I assumed, now, it meant stop or cease.

“I found blood on Zaridan’s harness. Dried red blood,” 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 through this?” 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.

He was referring to the night in his citadel. When he’d brought me back up to his private quarters to tend to my wounds and then he’d tied our ankles together with a long cord so I wouldn’t wander away in sleep. Only I hadn’t been able to sleep that night.

Sarkin had. But I hadn’t even joined him in the bed, finding it too intimate. The cord had been long enough that I could perch myself on the plush chair near the bed as Sarkin had slept. But after a couple hours, I had moved to the floor to try to sleep.

“Is sleeping in my bed really that deplorable?” he questioned, his voice sounding tired.

My brow furrowed. He didn’t understand.

I’d never slept beside a male—that was true.

“It’s not that. I like to sleep closest to the earth as I can,” I told him, drawing my knees up to my chest gingerly.

“Why?”

“Because Kakkari is the earth,” I answered.

“Your goddess,” he said, a subtle realization dawning in his tone. “I hate to tell you this, aralye, but we are high above valleys and forests here. A few feet above that, in a more comfortable bed, will not make much difference.”

“I know,” I said, with utmost patience. “I saw where we are. But this,” I started, spreading my hand next to me to touch the floor, “reminds me of home. Of living on the wildlands, when my mother was still alive. It…it brings me comfort,” I confided.

Sarkin regarded me in the low, flickering light. It was quiet here, I realized. So incredibly quiet. Beyond the walls of the stone structure, I could hear nothing. Not the whistle of wind or a dragon’s cry.

“I feel rooted. I feel safe,” I added. “Connected to something greater than me. My people are of the earth and your people are of the sky. Isn’t that strange?”

His expression was unreadable, but the intensity in his eyes nearly made me shiver. Out of curiosity, I would give a lot to hear what he was thinking.

“You can’t sleep on the bare floor all night,” he finally said. “It’s Arsadian stone, sourced from the mountain behind us.”

I watched as he crossed to a chest, one tucked away against the wall, between the bathing area and the table. He pulled pelts, furs, and intricately woven blankets from within its depths.

When he returned to me, he spread them out beside the bed as I shifted to the side. A cozy little nest of furs, just like in a horde.

My heartbeat had picked up again, skipping. A part of me had expected him to scoop me up and place me in bed instead of going to the trouble of making me one.

Then my mouth went dry, a sharp inhale whistling when he kicked off his boots, unclasping his flexible armor of his dragon-scale vest, slipping the metal hooks off. When his bare chest was exposed, I heard the heavy thud of his vest as it fell to the floor.

I’d seen his chest before, though I’d still been half-traumatized from my near-death fall. But now…I admired it as it gleamed in the soft light, the muscles creating hard planes and deep shadowed valleys. The body of a warrior.

“I’m going to bathe,” he said. “Sleep.”

He turned as he tugged off his trews. My face felt hot, my heart a rapid thud in my chest when I caught the flash of his firm backside, a telltale silvery scar where his tail had once been.

I thought about what Sammenth had implied, that Sarkin hadn’t been destined to ride an Elthika, and I wondered what she’d meant by that.

When I heard the splash of water and Sarkin’s deep, contented sigh, I bit my lip. The desire to watch him bathe was surprisingly overwhelming, my curiosity making my hands twitch.

Sometimes it was easy to forget that he was a mere mortal like the rest of us, even though his drive and discipline seemed otherworldly. Over the last couple days, I’d witnessed firsthand the respect he wielded among his riders. He was magnetic in his command. I could understand why he’d risen to the rank of Karath, but I found myself wanting to know how. Why. I wanted to know him.

I tried to sleep, but it wouldn’t come, as distracted as I was with the delicate sounds of water. In my mind’s eye, I imagined him washing, running those calloused palms over his scarred, warm, firm flesh. I squirmed in the furs, pushing my hair away from my neck when it felt too hot. Yet beneath my stolen tunic, my nipples were pebbled tight.

I hadn’t given much thought to what a marriage to him—and the loyalty that he expected—would mean. Sex, obviously. Siring heirs as a Sarrothian queen would be expected, wouldn’t it? Though I didn’t know about legacy here, if the horde passed down through bloodlines or if their leaders were chosen in other ways, like the Vorakkar of Dakkar had once been.

“I can hear you thinking, princess,” came his roughened voice. “I thought I told you to sleep.”

He’d emerged from the bath, and though I couldn’t see him from my vantage on the floor, with the bed blocking my view, I heard him drying himself off with a cloth near the table of my half-eaten food. Scrubbing it through his wet hair roughly.

“I had been sleeping so nicely before I’d been rudely awakened,” I reminded him, though there was no bite in my tone.

“You should’ve told me about the severity of the rider burn,” he responded easily. “Then I wouldn’t have had to.”

I huffed out a sharp breath just as he rounded the bed. I blinked quickly, catching a shadowy glimpse of bronzed flesh. Naked bronzed flesh. And there was something in his grip. A leather cuff?

“What are you doing?” I squeaked when he dropped down beside me. On the floor. In the nest of furs and blankets he’d made me.