People started flooding toward us as the horse became visible outside the Daxshee and the Dax changed our positions on the horse. This change was minute but significant. His arm around my waist slid up so the swells of my breasts rested on it and it tightened so I was held snug to his big body. This said I was not a bundle to be delivered safely. This was more intimate. This said I was claimed.
Then his mouth came to my ear and he said the first words since he took me.
I didn’t understand a one of them but I recognized the last one and even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t forget it. The last word he said in his deep, scary, rough voice was a forceful, “Lahnahsahna.”
Okay, whatever the hell that meant, it meant something to him. Therefore, I needed to find out what it meant. And I was figuring I needed to find that out fast.
With the old-fashioned attired men holding back but their eyes still on us, his native people rushed the horse, took one look at me in my golden outfit and started cheering, smiling, laughing, jumping in joy, holding their hands up and waving them, some of them chanting as we rode through them. Then flowers were thrown, just petals but the deeper we got into the Daxshee, the more people there were, the more petals drifted around us until they were all I could see.
It sucked but I had to admit their softness felt nice floating and gliding against my hot, scraped, aching flesh. And, if this was a joyous occasion, like a real wedding of people uniting in love (which it was not) those light petals drifting through the torchlit night would be beautiful.
The Dax said not a word as he rode through the crowd and his horse didn’t miss a beat but kept his slow, steady walk through the throng.
The people and their petal throwing stopped when we reached the dais area. They hung back but their cheers and chants carried on as the horse took us to the center of a wide semi-circle of stone that bowed out from the dais. This semi-circle was created by warriors astride horses, their claimed women in front of them on the horse, straddling it, wearing nothing but their necklaces with the warrior’s chain hooked to it.
At this, I was realizing it might be good to be queen.
None of them, including, I looked and found Narinda, had a stitch of clothing on.
When I caught her eyes, I tipped my head to the side and gave her what I knew had to be a small, weird smile.
Her face grew soft and she returned it.
Then I looked at the other warriors and their women. Some women looked thrilled beyond belief. Some looked disappointed. Some looked frightened (and these were even the native women, apparently having men fight to the death for you then being raped in a barren wasteland was not all it was cracked up to be).
The Dax stopped us at the foot of the steps to the dais and didn’t hesitate in dismounting or pulling me off the horse.
I tried (and failed) not to think of my ass cheeks showing as he took my hand and walked up the dais toward the thrones at the top.
Yes, thrones.
Now there were two of them. The massive black one was now accompanied by another, smaller one. The same style but the horns were white and the feet were not elephant feet but some other animal’s feet. Maybe deer. Maybe gazelles.
Serious gross.
The black throne had no pad, as it had none before and obviously this was meant to show that seasoned, badass warriors didn’t need sissy things like cushions for their asses. But the white throne had a fluffy, gold silk covered pad on the seat and another one on its end resting against the back.
Okay, more good news. I got pads. I could use pads. My ass was freaking killing me.
We made it to the top and he turned us to the crowd. I could see beyond the large, wide arc of what had to be at least a hundred warriors, it could actually be more, their brides and their horses, the crowd had closed in.
The Dax stood there, holding my hand, his eyes moving over the gathering. Someone had taken his horse away so at the immediate bottom of the dais there was nothing but a vast open space, torchlight dancing on the smooth, cream stone.
He did not speak; he just surveyed the crowd with his frightening, painted eyes. They did not cheer or chant; they just stayed silent and watched us.
This, by the way, was not fun but I’d had less fun that night so I just took it and stood there.
Then he started shouting, so suddenly, my body jerked. I had no clue what he was saying but whatever it was, he meant it, like, a lot. And this was proved to be true when, twice, he banged his mighty fist on his muscled, painted chest.
He shouted for awhile then suddenly he tugged my hand, bent as my body fell into his, his other arm tagged me behind the knees, he let my hand go, his arm going around my waist, he swung me up with such force, my legs went flying and my arms automatically circled his neck so I wouldn’t be sent soaring through the air and he roared, “Kah Lahnahsahna!”
A deafening cheer tore through the crowd, so fierce; the wall of sound hit me like a physical thing.
But he didn’t bask in whatever glory he was receiving. He turned toward the chairs and when he did, my eyes tipped to his just as his bearded chin (he had a full, black beard, it was long at the chin and held at the point with a gold band) and his eyes locked with mine.
Then his arms squeezed me so tight, I thought he’d break bones.
Then he whispered fiercely, “Kah Lahnahsahna.”
Before I could say a word, he deposited me on my throne and then sat in his.
Okay, I seriously needed to find out what that meant.
I looked over at him to see him tip his head at the first warrior in the arc. More drums started sounding, not the booming sound, these were smaller, made less noise but it wasn’t music. It was just a beat and the wedding rite, I guessed, started.
Each warrior rode his horse right before us to the foot of the steps to the dais, stopped, dismounted, pulled down his bride and walked her up the steps to us. This happened one after another. All of the men jerked their chin up to the Dax then their eyes came to me and they bowed their head slightly. Some of the women bowed to the king and to me.
After the jerking chin, bowing thing, one of the warriors pulled his bride in front of him, wrapped his arms around her, one at her chest so he could lift his hand to cup her jaw and he grinned at his king.
Clearly, he was pretty pleased with his bride and, in spite of myself, I had to admit, it was kind of cute. And I allowed myself to admit this mainly because the girl looked a little tentative but also a little pleased too.
I looked at the Dax who had no visible response. He might have thought it was cute or he might have been fighting a roll of his eyes. But his face gave away nothing.
Still smiling, that warrior walked away with his arm around his naked bride’s shoulders.
A few couples later, Narinda came up with her warrior. She had blood on her too. Clearly, he’d fought for her because he had a minor wound at his shoulder. The chin jerks and bows went on then I leaned forward and caught her eyes.
“I’m all right,” she mouthed before she hesitantly tipped her head back to her (handsome, I was pleased to see, very handsome but also hopefully soft under all that muscle) warrior.
Then I was equally pleased to see him slide his arm along her waist in a way that looked kind of tender before he guided her down the steps.
Okay. Shoo. Maybe Narinda was going to be okay.
More warriors, more brides, more drums, more chin jerks and bowing and then, almost to the end, I was shocked to see the cruel warrior who got his chain on me before the Dax had severed it was striding up the steps dragging an extremely beautiful, native girl behind him.
He, too, was wounded, one eye swelling, a cheekbone too and he was bleeding profusely from his nose and shallow but nasty gashes on his chest.
But it wasn’t his wounds that freaked me out. It was his eyes.
His eyes were burning and this burn came from his soul, that soul was filled with hate and his eyes were locked on his king.
Oh man, that did not bode well.
