Captive of the Horde King (Horde Kings Of Dakkar #1) - Zoey Draven Page 0,40
tied the laces.
“Markings?” I asked, eyeing him with trepidation.
He approached me and my breath went a little shallow when he tilted my chin up to look at him. For a moment, I thought he would kiss me again, like he had last night.
But he didn’t. I wasn’t sure whether I was disappointed or relieved by that, which disturbed me.
He only looked at me, in a way that made me feel vulnerable and exposed. Like he could see all my darkest thoughts, all my regrets written on my very bones.
Finally, his hands came to grip my wrists. “You will get yours here. You will receive the markings of my line. Of Rath Kitala. For you are of them now and all of our offspring will be of them too.”
Realization hit me. My eyes darted to his chest, his arms, tracing the swirling, golden lines, a beautiful pattern over his flesh.
Tattoos.
I felt the pressure of his grip around my wrists and thought that my markings would reflect his golden cuffs. A symbol.
The queen’s symbol.
Swallowing the thick lump in my throat, I didn’t voice the doubts in my head. What did I know about the Dakkari? Hardly anything. What did I know about being their queen, about being the queen to a horde king?
Nothing at all.
I felt like an imposter already but receiving the markings would make me feel even more like one. Even more out of my element, further removed from my past life.
Last night, Arokan revealed he thought me strong and brave and loyal. His words had touched something in me, soothed something in me.
I wanted to be strong. But it was more than that because I realized I had to be. There was no room for cowardice. Not there. Not in a Dakkari camp.
So, I nodded. I said, “I’m ready.”
Arokan seemed pleased with that because he brushed his fingers across my cheekbone. Then he led me outside, into the fresh air, into the bright sunlight.
That morning was quiet, as if the majority of the camp was sleeping off their fermented drink from the night before. There were two guards stationed at the tent, like usual, who inclined their heads when we emerged, but Arokan kept moving, kept guiding me deeper into the camp.
Any Dakkari that we came upon inclined their heads, keeping their gazes averted, before scuttling off to do their duties for the day. In no time at all, Arokan stopped us in front of a nondescript tent, no different than any of the others around it.
He called out in Dakkari and a long moment later, an older female emerged.
“Vorakkar,” she greeted, though she seemed put off by the early hour. I watched their exchange with interest, noting that the female didn’t shy away from Arokan’s gaze, not like other members of the camp.
They spoke quickly in Dakkari, rapid words that floated over my head. I wondered if there would come a time when I would understand the language in its entirety.
Not likely, I thought.
Finally, the older female looked at me. Lips pressed together, she looked over me, from head-to-toe, before inclining her head and said, “Morakkari. You have come for your markings.”
I blinked when she spoke the universal tongue, when she looked me directly in the eyes, her eyes rimmed in green, not yellow. Her dark skin was wrinkled, just like the elders in my own village, but her hair was still black and shining, plaited and decorated with colorful beads.
“It will be an honor, Morakkari,” she spoke again, but something in her tone made me question her words. She seemed sharp, cutting.
I realized she wasn’t impressed with me, wasn’t impressed by Arokan’s choice of a queen. Mirari had mentioned those that didn’t agree with my being human among the horde. Was she one of them?
Surprisingly, I found her disinterest in me…refreshing. It was honest. I could handle honest.
“Thank you,” I replied because I didn’t know what else to say.
“You may call me Hukan,” she replied.
I studied her as she studied me. She’d given me her true name. Was it because I was Arokan’s queen now? I couldn’t help but remember what Mirari had told me. That sometimes Dakkari gave their given names to people they didn’t respect, as an insult.
I didn’t give mine in return. Partly because I somehow knew Arokan wouldn’t approve and partly because I didn’t want to. Perhaps the Dakkari were onto something about only giving your name to those you trusted or cared for.