Throne of the Horde King, page 1
Copyright © 2022, 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
Throne of the Horde King
Horde Kings of Dakkar
Book Six
Zoey Draven
Throne of the Horde King
The final book of the Horde Kings of Dakkar series is here…
High in the icy northlands of Dakkar, I’ve lived a sheltered, predictable, and safe life. My days are spent caring for an ancient temple and staying out of the priestesses’ way. My nights are spent pouring over the great stories of warrior kings and the queens that stole their hearts.
But I have a secret.
I’m a hybrid female. Half-Dakkari, half-human, the first of my kind. The priestesses have risked everything to keep me hidden from the dangerous hordes that roam the wild lands and the greedy king that sits on the throne in Dothik. I am the secret they could never let free.
Then a horde king—with molten eyes and the body of a battle god—shows up at the temple’s gates, demanding entry.
He’s the one I see in my dreams, all ruthless, merciless strength and a tempting smirk to match. Only, he’s not the gentle male I always imagined. He’s cunning, sensual, cruel…and he thinks that everything has a price. Even me.
With a growing danger in the east and a precarious throne in the west, he steals me away from the sacred temple with daring plans all his own.
He thinks I’m a naive temple girl, who will bend easily to his demands. Instead, I fight him at every turn, showing him claws of my own. Instead of fear, lust begins to rise between us—hot, addicting, and forbidden. His teasing touch makes me tremble. His stolen kisses make me weak.
But the horde king of Rath Serok is as mysterious as he is devilish.
And he has his own secret…one that will forever change the future of Dakkar.
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
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Epilogue
Desire in His Blood
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Also by Zoey Draven
Thank You!
About the Author
Chapter 1
The whispers of the priestesses rose and spread. Ancient words that tingled up my arms, that made my head feel dizzy and light. For a moment, I felt like I was floating. I was entranced. Enchanted.
I was not meant to hear them. However I’d already finished with my chores. Beyla had already shooed me from the kitchens. And there was a book I wanted from Kalloma’s library. The only way to reach it was through the sanctum—the sa’kilan.
Creeping along the wall, I made certain my footsteps were silent. The Dakkari had incredible hearing. While that was not a gift I had inherited from my father, I had been sneaking around quiet hallways and ancient rooms since I was a child.
In another life, I’d make a good thief, I thought. But for now, all I wanted was that book. My favorite book. One I’d read nearly a hundred times.
There were twelve priestesses in prayer, standing in a circle around the pedestal in the very center of the sanctum. On that pedestal was a heartstone of Kakkari. Lovely and shimmering. Colors swirled underneath its surface with the prayers. I could almost feel the beat of it, the heat of it.
A wave of dizziness had me reaching out a hand, sliding it against the stone wall to steady myself. The whispers swarmed my mind, mingling with my thoughts until I thought they were not my own. I shook it off, as I often did, before a crack could appear. A crack in my vision that would show me something I didn’t want to see.
Plugging my ears, jamming my fingers against the small flap of flesh, I took another shuffled side step. And then another. Another.
I’d made it to the middle of the circular room. The door to Kalloma’s private room was only a short distance away. The golden door gleamed, and my heart was full of trembling want. Kalloma would chastise me if she knew what I was thinking. But all I was thinking was that I wanted to read about Bekkar, the ancient Dakkari warrior turned king, and his campaign across the West Lands. I wanted to read the account of his fateful meeting with his future queen, Lessa. The daughter of his enemy. The daughter of an enemy horde.
Enemies that became lovers. I nearly sighed.
I wanted to read their love story again. I wanted to read about their adventures as they grew a great kingdom together. I wanted to—
A flash of red had me freezing.
Avala had spotted me. Her eyes pinned me in place though I could see her lips were still moving in prayer. Subtly, she shook her head, her expression pointed as she tilted her head to the opposite door of the sanctum, a clear message: get out.
But I was determined. She must have recognized the look on my face because she closed her eyes once more, tossing her head, her shoulders moving with a barely concealed huff, as she pretended she hadn’t seen me.
I could almost hear her thoughts: Don’t come crying to me when the Seta Kalliri makes you clean out the chamber pots for a week.
Chamber pots would be worth it. Grinning in triumph, I took another shuffled step to my right.
However, I’d forgotten my plugged ears.
As such, my sharp elbow rammed into one of the steel fire pillars, one of ten that stood around the sanctum to illuminate it.
Vok, I thought, cringing as the pillar rocked. Its motion seemed to slow as it toppled. I watched with a thundering heart, and a lump in my throat as it crashed to the marble floor, sending embers flying and skittering toward the priestesses. The chaotic echo continued to reverberate around the massive room, climbing higher and higher into the darkness above our heads.
Abruptly, the whispered prayers ceased.
Silence descended.
Then a loud shriek came, out of place and jarring.
One of the embers caught on the bottom hem of Trissa’s dress. The delicate silk burst into flames, and I gasped, rushing forward before sliding to my knees across the marble. Sounds of alarm boomed against the halls. I slapped at the silk around her ankles, trying to put out the flames before they burned her, trying to stop the fire’s path up her legs.
I felt the dizzying rush of familiar energy swarm toward me. I was shoved back, sliding away. I saw Trissa’s dress warp and bunch. Then the flames grew smaller and smaller until they were no more. Not even tendrils of smoke rose from her destroyed dress.
Then that energy retreated as quickly as it had appeared.
No one moved.
My gaze met Trissa’s.
“I’m so sorry, sika,” I breathed, my eyes widened in disbelief and shock. “I’m sorry, I never meant to—”
“Kara,” came the sharp bark.
I cringed and tensed. Briefly, my eyes darted to Avala’s. Her expression was one of pity, but there was also knowing in her eyes. I told you so, those eyes said. Later, we’d likely laugh about this, but right then, I wanted to cry.
Then I rose from the floor, meeting the eyes of the Seta Kalliri.
Her black hair was gathered in a neat braid down her back, not a hair out of place. Her dress was a waterfall of flawless blue silk, skimming over the curves of her breasts and hips. She was striking in appearance. Golden eyes, dark skin, and she
Behind her, Kakkari’s heartstone had stopped swirling.
“My library. Now,” the Seta Kalliri, the High Priestess of Dakkar, ordered.
Kalloma called it her library, but truthfully, it was her home within the temple. It was where she studied, where she met with the priestesses, where she took her meals, where she slept. I’d slept here too, once upon a time.
The room was large—though smaller than the sanctum—with a sea of books and stacks of ancient scrolls lining the walls. It was well lit. There were floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the far wall. The view they revealed…well, it was one that always took my breath away. The majesty of the North, as cruel as it was beautiful.
To the right of the room were the living quarters. Her bed was neatly made, not a wrinkle adorning the white furs. A goblet of water was perched on the small table where she took her meals. Only on occasion did she eat with the rest of the priestesses.
When the heavy door swung shut, sealing us inside, the whispers of the priestesses ceased. I heard nothing in the sanctum. When I was a baby, even if I cried all night, Kalloma would tell me that none of the other priestesses were disturbed in their rest. This room was separate from all the rest. It was a world of its own.
“Kalloma,” I began, drawing in a deep breath. “I—”
She had the book in her hands when I turned to regard her.
My book.
Kalloma was standing near her library wall, next to the modest steel desk where she studied the ancient histories and painstakingly repaired crumbling scrolls.
Gently, she placed the book on her desk. Though it was my favorite, it was the only copy in existence—for now. I was working to transcribe it, was nearly done, and—
I knew the look in Kalloma’s eyes. Against the marble floor, my tail twitched. I brought it up, my fingers playing with the small tufted end.
“I finished with my chores,” I told her softly. “I finished. With the sweeping, the dusting. I hauled in the water from the well. I polished the statue of Drukkar. Beyla didn’t want my help for the evening meal, so I just thought…”
“I regret ever having given you this book to study,” she said, the mask falling away. She was the Seta Kalliri—the High Priestess. An esteemed, respected, powerful position. The highest position a priestess could ever hope to achieve on Dakkar.
And yet…she was my kalloma.
I’d called her that when I was a child. I’d mashed together kalliri—which meant priestess—and lomma—which meant mother.
Because that was what she’d been to me. A mother. The only one I’d ever known though she was not mine by blood.
My kalloma was different than the Seta Kalliri, but I knew that there was a fine line between the two. A very fine line that I had navigated carefully my entire life. Or at least, I had tried to.
“I’ll mend Trissa’s dress,” I told her. Because I did feel terrible about that. Trissa had worked hard on that dress. She’d been so excited when the material came in from Dothik, though I knew she’d tried to hide that excitement from the others. “I will work all of tonight to make her a new one.”
“Kara,” Kalloma sighed. “It is not just about the dress. You are not allowed in the sanctum in the evenings. You are not allowed to touch the ancient books without my permission. You are not a priestess.”
And you never will be, was the unspoken message in her tone.
It wasn’t intended as a barb, but like always, it stung like one.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked Kalloma, meeting her gaze. Her smooth skin glittered in the sunset’s light. “Do you…do you want me to dust the sa’kilan and scrub dishes and wash bedding and polish floors for the rest of my life?”
Kalloma’s expression contorted into one of pain, her brows drawing together, her lips downturning.
“Is that my only purpose here?” I asked, rehashing an old argument, one we’d had for years. “To serve?”
“You serve like we all do. Just in a different way, and just for now,” Kalloma said, rounding her desk to stand in front of me. The last words were spoken as a whisper. Her hand came to my cheek. “The path of the kalliri is not for you, Kara.”
I’d been restless my entire life. Achingly, clawingly so. That restless boredom ate at me. It buzzed under my skin. Knowing that I’d likely never see anything beyond the Orala Pass, knowing I’d likely die within these walls…it scared me like nothing else ever had.
And worst of all was that I was not allowed to make the vow. I was not allowed to be like them, to serve like them. Because Kalloma would not allow it.
I stepped away from her touch.
“Let me transcribe the oldest of the scrolls, then,” I pleaded, my heart in my throat because I feared she would deny me again. For the hundredth time. “Let me do something.”
“Nik,” she clipped.
“Why?” I demanded, letting my tail fall from my grip when I threw my arms wide. “None of the others like transcription. Avala says it bores her to tears. I like it. And at least the work will mean something.”
That morning, I’d wiped down Drukkar’s statue. The handsome god, glittering gold—the only male allowed to stay within the temple. I talked to him as I worked—foolish, silly conversations that no one would overhear. But that morning, as I wiped dust from the crease of his mouth, I was struck with a numbing realization. That tomorrow there would be more dust. And the next day. And the next day.
My work didn’t matter. In another thirty years, would I be within the same walls, doing the same tasks—wiping dust from ancient statues because it was the only thing I was good for?
I’d been overcome with grief so potent I’d nearly fallen to my knees at Drukkar’s feet.
Then, moments later, I stood, wiping the tears from my cheeks. I finished my task. I did my next task. And the next.
Then I’d set my sights on the book. Because at least in a book, I could live a different life entirely. How many nights had I lain in bed, pretending to be Lessa, Bekkar’s wife? How many nights had I wondered how she felt—how it felt to be on the cusp of something more? Something great?
“You are not a priestess, Kara!” the Seta Kalliri repeated, and her voice rose, which it hardly ever did. “And you never will be!”
I bit my tongue, disappointment crashing into me. My mind flickered to the memory of the dust, especially when I saw pinpricks of it floating in the shafts of light coming in through the windows. I watched it swirl and sway as Kalloma bit out a sigh.
Gentling her tone, she said, “I do not know your path, Kara. I have never been able to see it. All I know is that—”
“I am not allowed to be a priestess because I’m only half-Dakkari,” I finished for her bitterly. “Because my blood is mixed. Because my mother was human. And Kakkari will not allow that.”
