Captive of the Horde King by Zoey Draven

Chapter Eleven

“You can’t possibly want me to wear this, Mirari,” I exclaimed, eyeing the ‘ceremonial Dakkari’ outfit in horror and dread.

Or rather the lack of an outfit.

Stomach knotted in nerves, I pressed three of my fingers to my lips, trying to keep it together. It was bad enough that I was going through with this tassimara at all, bad enough that I would freely give my body to a horde king who seemed cold and surly most of the time. Bad enough that I would most likely live out the rest of my life among the Dakkari, never to see my brother again.

And now this.

The ceremonial outfit was only a short, hide skirt, embroidered with beautiful gold swirling stitching accompanied by a heavy gold necklace. The necklace had one wide strand that wrapped around my throat and one thick plate that hung at the level of my breasts. My bared breasts.

“Where’s—where’s the top?” I asked, my voice sounding breathless and light.

“No top, Missiki,” Mirari replied, taking a pot of gold paint from Lavi. She dabbed her fingers into it and then smeared it over one of my pebbled nipples, making me screech in surprise and dart away, rounding the bed. The necklace bobbed against my breasts, cold and heavy.

“What are you doing?” I cried, looking down at my nipple.

Mirari eyed me carefully and then let out a long sigh. “This is the Dakkari way, Missiki.”

“N-no,” I said, holding out my hands when she approached me. “Stop.”

“Missiki, this is for the Vorakkar. You must.”

“How does this have anything to do with him?” I cried out, my voice climbing higher and higher in my panic. My heart was racing fast and my rushing blood was loud in my ears.

This might just be my breaking point. Out of everything, a short skirt and painted nipples had broken me.

“He will take the gold into his mouth tonight, consume it so it is a part of him,” Mirari explained, as if she were talking about how clear the skies were today and not about Arokan licking my nipples clean. “It is the Dakkari—”

“The Dakkari way, I know. I know,” I whispered, staring at the little gold pot like it was a blade in her hands.

Goddess help me. What was with the Dakkari and gold?

I knew there was no escaping this. Just like everything else that had happened thus far.

Inhaling a sharp breath, I snatched the pot from her grasp and said, “I’ll do it myself.”

Mirari let me have the pot and shuffled backwards, to stand next to Lavi, who I thought looked a little amused.

Hands trembling, I painted my nipples and areolas gold until they glittered in the candlelight of the tent. Once I was done, I tugged the necklace plate, encrusted with red jewels, so that it helped cover my breasts. But it wasn’t enough.

“You are ready,” Mirari announced and another jolt of fear and nerves shot through me.

I felt like a stranger again, that desperate emotion rising inside me. I’d allowed Mirari and Lavi to have their way with me. They’d brushed and dried and volumized my hair until it fell in soft, big waves down my back. Into the strands, they’d threaded in little gold beads and cuffs that I heard jingle whenever I moved my head.

To my face, they’d taken a surprisingly light hand, only outlining my eyes with thin, gold strokes, bringing out colors in my irises I hadn’t even known I’d possessed. To my cheekbones and lips, they’d dusted both with a shimmery gold powder.

When I looked at myself in the small mirror they’d brought, I hardly recognized myself. My chest was heaving with shortened breaths as I took in their handiwork. My hair had never been fuller and my face seemed softened by the gold powder. My eyes looked desperate and wild and I couldn’t stand to look at myself for long, so I turned the mirror away.

“I’m ready,” I whispered, taking in a long breath. Better to get this over with.

Night had fallen hours ago. One of the darkest nights too, considering it was a ‘black moon.’ Or a new moon, as the humans called it. Mirari and Lavi guided me from the tent and when I stepped outside, shivering a bit in the cool air, my eyes found Arokan’s. He was waiting for me.

Breath hitching, I took him in. He’d gotten ready elsewhere considering that he wore a hanging fur cloth and not the pants he’d had on when he’d left the tent earlier. His hair was loose and long down his back, his tail was decorated in gold cuffs, and his eyes were lined in black, making the yellow ring of his irises that much more intense.

My belly quivered. He was watching me with a silent ferocity that made me feel like prey and when I straightened, the necklace bobbed at my bare breasts, drawing his gaze there.

Even from a distance, I heard him make a sound, almost like a growl. It made my nerves jump even higher, especially when I noticed he stood next to his pyroki, which was freshly painted with gold lines, whose reins he held in his large, six-fingered grip.

My palms went sweaty at the sight of the beast.

A part of me, the cowardly part, wanted to turn and dart back inside the tent, to hide there for the remainder of the night and bolt from the camp at my next opportunity, to try and brave the wild lands to navigate my way back home.

That was suicide, I knew, but I was afraid enough to want to try. At least, the unreasonable and emotional part of me wanted to try.

I’d made a promise, I reminded myself.

With that thought, my feet—which were bare and unprotected—guided me to Arokan, though I stumbled a bit. The clearing in front of the tent was empty, the whole camp was quiet, though a gentle yellow glow emanated over it, which seemed strange. Silently, Mirari and Lavi slipped away, threading around the quiet tents, disappearing from view.

Until it was just Arokan and I. And his beast.

He didn’t speak. He held out his free arm, extending his hand towards me, and with a final breath, I took it. His hand was warm and mine was cold. My whole body trembled though I desperately tried to stop shaking.

Arokan gripped me to him, pulling me close so that I felt the fur cloth covering his genitals brush against my bare belly. The fur tickled, it was so soft.

But I was beyond laughter when I looked up at him.

“Are you frightened, Luna?” he asked me and I stilled when I heard my name fall from his lips, so unexpected that for a moment, I forgot my nerves. Forgot everything.

Then I remembered. Remembered who I was, why I’d come here. Remembered the young girl that had been forced to grow up too soon, remembered the years of hard work, of hard struggle, to provide for Kivan in an unfair universe.

I was strong.

I was Luna. Not kalles or Missiki or Morakkari. At least not yet.

Luna.

Bright stars shone down, glimmering in the absence of the moon light. Some of the stars I didn’t recognize. Some of them only made their appearance when the moon was dark.

“I am,” I whispered, which was difficult to say. I was frightened. I wouldn’t pretend otherwise.

I’d grown up trying to put on a strong front, trying to lie to myself that everything was alright, for Kivan’s sake. But right then I realized I didn’t need to lie anymore. I didn’t need to protect Arokan from the truth and I certainly didn’t need to impress him.

It was…freeing.

I could be strong and still be frightened. That night, I just needed to be brave and I would be.

Arokan inclined his head in acknowledgment, but didn’t say anything in reply, which I was surprisingly thankful for. Instead, he made a clicking sound in the back of his throat and his pyroki inclined his head, bowing so that it would be easier for me to climb on.

Remembering the unforgiving hardness of riding a pyroki, I hesitated. Truthfully, I would rather parade myself naked around the entire camp than get on the back of the intimidating creature again, but Arokan was watching me, studying me.

So I climbed on with the help of the horde king, though I surely flashed him in the process. The short skirt barely concealed my lower half and with my thighs splayed wide over the pyroki’s back, I felt exposed and on display.

With a grace and experienced ease, Arokan swung himself up behind me, those thick thighs bracing on both sides of my body, encasing my own.

Stiffening in the seat, I gasped when Arokan reached around and pressed his hand to my bare sex, cupping it. Warmth from his hand heated me, registered, and my cheeks flamed when I asked, “What are you doing?”

“No male will see you here,” he growled. “This is only for me.”

“Then maybe you should have given me a longer skirt,” I returned, though my voice sounded a little strangled.

Arokan made a grunting sound and curled his fingers, making me straighten, making my nipples tighten even further, if possible. “I did not want to.”

My eyes narrowed—maddening male—but I bit my tongue when he urged the pyroki forward.

The jolting, rocking motion of the pyroki was both familiar and strange, but every step it took pushed Arokan’s hand against me more, making me swallow, making me aware of my shallow breathing.

Perhaps it was best that I focused on that hand, as opposed to everything else that would come that night. Perhaps that was part of the reason why he’d done it. To distract me from my nerves.

So, I stayed, rigid and still, on top of the pyroki as Arokan guided it towards the front of the camp.

That glow that I’d noticed early became more and more pronounced and when the pyroki rounded a tent, riding onto the main alley of the narrow road, I realized what that glow was.

My breath hitched, startled, when I saw all the Dakkari, all members of Arokan’s horde, lining the makeshift road of the camp. Females, males, children, all holding glowing, parchment-thin lanterns with something bundled inside it that I couldn’t make out.

All roads of the camp, the same route that Arokan had taken when he’d presented me, were filled with Dakkari.

The warm glow reflected in their dark eyes as his pyroki led us through. It was completely silent and the only sounds were the gentle breeze whistling through the tents and the crunch of the pyroki’s hooves on the dirt.

It was beautiful. Surprisingly peaceful and dizzyingly beautiful.

The Dakkari reached out with their free hand as we passed, pressing them over the pyroki’s side and over both our legs, just like that first night. Hundreds of hands brushed my flesh but I continued to look around at all the surrounding Dakkari, into their eyes, searching for something.

They would only meet my eyes for a brief moment before they looked away, but I realized that they did the same for Arokan. It wasn’t discomfort that had them unable to hold my eyes, I realized.

It was…respect.

We rode through every possible road that connected the camp together until we reached the end. It was there I saw a celebration area had been erected. A raised dais with one golden throne stood off to the right, underneath the starry sky, against the backdrop of the silent landscape of Dakkar. Before that dais were rows and rows of tables filled with food and a cleared area for dancing, I assumed.

Arokan halted the pyroki when we reached that area and turned to face his horde. With his hand still pressed to my very core, with all of their eyes still on us, Arokan bellowed out words in his language, which reverberated in my ear. Whatever he said was short. I heard kassikari and Morakkari, but the other words were alien to me, frustratingly so.

When he was done, the Dakkari cheered in their strange way, like war cries, rolling their tongues, the sound rising into the quiet night, as jarring as it was mesmerizing. Then, all at once, they released their lanterns and they rose into the black sky, lit by little flames that would flicker out long before they touched the earth.

My lips parted, watching the subtle glow within each of them shine through the thin, colorful lanterns. More than a hundred rose, some faster than others, until it seemed like the sky was peppered with a hundred new stars.

I’d never seen anything more beautiful. It was so beautiful that it made me forget what was to come that night.

Soon, the breeze picked up and the lanterns scattered and drifted away, still high in the sky. In the back of my mind, I wondered if one would carry all the way to my village, if my brother would see it.

Suddenly, drums started up and excited cries came from the Dakkari, who all started towards the celebration area.

Arokan’s hand suddenly left between my thighs as he dismounted his pyroki. I swung my leg over and he reached up to snag my waist, effortlessly helping me down. Then he kept that grip on my waist as he led me towards the raised dais, towards the throne.

There was only one seat and Arokan dropped down into it. Just when I began to suspect that I was meant to stand, he tugged me down onto his lap.

My breath hitched when my skirt rose and I wiggled to pull it down. Only his surprised groan made me freeze and I swallowed, my eyes flashing up to his.

“Continue, kalles,” he rasped in my ear, “if you wish for me to end this feast early.”

My cheeks flushed at his meaning as I straightened, feeling the fur cloth covering him settle against the backs of my thighs.

When I didn’t move an inch after that, he murmured, “You will eat tonight. No broth. Meat.”

My jaw clenched as I eyed the long tables of food, as I watched Dakkari gather around them and pick bite-sized morsels off the platters and pop them into their mouths. Cries of delight rose as they socialized with one another in a language I could not understand.

“No,” I said. “You know—”

“The horde will think it an insult if you do not,” he said. “You will eat.”

My shoulders sagged. It was one thing to refuse food in the privacy of the tent. But if I was going to be by Arokan’s side, I couldn’t disrespect his people. Not tonight.

“I will send a gift to your village,” he said next, making me gasp and turn to look at him. “Three bveri. That will be enough meat to feed them for months, if they dry it properly. If you eat from this moment forward, not just tonight, no more fighting me, I will do this.”

“Really?” I said softly.

He inclined his head. “Lysi.”

Relief so potent that it made tears sting my eyes overwhelmed me. This was a step in the right direction, evidence that the horde king could help my village.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He regarded me with those yellow eyes. His tail, which had tucked to the side when he sat down, came up to wrap around my knee, the gold cuffs lining it chilly against my skin.

Slowly, I relaxed. As relaxed as I possible could be during a Dakkari marriage celebration with my breasts out, of course. Blowing out a small breath, my gaze darted over the forming crowd, noticing that many had their eyes on us. But just like on the pyroki, they averted their eyes whenever I made contact with them.

Other than my piki, other than Arokan, I hadn’t held anyone’s gaze for longer than a couple seconds at camp. Even Lavi didn’t look at me for long.

Arokan seemed content to simply watch his people. His features were carefully schooled into an unreadable expression. Though his muscles were loose, his gaze was observant. Always aware…always ready. I wondered if he ever relaxed.

Soon, we were approached by a female, bearing a serving platter. She waited at the base of the dais until Arokan inclined his head and then she ascended the steps. She deposited a tray laden with food and drinks, which she perched on the wide arm of the throne.

With a bow, she turned and went back into the throng of the crowd below.

Arokan lifted a goblet made of white bone to my lips. “Drink,” he ordered.

I did. Whatever the liquid was burned down the back of my throat and made my eyes water, though I fought valiantly not to hack it back up. I thought I caught his lips curl before he took a long swallow from it himself and returned it to the tray.

Next he lifted a braised piece of meat—bveri meat, I assumed, though I didn’t know what kind it was—and I opened my lips at his beckoning.

My eyes widened when the flavor of it burst on my tongue. Rich and fatty and so tender that it seemed to melt in my mouth. I’d never had fresh meat before. Years ago, we’d received dried jerky in our rations, sourced from animals residing on other planets, but we’d never hunted on Dakkar, in fear of retribution.

Arokan was watching me. Once I swallowed, I was silent for a moment, processing that something could taste like that, and then said, “I’ve never had fresh meat before.”

Something flashed in his gaze, his brows and lips pulling downwards.

“You will have fresh meat every day now,” was all he replied, though his voice was gruffer than it’d been a moment before.

“When you…” I started. “When you give my village the meat, they won’t know how to dry it.”

Arokan’s jaw clenched. “I will have my pujerak give them instructions.”

“Your pujerak?” I asked.

He tilted his head to one of the far tables. There I saw the Dakkari male that had come with Arokan to my village, the messenger, who’d first spoken with me in the universal tongue.

“My second-in-command,” Arokan replied.

I nodded, biting my lip. He was being…sweet. He was being kind and truthfully, I didn’t know how to take it. I felt more at ease with him when we were fighting.

We lapsed into a strange silence as the drums grew louder and louder, as the feast continued. Arokan continued to feed me morsels from the large selection on the tray, in between taking some for himself. But soon, my belly was full of soft braised meat and simmered roots and tart fruits that made my lips pucker.

Not to mention the fermented drink that made my head swim pleasantly, that made me smile when I watched the Dakkari children darting through the crowds, when I watched the dancing begin.

Soon, I forgot that I was sitting topless in the horde king’s lap. I forgot the nerves that had pummeled me all afternoon and evening. For once, I let myself enjoy the night because I’d never had a night like that before.

Arokan was warm underneath me and he shifted his arms tighter when I shivered. The night was growing colder, but I didn’t mind. The tray of food was emptied, though some brew still remained in the goblet. Most of the feasting was over by that point and the celebration had turned to revelry. Laughter and voices and drums filled the air.

I don’t know how long I sat in Arokan’s lap or how long I’d been watching the celebration below in utter fascination. But soon, I felt something begin to shift.

My breath hitched when Arokan lifted some of my hair at the nape of my neck. I felt the tip of his nose drag over my flesh there, soft but purposeful. My spine tingled with the sensation, unexpectedly pleasurable.

He had one hand gripped around my hips and the other rested on the arm of the throne, his clawed fingers pricking the metal. Suddenly that hand on my hip dipped until his fingers were resting over my sex, just like when we’d been riding on the pyroki.

Eyes widened, I shot a glance towards the crowd, but couldn’t discern if anyone was watching. The way his legs were positioned, I doubted anyone would be able to see directly, but it was obvious where his hand was.

Those fingers against me twitched and then pressed firm. A surprised gasp escaped my throat and I wrapped my hand around his thick wrist, just over his gold cuff, though my grip only encompassed half of it.

When I turned my head to regard him, those eyes were on me. I was frozen again, looking into those eyes, so black in the center that I saw myself in them.

His finger stroked me once, twice.

“Arokan,” I whispered, panicked, my mind muddled from the fermented drink, my inexperienced body beginning to respond to his expert touches.

The sound of his given name leaving my lips made him growl, made his spine shoot straight. Belatedly, I wondered if I’d made a mistake using it, if I’d crossed a line.

Before I knew it, he was standing from the throne, bringing me with him. He swung me up in his arms and descended the stairs of the dais.

The dancing never stopped though I felt eyes turn towards us, though the beat of the drums seemed to increase. I felt those beats pulse through me.

He swung us both up onto his pyroki once we reached it with ease, which was telling of his strength. To the crowd, he bellowed, “Kirtva njeti Morakkari!”

Whatever he said was met with deafening cheers and my lips parted, my chest heaving when I realized what was about to happen. Just then, my eyes met Mirari’s in the throng and she nodded at me, smiling.

He urged the pyroki into a gallop back through the camp, turning his back on the celebration.

He was guiding us towards the tent.

“It is time, kalles,” he rasped in my ear, his hand again curling between my legs. “You are my queen now. I will wait no longer.”