Chapter Four

The Golden Dynasty

 

Three days later…

“Kah Dahksahna, shalah dahnay,” the woman implored, her hand resting light on my hip over the silk sheet.

My head was to pile of silk pillows; my eyes were open and unseeing. I could feel the soft hides under my body. The light, silk sheet was down around my waist but I was covering my naked breasts with my arm.

And I wanted to die.

Every day, I didn’t wake up at home. Three nights of sleep, three days of waking up and I wasn’t going home. Three days of waking up to the attentions of the king. Three nights of being woken to more attention when he arrived back at the tent.

There were no murmured words of tenderness, even ones I didn’t understand. There was no attempt at foreplay. No cuddling afterward. He didn’t hold me in his sleep. He just turned me to my belly, yanked me up to my knees, used me, pulled out, dropped down beside me and fell asleep (or, in the mornings, after he took me, he got up, dosed himself with water from a jug, pulled on his hides without even toweling off and prowled out).

He didn’t share meals with me (not that I got up to eat, I didn’t get up at all, except to use the pot at the back). He didn’t visit with me.

He didn’t even know my name.

At least he was gone during the days.

And he had just left and like every day when he left, the five women who’d seen to me after the claiming rushed in and bustled around his tent with great activity. The one with dark skin, clearly the leader of the group, as usual coming to me, talking gently but increasingly anxiously using words I didn’t understand but her hand was always light on me, the shakes she’d give my body always gentle and I got the message – she wanted me to get up.

I didn’t get up and eventually they gave up and stole out.

I barely looked at them.

I needed to get home. I needed to get the fuck out of there.

I needed to do it but I had no clue, not that first stinking clue, how to do that.

And my nightmare rolled on.

The hand left my hip and I felt her get up from the bed. Then I heard her speaking softly but urgently to the other women.

I shoved my hand under the pile of soft pillows at my head and kept staring across the tent, seeing nothing, still feeling him between my legs, knowing he’d be back.

What could have been five minutes or five hours later, I heard the tent flap slap back, my body tensed, my mind searched the tent to see if it could feel if it was him who had returned (it would be a first, it was still daylight) and I didn’t feel his raw, brutal energy filling the tent.

I relaxed.

Then I felt a presence seat itself behind me and another light hand on my hip.

“Kah Dahksahna, my dear, you must rise, you must eat, you must show yourself to The Horde.”

I blinked and turned to my back, my arm moving to cover my breasts as I stared up at a very pretty woman with dark brown hair, hazel eyes and a gentle expression. She was wearing the clothing of the natives and speaking my language.

“You speak English?” My voice was scratchy because I hadn’t used it in three days.

Her head tipped to the side. “English?”

Great. She didn’t know what English was. She wasn’t here from a dream either.

I stared at her and guessed she was maybe in her early forties and aging very well. I also knew, in their desperation, the women who tended me went out and found a woman who spoke my language.

Well, interesting to know that there was another person in that vile place who spoke my language but not interesting enough for me to care.

I turned to my side again and resumed my contemplation of nothing.

Her hand shook my hip gently. “Kah Dahksahna, please, you must rise. There are whispers.”

“I don’t care,” I stated though it was more that I didn’t understand but I didn’t care enough to understand either.

“I see you were sheltered,” she muttered to herself, her fingers giving me a kindly squeeze.

No. I wasn’t sheltered. Like Narinda, my Mom died when I was young. It happened when I was ten. A freak incident, the kind you never heard of unless it was on TV or in a movie. Mom going to the bank, a robbery in progress, the robber flipped out when Mom walked in, he turned and shot her. She died in the ambulance. She was doing something simple, making a deposit and then… no more Mom.

My father owned a moving company and was not loaded by a long shot. Therefore, he couldn’t afford to pay for babysitters or childcare but also, with what happened to Mom, I thought it was about him keeping me close and around people he trusted. So I grew up in his office around his men who looked after me, took care of me, were cool about it and I loved them. They did their best to be appropriate around me but they were guys. Shit happened. I heard things. It was the way of the world.

And I grew up in that office until I started managing that office at fifteen. Now, at thirty-five, I still managed that office and the guys didn’t do their best to be appropriate around me. I was older; I’d been around awhile so I was one of the guys.

Though one of the guys with tits and ass that I caught some of them staring at on more than one occasion.

But I wasn’t sheltered.

That said, I’d definitely been sheltered from this. Then again, Pop didn’t know this existed. If he did, though, he’d have sheltered me from it. He’d take a slash from a warrior’s sword to protect me from it, as would any one of his boys. I knew it.

I wondered what he was thinking, being at home, me not there. He was probably going out of his mind.

“I know this is strange for you,” the woman said.

Right. Strange. Yeah, she hit that on the head. Strange.

Though, I might use another word for it.

Or several.

“But, you must care, kah Dahksahna,” she whispered on another squeeze.

“My name is Circe,” I told her quietly.

“Pardon, my dear?”

I sighed then repeated, “My name is Circe, not kah Dahksahna.”

“Circe, lovely,” she murmured. “But Dahksahna isn’t your name, it is just you. It means ‘queen’ and you are our queen.”

I decided not to reply. That had been working with the other women, no reply, eventually they’d go away.

Her fingers gave me another squeeze and I felt her bend closer.

“I remember feeling much the same as you. Seerim, my warrior husband, was different than the Dax, of course, but I remember this feeling, my dear. I know it is not a good feeling. But you will come to understand it is their way.”

“It sucks,” I muttered, forgetting about not responding.

“Sucks?” she asked, sounding confused.

“It sucks, it stinks, it’s for the birds,” I explained, rolling to my back again with my arm over my breasts and I locked eyes with her. “It’s hideous, foul, vile, detestable… it sucks.”

Her eyes got soft and she said quietly, “It is their way.”

“Their way sucks,” I returned and rolled back to my side.

Her voice came back to me. “I understand you see it that way. But, they know of our way, of wooing and falling in love and waiting to claim your mate after your wedding celebration, not the peasants doing that but soldiers doing it, warriors, and they think that is strange. Laughable. Silly. They think it is ridiculous, not to face a challenge, best your brothers in order to earn a beautiful wife. You don’t believe me now, but I promise, as unbelievable as it seems, you will come to understand their way. I have seen, now, ten Wife Hunts since my own. There are girls like you, girls who settle in and enjoy their lives with The Horde. You will too. You just need to get up and face it, learn their ways, be amongst –”

I cut her off. “I’m not getting up.”

“You must.”

“Well, I’m not.”

I felt her get close, her mouth at my ear. “You must Dahksahna Circe. For your slaves, for your Dax, for The Horde and… for you.”

My body got tight and my head turned to her. “My… slaves?”

I watched her nod. “The women who have been seeing to you. Those are your slaves. The Dax has given them to you. It is very generous. Most warrior brides receive a slave, at most two. I have been with my warrior over twenty years and I only have three.”

I blinked then repeated, “Slaves?”

Her face flooded with understanding but still she stated, “The Horde takes slaves. It, too, is their way. In fact, this is the way throughout the Southlands.”

Jeez, these guys were savages.

“That’s insane,” I whispered.

“It is their way,” she replied and I had to admit, I was tired of her saying that.

“It’s insane,” I repeated.

“It is their way, Dahksahna Circe,” she returned firmly. “And if you do not get up, the Dax will be forced to intervene.”

Uh-oh, I did not like the sound of that.

I stared at her. She went on but she did it looking like she really didn’t want to.

“He has bragged greatly about you. The Lahnahsahna, a true warrior’s wife.”

Is that what Lahnahsahna meant?

And…

He bragged about me?

She kept talking. “He told his people he did not claim you. He told his people he battled you before he won you. He told his people you challenged him. The warrior king’s bride fought like a warrior. She did not lay back and accept her fate. She stood strong and shouted in the face of a king. She fought and did not give up. Even knowing she’d taste defeat, she fought on, like a true warrior. He told his people you are not his queen. You are his warrior queen.”

I stared at her not knowing what to say.

She took this as her cue to keep going. “He clothed you in gold before the rite. This is not their way, Dahksahna Circe. A warrior, king or not, never but never covers the bride they claimed before the rite is performed. It is important to them to display their triumph in all its beauty. Dax Lahn clothing you in gold was an announcement to his people that you are more than his Dahksahna, you are the golden queen, the warrior bride. This is not a simple declaration to make. A Dax would not do this unless he believed into his soul that he had claimed the golden queen.”

“Wh… what,” I stammered, “is the golden queen?”

She gave me a gentle smile before saying, “It is the Korwahk people’s belief that the mightiest Dax in their history will find the golden queen, a warrior bride, fair of hair, kind of heart, fierce of spirit. This story has been told for centuries, millennia… the mighty Dax and his golden Dahksahna would unite and the Golden Dynasty would begin bringing the Korwahk nation great wealth, abundant crops, fruitful women. Magic would descend upon the land and the Korwahk people would be safe under the strength of their king and the enchantments of their queen.”

“That’s… that’s… that’s whacked,” I told her, lifting up to sitting, pulling the sheet over my breasts and when her face grew confused, I explained quickly, “Insane. Crazy.”

She shook her head and sat back, smiling at me. “They do not think it is crazy. They believe it is true. Every generation prays that the mighty king and golden queen will reign during their time on this earth. And they believe when the mighty Dax finds his golden queen, he will clothe her in gold before the rite and install her at his side. This is what the Dax did. And this is not something he would do unless he believed he had found his golden queen and…” she leaned forward, “this is what he did. And in so doing, he brought great joy to his people. But you do not show yourself. You do not walk amongst them. You hide in your tent and there are whispers. Whispers that you are not what he said you were. Whispers that the Dax lied to them, bragged with falsehood, claimed a Dynasty that was not his to claim. And this is very dangerous, these whispers, dangerous for him and for you.”

I stared at her knowing my eyes were wide.

“Why?” I asked on a breath.

“Because, my dear, there is no dynasty amongst the Korwahk now. A Dax becomes a Dax through challenge. He does not inherit a kingdom, he seizes it,” she whispered.

Oh boy.

She kept speaking. “The Dax only stays the Dax as long as he can defeat any challenge. If he is killed, his reign transfers to the warrior who defeated him or, when he knows he can no longer stand up to a challenge, he and his queen go into exile and they do not live with The Horde of the Daxshee. But by claiming you his golden queen, he claimed the reign for himself until his death and then his son and so on until the Golden Dynasty falls, if it ever does. This is not a trivial claim to make. It challenges their way of life. There will be those who will wish to prove it wrong, there will be challenges to the Dynasty and you, hiding in your tents and not showing them you are their golden warrior queen, are putting our Dax in jeopardy.”

That I didn’t care about.

No freaking way.

“And?” I asked sharply and she blinked.

Then she said softly, “And, if the Dax decides he has been mistaken, he will need to make that known amongst his people prior to any challenges being thrown. And he will do this, my dear, he will renounce you and he will do it in a way you will not like.”

Shit.

She kept talking, “But, if a challenge is thrown before he does this and the Dax falls, you fall. They will kill him, my dear, but you they will not kill.”

That didn’t sound bad, or at least the words didn’t, the way she said them did.

“And?” I asked a lot less sharply and a lot more hesitantly.

She studied me. Then she said carefully, “And, they will burn your tent, they will murder your slaves… after enjoying them,” she eyed me, “repeatedly.” I sucked in breath and she kept going. “They will loot your belongings and you… you, my dear, they will mutilate in ways and in places no woman wants to be mutilated. Then they will share you; share you amongst all the warriors until they lose interest in you. Then you will be cast out and it will be known that if anyone provides you aid, they will be punished. You will die of thirst or malnutrition, burning in the sun. They will not kill you but you will die but before you die you’ll want to die. No death is pleasant, Dahksahna Circe, but that death would be far more unpleasant than most.”

Dear God, she had that right.

Seriously, this… place… sucked.

I stared into her eyes. Then I looked beyond her at the five women who’d been serving me and caring for me in kind ways for three days and had been so gentle with me that awful night. They were standing in a huddle just inside the flap to the tent.

They looked more than anxious.

They looked freaking scared.

Then I looked back into her eyes.

Then I whispered, “What’s your name?”

“Diandra, my queen.”

“All right, Diandra,” I said softly, making my decision, “let me get up. I’ve got some people who need to see me.”

Diandra kept hold of my eyes for a long moment before, slowly, she smiled.