonder what you call the entirety of this planet.”

“Easy. Thikana,” I replied. “And our nation is Karak.”

She sighed. “We call our planet Dakkar. You call it Thikana. Who is right?”

“Does it matter?” I wondered. “It might only matter to off-worlders.”

“You’ve kept to your side of the world and we’ve kept to ours,” she said. “But no longer. We can speak the same language. We seek the same thing. And right now, I can touch your skin and feel that connection with you when before it hadn’t been possible.”

My heart jolted when her fingers pressed to my inner wrist. I hissed out a short, surprised breath, finding the touch maddeningly sensual. Her voice was husky and soft. Mesmerizing.

“So when our two nations collide, when our two cultures become intertwined, what would we call our planet then?”

I met her quizzical gaze.

“Thikana,” I answered finally.

She chuckled, the sound beautiful and musical. I didn’t join her, however, and her laugh slowly died.

“I see,” she said, but her tone struck me as sad when she saw I was serious. “No room for negotiation with you?”

“History will tell you, aralye,” I said, spreading cool salve over her cleaned palm, the jar clinking when I replaced the cap, “that the dominant race creates legacy.”

“You are a dominant race because of your Elthika,” she pointed out.

“And why do you think the planet is called Thikana, then? And not Karak?” I questioned.

Her lips pressed together.