Broken by the Horde King, page 1
Copyright © 2021, 2024 by Zoey Draven
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, places, or persons are purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Editing by Mandi Andrejka at Inky Pen Editorial Services
For more information visit www.ZoeyDraven.com
Broken by the Horde King
Horde Kings of Dakkar
Book Four
Zoey Draven
Broken by the Horde King
Nine years ago, he broke my heart and never returned. I vowed to forget him…if only I could.
When I was a child, I fell in love with a Dakkari boy. The prince of our clan. Rukkar, we called him. For he was destined to become the greatest horde king of our time.
He was Kiran of Rath Okkili. My friend. My strong, unyielding protector. His mischievous smile and golden eyes made my heart flutter and my soul sing. And just when I began to believe he returned my love…he shattered me so completely and never once looked back to see how I’d survived.
Nine years later, he’s returned.
Only, he’s not a prince anymore.
He’s a horde king. Cold and cruel. With molten eyes like sin and a body made for war.
I’d promised myself I’d never love him again. I’m older, wiser, and I protect my heart at all costs. But he’s driven to prove me wrong for reasons I don’t understand.
Because not only does he want my love again…he also demands me as his queen.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Epilogue
Taken by the Horde King
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About the Author
Chapter 1
When I was eight years old, I fell in love with a Dakkari boy.
It hit me fast, like the quick purple lightning that sometimes flashed over Drukkar’s Sea in the warm season. Fast like the brown nekkisau darting for their dark burrows when strange beings strayed too close. Fast like plunging off the tall diving cliffs next to the Okkili outpost, dropping into the chilled sea, the wind slapping at flesh and carrying excited screams and laughter away.
That was what it felt like, falling in love. Frightening and dangerous but wonderful—all at the same time.
I didn’t speak until I was eight years old. Not a single word, Dakkari or otherwise. My peers thought I was a mute fool. They would tease and taunt me, jeering at the human girl who didn’t look like them, until they made me cry, until fat, clear tears dripped down my face—which delighted them. And still, I never made a single sound. I just stood there, waiting for it to be over, waiting for them to get bored and leave me be. It never occurred to me to walk away…because where would I go?
And this Dakkari boy who I fell in love with?
The clan had always called him Rukkar.
Prince.
His father had been a Vorakkar, a great Vorakkar in his time, roaming Dakkar, living freely on the wildlands until he decided to end his rule and settle permanently. The great hordes of time became outposts—saruks, they were called—and the mighty Vorakkar had settled his in the South Lands, closest to the beautiful sea, for his Morakkari was fond of the coast and the salt breezes that swept in from the Southwest.
That Vorakkar became Sorakkar to his people. Strong buildings of stone were erected in place of temporary voliki. Training grounds and pyroki enclosures were made permanent, fortified with Dakkari steel. Walls were built. Roads were laid. His nomadic horde became a clan.
It was there that I had lived the majority of my life, in a saruk by the sea.
And the Dakkari boy that I fell in love with was the prince of it all, the only son of the Sorakkar. The only son of Rath Okkili.
On a warm day when I was eight years old, a group of my sister’s friends cornered me against one of the water wells toward the back of the outpost. Laru, my sister, had been distracted by shimmering baubles at the market, and thus her friends were free to try to make me cry. It was a game to them. A fascinating, terrible little game.
Well, they did make me cry, and like always, I stood there, letting them see my shame and embarrassment and fear until they left, wandering off to find Laru, snickering all the while.
Their words rang in my head as they left.
Ugly, stupid, useless human.
The Rukkar found me there, standing with my head down as I tried to will the tears away. He’d been striding past with his private tutor, a swords master, his golden weapon strapped to his hip, on his way to the training grounds.
Even at thirteen years old, the prince was beautiful. Golden eyes that gleamed in sunlight, a sharp nose, a wide, strong jaw, a mischievous smile that made my heart fluttery and my cheeks warm.
That day, he frowned when he saw me, sending his private tutor on ahead with the promise he’d meet him at the training grounds.
“Maeva?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”
The Rukkar had always been kind to me. I had always suspected it was because he liked my sister, but sometimes I would dream that it was because he liked me instead.
I shook my head at his inquiry, and he took my arm gently, his hand hot and wonderful on my skin, and led me away. We slipped out of the outpost, through a secret gate I hadn’t known existed, and he led me down a narrow path along the cliff’s edge. The path went downhill sharply, but then…
Suddenly, we were in a private place that had a breathtaking view of Drukkar’s Sea, stretched before us in the glittering afternoon sun. The path led to a wide ledge, big enough to stretch out on, the cliff at our backs. Blue-crested waves crashed against the rocks below, sending salty spray up, misting in my curly hair.
And suddenly, my tears were dried up and my mouth was open in wonderment. When I chanced a peek at the Rukkar, his golden eyes were on me and his signature mischievous smile had returned.
“It’s a secret,” he said, sitting down on the ledge, “so don’t tell anyone.”
Who would I tell? I thought.
Hesitantly, I sat down next to him, this Dakkari boy who looked more and more like a Dakkari warrior every day, and his tail came to rest in the empty space between us. Silence stretched between us too, and I felt flustered, my tongue tapping restlessly at the roof of my mouth.
“You shouldn’t listen to them, Maeva,” the Rukkar said quietly, his eyes scanning the horizon of the sea. “They only have power over you if you let them. Nothing they say to you is true.”
His words sounded final and certain. In awe, I realized this was his power. I realized this was why so many revered him. Why so many believed that he was destined to become one of the greatest Vorakkar of our time, surpassing even his father’s legacy.
His words had somehow become deeply etched into my mind, and I felt sudden confidence bloom because of it.
Because if the Rukkar didn’t think I was ugly or stupid or useless, then surely I wasn’t.
How could I be when he said otherwise?
The Rukkar turned to look at me then. Those molten eyes seemed to read every single thought racing through my mind. Those molten eyes darted back and forth between mine, and I wondered what he saw. I wondered what he thought of a scrawny, gangly human girl with brown and freckled skin and curly, long hair that was always left in a tangled mess from the wind. I wondered what he thought of my tailless body and the way my eyes had white in them when his did not. I wondered what he thought of my differentness, of my strangeness.
Desperately, I prayed to Kakkari that he did not see our differences at all. Desperately, I wanted him to think I was pretty, like he no doubt thought of Laru, the great beauty of the horde.
“Do you want to know another secret, Maeva?” the R
Maeva. It meant warm winds in Dakkari. Like the winds the day I was found abandoned in a forest by a Dakkari hunting party when I was three. The day my father and mother and sister had become my father and mother and sister.
I didn’t dare breathe, wide eyed, as I nodded my head quickly.
He smiled then, his sharp teeth flashing in the afternoon sunlight, just as another wave crashed into the cliffs below, sending sea spray between us, misting the air until it sparkled.
“My given name is Kiran,” he told me. “I want you to have my name. Because names have power, and if you ever need to use mine, you’ll be able to.”
Delighted shock went through me, knowing the magnitude of the gift he’d just given me.
Then I did something that shocked the both of us.
“Kiran.”
The name left my lips like it had always been waiting there. Like I had always known it. Like I had just been waiting for permission to speak it.
The first word I had ever spoken aloud…and it was his name.
His soft chuckle filled the space between us, and I went dizzy with the sound, my heart fluttering madly, as more spray from the sea coated our skin.
It was then that I gave Kiran of Rath Okkili my heart. That day when I was eight years old. Right there on that sun-dappled cliff overlooking Drukkar’s Sea, in a private little corner of the world I never knew existed.
Like a fool, I believed he would never break it.
Chapter 2
When I was fifteen, Kiran came of age.
While females came of age at sixteen, Dakkari males came of age when they were twenty. It was something I’d always found amusing, and my mother had told Laru and me that it was because males needed longer to mature. Though, with a sly smile on her face, she said that some never did. My father had chortled in the background when he heard her, as if in agreement.
At twenty, Dakkari males could begin training as darukkars, as horde warriors. It meant they could leave the saruk, to live and train in Dothik among the Dakkari king’s, the Dothikkar’s, warriors.
The Rukkar’s path was always meant to be different than his peers, however. Not only would Kiran leave his home at twenty to train in Dothik, but he would stay beyond that time as well, to begin preparing for the Trials. The Vorakkar Trials. They were held every five years, though the Trials did not always produce a new Vorakkar because only the strongest of males survived them.
The night before Kiran and the eligible males in our saruk were set to ride out, there was a large feast to celebrate, and it was one of my happiest memories.
The music—the throbbing beats of the drums—was so stirring that night. As a piki to the Arakkari—the queen of the saruk, Kiran’s mother—my mother was at her side, talking and eating and laughing with her. My father was with his friends at one of the darukkar tables, wine flowing freely as boisterous stories passed between them.
My sister and I were dancing in our own little world amid the other clan members. Kiran had come up to us at one point and snuck me a few sips of his wine, another secret between us—one of many. I felt a little sizzle of jealousy when he passed the goblet to Laru and I watched his eyes linger and his grin grow wider when she blushed.
I was used to it, however. My sister was the Dakkari beauty of the saruk, with her long, silky black hair, yellow eyes, and sun-honeyed skin. She was sixteen. She’d just come of age at the height of the silver moon. Next year, I would join her.
But then Kiran turned back to me, the only girl he’d given his name to, whose heart he owned, and pulled me into a dance, making me laugh until my cheeks hurt because of my smile.
I felt beautiful that night. Lomma, my mother, had made a dress for me that twirled around my legs as I moved. It was the color of the blossoms that sprouted in the meadow during summer, the palest of pinks. At fifteen, I was finally growing into my strange body. I would never be as tall as Dakkari females, but my breasts were larger, my hips wider. While my hair would always be a wild, thick mess, Lomma had pinned it back away from my face, threading through a band of gold, decorated with gold-dipped leaves, to keep it secure.
I had hoped to catch Kiran’s eyes lingering on me, but he didn’t look at me any differently. Still, he danced with me the most that night, and that was enough.
That night, I felt beautiful and I had Kiran’s attention and I was happy. After years of not fitting in with the saruk, I was finally feeling like I belonged. Like this place was where I was meant to be. Like he was where I was meant to be.
At least, until later that night, long after the fires had been extinguished and most of the clan had stumbled to their beds, drunk off wine and food and laughter.
With my heart stuttering in my throat, I was looking for Kiran among the quietness of the saruk. The brave, excited part of me wanted to tell him my feelings before he left for Dothik. In my foolish little mind, I believed there was a possibility he returned them. I had imagined it over and over in my mind. Imagined it every single way.
I was practically vibrating with nerves and excitement when I went through the secret gate he’d shown me all those years ago, when I walked down the path I’d followed countless times before.
The moon was silver overhead, and as I descended the hill to the cliff’s ledge, I saw him. Or at least, the darkened outline of him.
I smiled, hurrying down the path.
“There you are. I—”
My gasp was small, hardly audible, and I could physically feel the blood drain from my face.
Kiran pulled away from the female he had pressed to the cliff’s wall, his eyes bewildered when I got closer.
His brow furrowed, his lips parted when he saw me. His gaze seemed panicked, darting to me, then to the female. The female who turned her head toward me, horror in her expression.
Laru.
Kiran was kissing Laru in the secret place he’d shown me, in the place I’d fallen in love with him, in a place that only we knew about…or so he’d promised me.
My tongue was doing that tapping thing on the roof of my mouth, and I couldn’t form words again. Panic seized me and then squeezed my lungs. I couldn’t speak.
“Maeva…vok,” I heard Kiran say, but I was already running back up the hill to the outpost. “Maeva!”
He managed to catch me just as I reached the hidden gate. Before I could cry out, he wrapped his arms around my waist to keep me in place, even though I struggled in his hold.
He grunted when my elbow caught him in the abdomen. Hot embarrassment and a sense of deep betrayal made familiar tears well up in my eyes. Frantic, panicked sounds were bubbling up in my throat. I needed to get away from him before he saw.
“Stop,” he growled, a tone I’d never heard him take with me, catching me by surprise, momentarily stilling my struggles. In that moment, he turned me, holding me in place.
He was tall, even for a Dakkari male. He towered over my smaller frame, completely engulfed my form with his bulk and strength. A sea breeze threaded between us, and even still, I could smell my sister on him—she made her own soaps for bathing. Fragrant and floral. I imagined I smelled the same.
