The Golden Dynasty (Fantasyland #2)(73)
Author: Kristen Ashley

Then I asked in Korwahk, “What was her name?”

Instantly, he answered, “I do not know.”

I blinked again then I stared. Then I asked, “You don’t know?”

He shook his head, “I do not.”

Was he crazy?

I pulled back an inch and felt my eyes narrow. “You ordered the death of a woman whose name you don’t know?”

His arm tightening brought me back and his brows knit as he studied me. “She is the wife of a warrior. Of course I do not know her name.”

Of course he didn’t know her name?

He was crazy.

Then it occurred to me that never, not once in all the times she interpreted for us, had he called Diandra by her name. If he referred to her at all, he called Diandra “wife of Seerim” or “Seerim’s woman”.

“You know,” I informed him, “women are wives of warriors but they are also a lot of other things. They are mothers. They are friends. They are healers. They are –”

“Circe,” he cut me off with a mini-squeeze, speaking patiently, “they are also the most beautiful women in the land. For that reason, they do not exist to Suh Tunak as anything other than a warrior’s wife. They cannot. It is forbidden.”

I now stared in confusion and curiosity. “It’s forbidden?”

Lahn nodded. “I must tell you that with your beauty, which far exceeds any woman I have ever seen, there are times when I regret you are my Dahksahna. This means people know who you are, you are on display, you sit at my side and men’s eyes can study you and they do. I see it, I see they take great pleasure in their study and it often lasts a long time.” Another squeeze. “This I do not like but this is my burden as Dax.”

Uh-oh. My belly was getting melty.

Lahn kept speaking. “It is a high crime for a warrior’s wife to share a bed with a warrior not her husband. If this were to happen, both would be punished severely. In olden times, it happened frequently. Warriors are men and wives are beautiful. To maintain necessary distance, to warriors, all wives are known only as the wife or bride of a warrior. Contact is minimal and personal relationships between warriors and other wives are very rare and only occur when permission is granted by the husband and usually is always supervised by the husband. Another burden I must carry as you form attachments to your personal guard and wander the Daxshee amongst your people.”

He knew about that?

“You know about that?”

“Bain and Zahnin report your activities to me daily, my queen.”

Oh. Well. That wasn’t entirely surprising. Intrusive, but not surprising.

The good news was, this wasn’t about possession or stripping women of their identities but about stopping infidelity.

And, for once, there really wasn’t any bad news except the “punished severely” part which I did not want to know so I was not going to ask.

I looked into his eyes and saw he had braced for my response so when I said, “Okay,” his chin jerked back half an inch before he smiled and gave me another squeeze.

Then he repeated, “Okay.”

Why did I think it was so sweet when he said that word?

I needed to move on.

I started to push away, muttering, “I guess I should bathe…” when I trailed off and fully took him in.

Last night, he had rivers of paint on his body. Right now, he didn’t but I did, the paint he transferred to me when he held me after the judgment.

Last night, his hair had been plaited (something I had done yesterday morning). Right now, his hair was flowing free.

And lastly, last night, he’d been painted.

My body froze.

He’d been painted! And it wasn’t me who painted him.

“Lahn,” I called and his hand in my hair slid down to rest between my shoulder blades as he grinned.

Then he murmured in a deeper than normal voice, “My tigress, you sit astride me leaking my seed in my lap, you do not have to call my name.”

Okay, that was kind of hot but I wasn’t in the mood for him being hot.

I put both my hands to his shoulders and asked, “Who painted you last night?”

He stared at me and I watched the shutters cover his eyes.

Not a good sign.

“And,” I went on, “who bathed you this morning?”

His arms curled tighter around me and he said a soft, “Circe –”

Oh no, I did not think so.

“Did you visit the Xacto?” I enquired in a dangerous voice and his arms got tighter.

“Kah Lahnahsahna –” he murmured.

That meant yes.

Oh no, I did not think so.

“You promised!” I exclaimed, reverting to English, pushing hard against his shoulders and he went back but he took me with him, twisted and then I was on my back, him on top of me again. “Get off me!” I yelled, still pushing. “You promised!”

“Quiet, Circe,” he ordered softly.

“I will not be quiet!” I shouted.

His arm moved from around me so his hand could cup my face, his thumb coming to my lips and pressing lightly.

“Quiet, my queen,” he said in English then reverted to Korwahk, most of which, luckily, I understood. “You were in no state to paint me last night and by tradition, in a ceremony where I would be passing my judgment, I needed to be painted. I had no choice and although I promised, you must understand I broke it with a thought to your state of mind. This morning, I swam in the creek to rid myself of my paint and in order not to further break my vow to you.”

Oh. Well then. That was understandable. It was even nice.

Shit.

“Well,” I whispered against his thumb, “okay then.”

He looked into my eyes for a heartbeat then he threw his head back and laughed. Before I knew it, his thumb left my lips, his still laughing mouth replaced it, his tongue slid into my mouth and he kissed me hard and deep.

Totally a natural.

I kissed him back and he rolled so I was on top, both his hands moving to hold back my hair.

When he broke our kiss I saw from close up that his eyes still held mirth.

I would know why when he stated with not a small amount of arrogance, “My tigress is stubborn and her claws are sharp but I knew I would win her mouth.”

He was gloating.

He was also not wrong.

So, I rolled my eyes and muttered, “Whatever.”

This made him chuckle which made me roll my eyes again.

Then he stopped chuckling and called, “Circe,” and when my eyes went back to him, his hands dropped my hair and his arms wrapped around me. “I will not be attending the pyre with you. I have much to do. You will be escorted by an honor guard. I command that you not leave their sight and,” his arms tightened, “if Dortak should have the insolence to attend the pyre of the bride he drove to take her own life, you will show no response. I will deal with him in less than a week and then you and Suh Tunak will only have bad memories.”