Captive of the Horde King (Horde Kings Of Dakkar #1) - Zoey Draven Page 0,28

in my new outfit, with my hair braided down my back. I drank the bowl of broth they’d brought me, refusing the meat once more, and then we’d gone outside.

I felt more like myself than I’d had since I’d arrived to the Dakkari camp.

It was simply ironic then that later that night, I would never be the same again. I knew what was coming. Arokan had told me himself. After that night, I would be his wife, his queen. He would own my body and my life would be tied to his from that night forward.

Husband.

The word seemed strange to describe him, but that was what he would become.

My mother had often told me to be strong. It was such a general saying, two words that had no meaning to me until I found myself in a situation where they made perfect sense.

I’d had to be strong when I’d found my mother, lying in a pool of her own blood. I’d had to be strong for Kivan, to protect him, working long hours to keep rations coming in. I’d had to be strong when I made a deal with a Dakkari horde king.

Be strong now, I thought as I watched Arokan and his horde warriors ride into camp. Behind me, I heard Lavi make a sound, a sound like relief, when the males guided their pyroki to the pen a short distance away. I watched Lavi approach one of the male warriors, watched her speak with him, watched her touch his hand.

The warrior was tall and broad and handsome, much like Arokan. And Lavi was obviously smitten.

As if of their own accord, my eyes found Arokan. Our gazes had connected once he’d ridden into camp, but he’d looked away to attend to his pyroki, to give orders to the male in charge of the beasts, and to address an older Dakkari male that approached him from a nearby tent.

I watched them speak and studied the horde king, whose flesh was streaked in black blood and dirt. Some of the other warriors looked worse. One had a particularly nasty gash on his thigh and a female came forward to attend him almost immediately, leading him away.

Other than that brief pause, however, the camp continued to prepare for that night, as if their males and their horde king returning all bloodied was a usual occurrence.

When Arokan broke away from the older male and began his approach, my heart stuttered in my chest, remembering how angry he’d been the last time we’d spoken.

“You should attend to your male, Missiki,” Mirari said quietly. “Remember. He is just like Drukkar.”

I nodded to her, though my eyes never left Arokan. Quietly, she slipped away, weaving towards the front of the camp where I was sure she could find something to occupy her time. It seemed like there was still much to prepare.

His eyes tracked over my body, taking in my hide pants and cloth tunic, before settling on my face. Arokan didn’t say anything about the clothes, however, just held the tent flap open for me as I ducked inside and he followed behind me.

When we were alone, I took a deep breath and turned to him, though my tongue felt tied, knotted in my mouth.

It was possibly the first time I’d ever been at a loss for words as I looked at him. Up close, he looked like a bloody mess. Black splatters of blood adorned his body, covering parts of his golden tattoos. His left side was covered in grime and dirt, as if he’d fallen hard. The pants he wore would probably take multiple washings to clean.

As if on cue, the tent flap parted and males brought in the bathing tub, followed by buckets of steaming water.

We were silent as they filled it and I only moved once they left us in peace. Arokan was watching me and I moved towards him slowly, remembering Mirari’s advice, remembering the story of Drukkar. Remembering that perhaps the horde king needed warmth most of all, considering the crusted and cold blood that decorated his flesh, remembering that he had the power to help my village, if I gave him reason to.

He would be my husband. Nothing would change that. And if we entered into this partnership, however unequal it might be, on good terms, perhaps we could be of use to one another.

Arguing with him, fighting against him would accomplish nothing. Unless he really pissed me off and then I would give him an earful, the