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 Elysom and a way to help my people secure more heartstones. It was meant to be a cold, logical decision. Only the fire 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.

“Because I knew which one I would rather see you in,” I informed her, keeping my voice low. The reckless part of me, the old part of me I had stuffed so deeply down, surfaced as I added, “And it wasn’t the practical choice.”

Klara’s pink lips parted on her sharp inhale. Our gazes held. Thin woven straps made of delicate silver chains were looped around her shoulders. They were the only thing that held the dress up. I thought about how easy they would be to snap with a quick tug.

“It is very pretty,” she said quietly, giving me that shy smile again that made me clench my fists. “So very impractically pretty that I couldn’t resist.”

I should’ve told her that she looked beautiful. That was what a groom would say to his bride, wasn’t it, on the cusp of their wedding blessing?

But I didn’t, the gentle words stuck in my throat. I’d noticed that Klara was still walking gingerly, and I knew that her thighs were likely freshly bandaged, that she could not ride Zaridan as she had been.

Instead, I pinched a wild wave of her hair between my fingers, rubbing the silky strands between them. When I stepped closer, a plume of soft fragrance met me. The scent of wild blossoms that grew along the edge of the falls, along the cliffside. I thought it likely Bezeth had given her a gift of her prized soap.

“Is it far?” Klara asked softly.

“No,” I said, dropping her hair. I leaned down, scooping her up into my arms before she realized what had happened, the trail of her scale dress fluttering around my legs as I turned toward Zaridan.

She sounded breathless. “What are you doing? Your horde…”

Would some disapprove that she would not be riding Zaridan properly toward the temple of Lishara? Yes. Did I find it in myself to care at this moment? Not really.

“Your rider burn will never heal if you irritate it so soon,” I reasoned. She was so light in my arms. “The quicker you heal, the quicker you begin rider instruction.”

That shut her up.

“I’ve been thinking…maybe I’m just not meant to ride,” she said softly. “Perhaps there are other uses for me around the saruk.”

“The saruk?” I asked, snorting. “No. A queen needs to bond with an Elthika. In order to bond, you must learn to ride. That is the way. I will hear no arguments about it. Besides, it is not nearly as difficult as you might think. Once that happens, then we can discuss other duties for you.”

She sighed, and I got the distinct impression that she was biting her tongue. Good.

Zaridan lowered her wing to the cheers and cries of my people, which lifted into the air behind us. She practically preened with all the attention, tossing her neck and straightening. I shook my head with her pride, though I was used to it.

Klara’s cheeks were a little pink, whether from our closeness or the cheers, I couldn’t be certain. I slid easily into the leather seat, draping Klara over my lap so she would be sitting sideways, her small feet dangling.

“Like this?” she asked quietly, sounding worried. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

“You think I would let you fall?” I asked, furrowing my brows, frowning.

Her hands were clutching my long ceremonial vest. Unlike hers, mine had been crafted from Elthikan scales, hard as Arsadian stone and completely impenetrable by man-made steel. The only thing that could pierce scales were claws.

As she pondered my question, her grip loosened slightly. I took up Zaridan’s tethers, having replaced them this morning when she’d come to the field at dawn, waiting.

“No, I suppose not,” Klara finally relented. “I’m no use to you dead.”

“Don’t say that,” I immediately growled.

Her words were meant in jest, but my chest squeezed tight, wondering if she believed there was truth in those words. I supposed I hadn’t led her to believe otherwise, and yet…I wasn’t a cruel monster, intent on using her up until there was nothing left. Did she think me one?

She didn’t tell me how much pain she’d been in, I reminded myself.

“Zari,” I called out, to distract myself, to escape the mad pumping of my heart. “Thryn’ar!”

In its literal meaning, it meant unleash in Karag. To feel the effects of that word, one would understand why. At its core, however, it was the command for a bonded Elthika to fly, and so the two meanings were interchangeable. To fly was to unleash oneself, untethered to this world.

The ultimate freedom.

Zaridan drew on her power, her muscles tensing and contracting beneath us like an intricate machine, and when she unleashed it, launching herself into the sky, the cheers from below were nearly as loud as the sudden rushing of the wind.

I didn’t have to guide Zaridan. She knew exactly where we were going. Instead, I focused on Klara, wrapping my arm around her back in support as she turned her face into my chest to shield her eyes.

My aunt had been right. I’d never enjoyed being told what to do. I detested it. I had always forged my own path, my own way. I made mistakes along the way—it was a certain thing—but like I told Klara, I didn’t make them a second time.

Only with her, there would be no second chance. I’d meant what I said. I took the marriage vows as sacredly as my bond with my Elthika. Klara had Zaridan’s song, her blessing. As far as I was concerned, the bonds were already tied between us. This ceremony in the temple was only a formality.

I turned my gaze north, over the Arsadia in all its wild beauty, thinking of the mysar command the Elysom council had given me to marry. Elysom wanted the South secured—Sarroth secured. A part of that included a queen. Heirs. They’d thought I would refuse. Perhaps my aunt had even counted on it so they could install another to lead my people, my territory. She knew I’d never wanted to marry—I’d made that perfectly clear in the years I’d been a Karath.

And perhaps taking a Dakkari queen had filled me with a strange, rebellious, vindictive thrill. But with Klara in my arms…

This is it, I realized, nostrils flaring.

She would be a very large part of my future.

I needed to make the best of it. A strong legacy required respect. We might never love one another…but we could respect one another at the very least.

Perhaps we could even be content with one another. Stranger things had certainly happened in our history.

And so, I decided right then that after our marriage was sealed in Lishara, I would treat her as my wife, in the truest of forms.

On the back of his descendant, flying toward our future, I vowed it to Muron.