“You were untouched?” I asked quietly.

I forced myself to meet her eyes, though I knew my expression was tight. This was wrong. It was all wrong. I hadn’t wanted this and neither had she. But neither of us expected for this to have been Lishara’s blessing. Or else…or else I might’ve waited to bring her here, even if it had delayed my mysar fulfillment to Elysom.

“Yes,” she said quietly, her tone suddenly uncertain. Because I was acting like a cold bastard and I knew it.

Hearing her confirmation felt like one more strike against me. I’d been rough, unable to control my lusts. We’d both enjoyed it, yes…but this hadn’t been either of our choices. This had been forced on us with magic. And the self-loathing that I’d hurt her, that I could’ve been gentler, that I could’ve stopped this ran deep.

I didn’t hurt females. Ever.

“Get dressed, Klara,” I said quietly, doing everything I could to control my tone, to keep it steady and even so I didn’t scare her.

“Are you…are you angry with me?” she asked.

I turned from her, squeezing my eyes shut as I shrugged on my ripped vest. Because I’d torn through the clasps in my need to feel her skin against mine.

“No.”

She didn’t say anything else, and I listened to the rustle of her hatchling-scale dress as she pulled it on while I tried to regulate the maelstrom of emotions swirling in my chest.

And as we left the chamber, ascending the darkened stairwell that would lead us back above ground to the lake, I realized…

She was my wife now.

Queen of the Sarrothian, of my people.

And once reason returned, once the reality of what had just happened hit, she might hate me.

When we made it back up to the lake, I guided us down the path, water lapping at my ankles. Zaridan, Feranos, and his Elthika were waiting in the grassy area beyond the rocky shore.

My commander eyed me carefully as we approached, his brow raising. When his eyes darted to Klara behind me, it took everything in me not to growl and step in front of her, to shield her from his view so soon after we’d mated.

Which was new…

The feeling of animalistic possessiveness sweeping through me, discomfort threading through my veins at the thought of him so close to her after what had happened in the temple…it didn’t sit well. And Feranos was one of my oldest friends.

I stepped up to Zaridan. I placed a palm on her snout, briefly glancing at her missing scale, the flesh exposed. Her sacrifice for this ceremony and for her rider’s bond. It would grow back, though slowly, and it would never be as strong as the scale that now lay in the bottom of Lishara’s pool. Over time, the heartstone magic would slowly dissolve it, and Zaridan would forever be part of this place. But she would also be forever vulnerable.

Behind me, Feranos asked, in Karag, “Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” I replied, tone clipped, making it clear I wasn’t in the mood for further questions. Feranos went silent, and I turned from Zaridan to peer over at Klara.

She was uncertainly hovering by Zaridan’s wing. The straps of her dress were ripped—my doing—and she was holding it up so the bodice wouldn’t slip. She looked like she’d just been…well, fucked. Well and truly fucked. Her hair was wild, the ends dripping. Her cheeks were flushed. I saw the dark marks on her neck where I’d nipped and bitten and sucked. When she walked closer to Zaridan, she limped.

And self-loathing tore through me all over again, knowing that I’d only added more pain to her body. Klara didn’t meet Feranos’s eyes, and it was then I realized I wasn’t making this better. I was making this worse for her.

Get her back home, back to comfort, I told myself. Then you can figure out how to fix this.

Because whether I liked it or not, she was my wife now. My responsibility. We were bonded until death, tied now with the blood of my Elthika and with Lishara’s blessing.

And as her husband, it was now my duty to protect her. To make her feel safe, even if she didn’t feel safe with me.

“Let’s return,” I said, going to Klara. I scooped her up into my arms, watching her blink in surprise, and she met my eyes. Some of the buzzing under my skin calmed when she looked at me, when I felt her comforting weight in my arms and scented myself on her skin.

Ascending Zaridan’s outstretched wing, I prepared to bring my wife home.

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Chapter 21KLARA

The wedding feast that night was an uncomfortable affair. At least for me. Sarkin’s horde pretended that they didn’t notice their Karath’s brooding silence or me fidgeting at his side, at the head of the long table that had been set up during our absence.

It was a beautiful night. Balmy from the waterfall and warm. A bright half-moon was hanging overhead, surrounded by a smattering of stars. It brought me comfort to recognize the constellations. Bekkar’s Sword. Tanniva’s Hand. Dakkar history and story, plastered in the night sky, even though I’d never felt further from home than I did right then in my new one.

Nearly all of the village was in attendance it seemed. Brightly colored banners and ribbons had been hung from various buildings. Tall silver torches lit up the pathways, casting a golden, beautiful glow in the night. The food smelled amazing, though I hadn’t yet tried any of it, my stomach cramping from the palpable tension pouring off my now husband.

I listened to the chatter all around me. Sarkin’s riders had long given up trying to speak to him, and we’d been left on our own at the head of the table. Part of the horde and yet separate. As if everyone could feel the tension between us, they all kept to themselves, seemingly determined to enjoy the feast, which was meant to be a celebration of our union. So why did it feel like a mournful wake?

There’s no reason why I can’t enjoy this party even if Sarkin is sour on it, I thought, taking a deep breath, catching sight of Sammenth and Ryena, both laughing with a small group next to one of the trees that made up the edge of the vast forest. The trunk was wide, protected with a cushioned board, and I watched as they played a game, flinging daggers at the target. The object being whoever struck inside the four circles drawn at random areas of the map won points.

Wine was flowing, darkly colored and rich. My own goblet was half-empty. I wasn’t used to drinking fermented fruit, but the Karag produced a delicious brew. I wondered what they used and if the process differed from Dakkari wines. The Karag ones weren’t as sweet, though they were rich and smooth. And dangerously easy to drink.

Emboldened by the wine, I stood from my seat, catching the sharp jerk of Sarkin’s head when he turned to regard me.

“I’ll be over there,” I informed him, not quite meeting his eyes as I gestured toward the tree.

He regarded the group briefly, seeming like he was on the verge of saying something, but all he did was sharply incline his head, as if I needed permission…which I didn’t.

There was a part of me that was angry. A part of me was mourning. Because for brief moments in Lishara’s temple, though those moments had seemed beautifully and breathtakingly endless, I’d thought that what Sarkin and I had shared had been special. I’d felt connected to him in a way that defied everything I knew.

And he’d taken that away.

He’d retreated, becoming even colder than he’d been to me before. I thought that before we’d left this morning, we might’ve even been on friendly ground. We’d understood what needed to happen. It wasn’t as if sex would’ve never played a part in our marriage. I assumed the question of heirs would eventually need to be answered.