But now?

Our relationship felt more tangled and uncertain than ever. I thought…maybe he regretted what had happened. The harsh sting of that realization hurt more than I thought it would.

My body still ached from when he’d been inside me…and he’d never felt further away. Perhaps this was the real Sarkin. Not the male who’d kissed me passionately and squeezed my ass in appreciation, possessiveness pouring from him with every touch.

I nearly shivered just thinking about that Sarkin. A part of me was worried I’d never meet him again. It wasn’t fair. To dangle that in front of me, a sublime prize I’d never known I needed, and then to snatch it away, leaving me reeling and confused.

I squared my shoulders as I approached the laughing group, even though nerves tangled through my chest. Would this be another rejection at the hands of the Sarrothian?

No, I thought, determination rising. I was Sarkin’s wife, now. They couldn’t deny that, and I needed to start demanding their respect. I would not be rejected, walked over like I’d been in my father’s palace, for the rest of my life. I refused. I was their queen now. I might not have had their full respect yet—I apparently needed to bond with an Elthika for that to happen—but they had to recognize that I wasn’t going anywhere.

This was my home now, whether I liked it or not.

And so I needed to make a home for myself here. I needed to demand it in my own way. Because Sarkin certainly wouldn’t do it for me.

I could feel the burning sear of his eyes on my back as I approached the group. Sammenth noticed me first, and her smile widened, though her gaze tracked to Sarkin first over my shoulder.

“Can I try?” I asked, nodding at the tree trunk. I used to be a good shot, but these targets were small, the weight and balance of these strange daggers uncertain. And I hadn’t practiced on targets in years. It used to be a fun pastime when we’d lived on the wildlands. Though, truthfully, I had practiced endlessly because the young Dakkari boys in my horde had taunted me that I couldn’t ever possibly hit a target.

“For a price,” Ryena chimed.

My steps faltered uncertainly. “And that is?”

She pushed a half-full goblet into my hands. “Drink up, Sorrina. Those are the rules to enter the competition. No one plays without at least one goblet of wine in them.”

My brow furrowed, taking the goblet from her hands, the wine nearly sloshing over the sides. “Sorinna? What does that mean?”

Ryena’s head inclined briefly. “It’s the Karag word for queen.”

I blinked, a shot of nerves going through my belly, and I felt no less than a dozen pairs of eyes on me. Even behind me, from those not in the immediate circle of players, including Feranos, who peered at me carefully. Only he suspected what had happened in Lishara’s temple, and I was proud when I didn’t feel my cheeks heat under his cautious scrutiny.

Perhaps he suspected the worst.

I didn’t drink the full goblet. After even just a sip, Ryena seemed satisfied enough, and I traded her for the first dagger. It was slim but heavy. The hilt was etched with decorative markings, the eyes of an Elthika peering back at me, two red gemstones glittering.

“I’ll challenge the Sorrina,” came Sammenth’s voice. She grinned, stepping up next to me. “And I warn you, the Sarrothian are a competitive people.”

“So are the Dakkari,” I returned. “Perhaps that makes you doubly so.”

Sammenth’s smile widened.

“We’ll see how you fare. I imagine there’s little time for dagger throwing in the Dothikkar’s gilded palace,” came a voice. A female, one of the novice riders, I knew. Her sly smirk was coupled with her narrowed eyes, watching, waiting for a reaction.

I didn’t let her subtle jab get to me. I expected to be poked at for a while. I was an outsider, even if I was their queen. But did they believe I’d lived a privileged life, wealthy and wanting for nothing? I’d been happy with my mother on the wildlands, true. But even after I’d been forced to live in the palace, it had never felt like my home.

Instead of responding, I took another sip of wine, the dagger loose in my hand at my side. I twirled the hilt, getting used to the balance in my palm, and I set the goblet down on a nearby stool.

“Hit the middle of the marks?” I asked Sammenth, eyeing the target. In the archives, on particularly dull days when my research was frustrating and I needed a distraction, we’d done something similar with the tips of ink quills, weighted with heavy coins. Half the challenge was figuring out the weights and balances of each quill, which had all been unique.

She nodded. “Stand there. Behind the tether.”

There was a long braided rope of black, worn leather lying perfectly straight at my feet.

I caught the stray, quiet voice from the novice riders. “Bets for if she makes it?”

No one said anything, and I felt my lip press. Again I ignored it. If this had been a Dakkari horde, they would’ve been silenced for daring to disrespect the Morakkari of their horde king. Perhaps they’d even be sent back to Dothik or given pyroki shit–shoveling duty for the rest of the season.

But I’m not in Dakkar, I thought, straightening my spine. And my husband doesn’t care what his riders say about me.

A difficult truth, but one I would need to swallow.

I brought the dagger up, pinching the silver, cool blade between my fingers.

“I’ll bet against,” came the voice.

“We all would,” came another grumble.

“Shut it,” came Sammenth’s hiss.

I let the dagger loose, swift and sure. I’d never felt more certain about anything, actually, and so when it hit the tree with a dull thud, the pointed blade stuck directly in the middle of the first target, I wasn’t surprised.

But everyone else was silent. Even behind me, it seemed like the noise of the celebration died down. Because they’d been watching too? Was Sarkin?

I was happy because it reminded me of living in the horde. Sneaking onto the training grounds with my two friends at midnight, when the horde had been quiet, the whistling of daggers in my ears as my friends had sparred with wood poles as swords.

A simpler time, I thought, a stab of longing and nostalgia going through me. If I’d returned to the voliki, our domed tent that I’d shared with my mother, with cuts from the daggers, she’d only shake her head, a smile playing over her lips. She’d known the importance of freedom. She’d longed for it her whole life. It was why she’d chosen to live on the wildlands. She’d always told me that Dothik had made her feel caged.

I couldn’t help but think that she would’ve loved riding on the back of an Elthika. Because what could feel more freeing than that?

“Do I go again, or is it your turn?” I asked Sammenth.

She was staring at me before a wide grin split across her face, a laugh following. She’d had a few goblets of wine, her cheeks dark in color.

“You go again, I insist,” she replied. She presented me with another dagger, pulled from her belt, the weight nearly identical to the first. When I looked down, I saw the Elthika carved into the hilt had blue gemstone eyes, and I wondered if the first dagger had been Ryena’s. Twin daggers for the sisters. A gift?

When I let her dagger fly, I was a hair off the very center but still within the boundaries.

“I changed my mind,” came one of the rider’s voices. “I’ll bet on the Sorrina.”

By the end of the competition, I’d run through all the opponents, even Feranos, who’d nearly beaten me at the very end. My arm was sore, however, the muscles still protesting from flying to reach the Arsadia. I was pleasantly buzzed, flushed with wine, since I had to take a drink with each new opponent.