The Golden Dynasty f-2

by Kristen Ashley

  So now he asked, “Freaking out? You use this expression in many different ways.”

  “Well, this time, I mean worried, upset and a lot of both,” I explained and his eyes roamed my face.

  Then his hand at my neck pulled me in and up as he bent so his lips could touch mine.

  He moved away an inch before he whispered, “He will not best me, Circe.”

  I pressed my lips together, his eyes flared, I quickly released them and whispered back, “Okay, Lahn.”

  His hand gave me a squeeze and he repeated, “He will not best me.” Then he went on with another squeeze but this time, his hand held tight. “This is my vow to you. I face this contest to defend my title as the Dax but I also face this challenge knowing that if he were to take my head, I would die and spend my time in the other realm knowing he would handle you and he would do it worse than he did his bride. I would not allow that to happen and I am not about to fall and let it happen. I am your husband, I will keep you safe and I will do it by keeping my feet on this earth, breathing the air and being there to make you safe. Do you understand this?”

  Okay. Okay.

  Shit. Okay.

  There it was. I really liked my husband.

  And after his declaration, the only thing I could do was whisper, “Yes.”

  “Okay?” he asked on another squeeze of my neck.

  “Yes, Lahn, I’m okay.”

  “Okay,” he returned then let my neck go and moved slightly back, ordering, “Make it heavy, my queen. In less than two hours, I want there to be enough on me to cover your naked body in my black.”

  That got an all over skin tingle.

  “Uh… okay,” I breathed, that word not trembling at all and he grinned.

  “Okay,” he replied and he let my wrist go.

  I dipped my head and commenced painting my husband’s fantastic chest, arms, back and face in killer, kickass streaks of black.

  * * * * *

  Lahn and I walked together through the Daxshee to the clearing with the platform where Mahyah had (essentially) taken her own life.

  Lahn did not touch me but he walked at my side through the parting sea of people who had come to watch. He wore his belt with knives and his sword strapped to his back, the only weapons he was allowed during a challenge, though, I was told by Lahn, this was done on an honor system. Like the fights at the games, there was no referee. During a challenge, anything goes and no one checked to make certain that someone was not intending to fight fair.

  When we made it to the clearing, I saw Dortak was already there, painted in black and red, his wounds exposed and healing but not healed. He was grinning and God, I would be happy when that grin was frozen on his face in death.

  I tore my eyes from his as I walked with Lahn to the platform. When we both lifted a leg to step up, the drums started. Hearing them, it took superhuman effort not to start trembling again. This was not because I didn’t believe in Lahn, it was just because I hated those fucking drums. It was an automatic reaction and one I managed (quite proudly, might I add) to beat back.

  Lahn guided me to my throne, a throne that, again, Bain and Zahnin stood behind.

  I was looking at them so I didn’t see what Lahn did to make them both jerk their chins up at him but I didn’t like that. That said Lahn was planning for an eventuality that was different than the one he’d vowed he’d make for me. It was nice and all that, he was covering his bases and doing it to ascertain that I would be safe, for I knew from those chin lifts that Bain and Zahnin had both vowed they would stand against Dortak should he best Lahn and turn to me.

  But still.

  I beat back the fear that too sent surging through my system, sedately turned and sat on my throne.

  Diandra didn’t attend me because she no longer had to. My Korwahk was still not fluent but I’d been exposed to it long enough that I more than knew my way around.

  I was going to miss her.

  I looked up at Lahn to see him standing at the edge of the platform, his painted back to me, hands on his hips, eyes on Dortak.

  The drumming stopped.

  Thank God.

  Lahn didn’t move and the crowd stayed silent.

  Then Dortak shouted, “When I take your head, your body will not be thrown on the pyre,” he lifted a hand to point at a pyre already set up some distance away on top of the rise we went over to get to Mahyah’s, “I will toss it in the river. Then I will mount your head outside my cham and keep it there so every time your yellow one enters and leaves my cham, she will see it as the flesh rots to skull.”

  I clenched my teeth together and forced my hands to stay loose in my lap.

  Lahn didn’t move or speak.

  Dortak didn’t like that and, being Dortak, pushed it even further. “Before that, I will strip your yellow one naked and ride with her through the Daxshee while I force her to hold your head. Then I will rip off her yellow crown of feathers, shove them up her cunt and take her through her ass. In the months to come, while I use her until she is no longer of use to me, the sounds coming from her in my cham will be much different from those she cried in yours.”

  Yep. One could say it was official. I wasn’t going to lose a lot of sleep when Lahn took his head.

  At this, Lahn moved and what he moved to do made me suck in breath and hold it.

  He removed his belt, turned to me and handed me his knives. My eyes darting up to him, my hands automatically lifted to accept them. Then he unbuckled the strap on his chest and slipped off his sword. After he had done this, he laid it across my throne so it was resting on the arms.

  Then, still bent so his face was level to mine, his painted eyes came to me and I saw it… I saw it… his golden, bright, brutal spirit was shining close to the surface and let’s just say it… was… pissed.

  Uh-oh. Dortak was in trouble.

  The breath flooded my lungs, the tension evaporated from my body and I grinned at him.

  “Give him hell, tiger,” I whispered.

  He held my eyes a second before he blinked and his spirit was hidden, his fury gone.

  Then, swear to God, he winked at me.

  No joke! Winked!

  I stifled a giggle.

  Then my husband turned and moved off the platform.

  Dortak guffawed as he lifted his arm and unsheathed his blade.

  Then his eyes narrowed and he spat at the advancing Lahn, “Fool.”

  “I take your head with your own steel,” Lahn told him casually.

  “Ha!” Dortak cried. “I’ve never been disarmed.”

  “Then today will be your first and your last,” Lahn returned, still moving to him, closer and closer, his arms relaxed and dangling at his sides, his stride steady and Dortak finally got smart (ish) and realized that even unarmed, a threat was closing in.

  And that was when he took his stance and without hesitation and with a mighty roar he charged Lahn.

  And Dortak didn’t wait to be just what Dortak was.

  An asshole, a jerk, the king of all dicks and, lastly, a fucking, dirty, little cheat.

  For during his charge, his left hand came up and swung out, leaving a trail of yellow dust. He whirled himself to avoid it getting in his face, advancing through it with his back and my guess was that whatever it was would blind his opponent.

  A hush of shock settled instantly over the already quiet crowd.

  I held my breath again but as Lahn promised, I needn’t have worried. He was prepared. I knew this when he instantly dropped, tucking in his body, he landed on a shoulder, rolling, legs over head, he then twisted and rolled again sideways several times, landing on his back well clear of the dust. Then, without delay, he did one of those awesome knee lifts where he kicked out and, using the power of his legs and strength of his abs, he regained his feet without using his hands.

  Oh yeah, my husband was a badass.

  It was then I held my breath yet again but not from fear.

  From awe.

  I had heard a
lot about what a fierce warrior my king was, how strong, how swift, how smart. I knew his strength personally.

  But I had no idea.

  No freaking clue.

  Dortak charged again in full on attack. And then again. And again. And repeat. And each time he did, Lahn’s body moved or swayed gracefully, every swing or thrust Dortak threw, Lahn avoided it and not just by a whisper but by a mile. It was like Lahn was in his mind and knew exactly what move he would make. He did ducking twirls, the plait I’d braided in his hair flying as Dortak’s blade whistled through the air six inches above him. He jerked his torso back and Dortak’s steel whizzed by him. Dortak would thrust and Lahn would turn full circle and Dortak wouldn’t catch nothing but air.

  After this went on a long time, suddenly, Lahn closed in on him, avoided his sword, took his arm and with apparent ease, he flipped warrior and sword, Dortak landing on his back on stone. Without hesitation, Lahn kicked him in the mouth and blood spewed as his head jerked fully around.

  Lahn took a step back, declaring, “First blood.”

  This must have meant something for the crowd, watching in silence until that moment, went berserk as a cheer rent the air.

  And they continued to cheer as Dortak jumped to his feet and, infuriated, yet again attacked, his swings and thrusts no longer calculated in any way but clearly, even to someone like me who knew nothing of this kind of stuff, no longer strategic but angry.

  Lahn, too, changed his tactic. He no longer swayed, turned and ducked. With every swing or thrust he avoided, he finished his movement by landing blow after blow on Dortak, a powerful jab to the ribs that made Dortak grunt; a strike to the jaw that made more blood spew from his mouth; a heel to the back of his knee that made Dortak fall hard to that knee and so on.

  Again, this went on a long time, so long, Lahn had opened an oozing cut on Dortak’s cheekbone, blood was pouring from his mouth from lost teeth and two cuts on his lips, there were fierce, angry red welts all over Dortak’s torso and back where Lahn’s fists had connected and Lahn reopened the wound Mahyah had delivered to his shoulder. Blood was leaking and Dortak’s anger had turned to wrath, his grunts of pain and effort filled the air, his sweat mingled with his blood and his movements became jerky and uncoordinated with the beating he was taking, the effort he was expending and the emotion he should have kept in check.

  Then, so fast it was hard to believe I’d seen it, Lahn’s hand snaked out, he stole Dortak’s knife at his belt and planted it in his shoulder. Then without hesitation as Dortak shouted with surprise, pain and frustration, Lahn’s hand darted in again, stole Dortak’s other blade and planted it in the old, now bleeding again wound Mahyah had given him.

  Dortak retreated five steps all the while bellowing in rage.

  The crowd, however, went wild with sheer glee.

  Someone close to the front shouted, “Puntay zan, kah Dax!” End him, my king!

  And this shout struck up a chant, Puntay zan! Puntay zan! Puntay zan!

  But Lahn wasn’t done playing and when Dortak yanked the blades out of his flesh one by one, tossed them aside and rushed Lahn with his sword raised high, Lahn ducked to avoid his steel but lifted an arm. Grabbing Dortak’s sword hand and keeping it held high, Lahn punched him in the stomach on Dortak’s advance, then delivered a blow to the kidneys at the back, then he whirled, lifted a leg and planted a boot in Dortak’s back at the same time he yanked down on Dortak’s arm so viciously, I could hear the bone break even though I was at least twenty feet away.

  The crowd roared at the sound as did Dortak but his cry was of pain. He fell flat on his face and dropped his sword, no longer able to carry the heavy weapon in hand on an arm attached to a fractured shoulder.

  Lahn stepped several feet away as Dortak struggled to his healthy (ish) hand then got his knees under him.

  “Again, my brother, I’d like to hear it. What did you intend to do with my tigress?” Lahn called and Dortak, on one hand and both knees, turned his head to look over his shoulder and up at Lahn. His face was red, sweating, bloody and twisted not just with hate but with not a small amount of pain. “My golden goddess opened the heavens and commanded their tears when your bride left this earth. She drew a rainbow in the sky to guide her ashes to the next realm. When you fall, the heavens won’t weep and she won’t waste her magic on a rainbow. When your lifeblood hits stone that is the closest you’ll get to the heavens. My golden bride will need to waste no energy in guiding your spirit to eternal agony. Your spirit will know exactly where it’s meant to go.”

  With visible effort, Dortak pushed himself to his feet, grunted with pain when he bent to retrieve his sword in his left, non-dominant hand and he lifted it clumsily toward Lahn.

  Lahn stared at him. Then he turned only his head to me.

  “Are you bored yet?” he enquired.

  I kind of wasn’t. It was gruesome but it was also, I had to admit, kind of cool.

  But I had the feeling my husband was done so I called out, “Meena, kah Dax. Na weykun kay nahna quaxi. Ta jahnay boonahn keeta jahko. Kay zookay juno.” Yes, my king. You promised me your paint. We have better things to do. I want to play.

  At my words the crowd, again, went wild.

  Lahn grinned.

  I grinned back.

  Then with a mighty roar that probably took all the energy he had left, Dortak charged, Lahn’s head turned back then I stopped thinking this was in any way cool and stared in a horror I hoped I hid as my king ended the contest.

  With ease, he dodged the charge and disarmed Dortak as he did so. Dortak ran passed Lahn but Lahn didn’t delay. After Dortak came to an awkward stop and whirled lumberingly to face his challenger, Lahn had already swung Dortak’s steel wide and instantly executed a low, powerful, smooth sweep, cutting Dortak off at the knees.

  Literally.

  With a bellow of agony that hurt to hear even coming from a monster, the legless Dortak again fell to his face.

  The crowd, clearly delighted beyond reason with grisly dismemberment, became crazed, their cries, chants and cheers clogging the air.

  But Lahn wasn’t done. He bent and used Dortak’s hair to drag the still living but definitely fallen warrior within five feet of my throne, leaving his legs behind. Then Lahn lifted Dortak’s legless body clean in the air, hefting it up with an almighty heave. I forced my eyes to stay open as I stared into the hated, bloody, now pale and agonized face of a man who it could be said was getting his just desserts… in a serious way… before Lahn let his hair go and as his body started its plummet to the ground, fast as lightning, Lahn quickly two-handed Dortak’s sword and swung it in a downward arc, slicing him clean through the neck, Dortak’s body dropping straight to the ground, his head flying off in a sickening gush of blood.

  I couldn’t help it, it was so freaking gross, I winced.

  Luckily, I didn’t think anyone noticed, not even Lahn. He was staring down at the headless, legless, very, very, very dead body of Dortak and the crowd was going insane.

  As was, I was getting, their way, the Korwahk did not delay with completing the festivities. Men ran forward, one grabbed both severed legs, two grabbed an arm each on Dortak’s body and they dragged and carried the carcass pieces out of the clearing, moving toward the pyre. Another man rushed forward with Lahkan, Lahn’s horse and Lahn himself had moved to the head which he snatched up by the tail.

  While striding back to his mount, he tossed Dortak’s bloody sword on the platform, it clattered across the wood and his eyes went beyond me to Bain and/or Zahnin.

  “Unahyoo see,” he grunted, Melt that. Then his eyes came to me and he reverted to English. “You’ve had enough and will not ride with me. Drink and be cheerful with your people, I will return and we will celebrate.”

  I nodded.

  He jerked his chin up, attached Dortak’s head by his tail to a stirrup on Lahkan (something which I saw the start of then averted my eyes because, seriously, gross) then without delay, he swung up into the saddle, jerked
his reins, Lahkan veered around and Lahn sent his heels into his steed. Immediately, Lahkan burst forward in a full gallop. The crowd had moved in and the clearing was not a clearing anymore but they’d been around these contests enough, they swiftly got out of Lahn’s way but they did it shouting, clapping, punching their fists in the air, pounding them against their chests and generally being boisterous and exceedingly rowdy. A stream of men, women and even children raced after Lahn on Lahkan, likely in hopes to be close when Lahn severed Dortak’s tail so they could claim his head.

  Lahn disappeared from sight, casks were produced, jugs came out and leather covered cups were passed around.

  It was time to party.

  Bain and Zahnin moved to flank my chair at the sides rather than the back.

  A woman came forward and handed me a leather covered, resin lined cup which a sniff told me held zakah.

  If I had a choice, I would have preferred wine. Korwahk wine was excellent.

  But zakah was offered so zakah it was.

  I looked up at Bain, lifted my cup when he dropped his eyes to me and then turned my head to Zahnin who was already looking down at me.

  “Suh Dax!” I cried, The Dax!, and then I belted back a slug.

  Before I righted my head I heard both warriors chuckle.

  Yes, even Zahnin.

  * * * * *

  Oh yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

  “Harder, baby,” I begged, so close, this close and damn, it was going to be huge.

  I had paint on me, I even had another man’s blood on me and I also had on my hands a savage warrior who bested a challenge for his throne and took the life of a man not fit to walk this earth and he was in the mood to celebrate.

  I was on my hands and knees in front of him, Lahn was thrusting inside, deep and hard. He’d already gone down on me, not letting me come; let me ride him while he rolled my clit with his finger, not letting me come; let me take him in my mouth while touching myself, again not letting me come; and now he was fucking me hard. I was primed. So primed, I’d never been this primed.