Seas of Crimson Silk (Burning Empire Book 1)

by Emma Hamm

  Her gaze caught on the slick muscles that flexed on his chest. Had he always been this large? She’d thought him a smaller man. A boy really. But he was more than that.

  Powerful pectoral muscles bulged, a groove tracing down his sternum and fanning out over pronounced abs. Twin lines arced over his hips, following the valleys of strength down to powerful legs that moved towards her.

  He inclined his head, shaking out his broad shoulders and strong arms. “No swords, Sultana. In the castle we do not fight with weapons.”

  “You want to fight me hand to hand?” She shook her head. “It’s not a good idea to get so close to a Beastkin, even one who is tired.”

  “I’m the only one who can do it. Isn’t that right? You won’t allow anyone but me to touch you.” Heat sparked in his gaze as he said the words.

  It was unwelcome, and he had no right to even think such thoughts in her presence. But he wasn’t wrong.

  “Sultana,” Raheem interrupted. “Shall I take your sword?”

  She could get this fight over with before it even started. A part of her wanted to lift the blade and swipe a line across his chest. Such a mark would likely scar him, and the thought was tempting. She could leave him with a memory of her for the rest of his life.

  Her hand shook as she handed the sword to Raheem. Helvete would feast more in her lifetime. She did not need the blood of a sultan today.

  “First blood has been the tournament so far.” She sighed. “What shall we say between you and me?”

  “I see no reason to change it. First blood, wife.”

  A feral part of her rejoiced in the chance to wound him. “You’re daring, husband. You ask to fight a dragon.”

  “I ask to fight a woman who thinks she is a dragon.” He circled her. “I believe you are just a woman who wants to be stronger than she is.”

  “Have I not defeated your entire army?” Sigrid didn’t let him get behind her. She didn’t trust this boy king who was far more than he appeared to be.

  “This isn’t my army. This is a base camp, fodder for any Wildewyn soldiers who make it over the Edge of the World.”

  “You sacrifice your men so easily? Should they not be the front line to protect you and your people?”

  “I don’t care if your armies make it over the cliffs. You still have to make it through my desert.” A spark simmered in his gaze. Fire she both recognized and found entirely foreign at the same time. “What of you, little sultana? Do you think you can survive my desert?”

  “You wish to make me fight for hours, and then send me to the sands?” She narrowed her eyes. “You cannot punish me just yet. I’ve not stolen from you, husband.”

  “I think you already have.”

  He lunged forward, hands still at his side but clearly waiting for her reaction. It had been a long time since she wrestled with any of her sisters. Sigrid had fought with the blade and with arrows. Being close to anyone awoke the dragon side of her, and she had a hard time controlling the beast once it lifted its head.

  She ducked and brought a fist toward his ribs. A swift blow would put him in his place.

  But her knuckles didn’t touch him. Instead, he slapped her hand away and reached for her neck.

  Sigrid twisted away at the last second, bending to her knees and spinning away. Sand sprayed from her side like gold coins showering from a treasury.

  “You know how to wrestle?” he asked with a chuckle. He jogged a few steps from her, placing his hands on his hips with a wide grin on his face. “You grow more interesting by the day, wife.”

  Her thighs shook. Exhaustion made her vision slip to the side, and gods, she was tired. All this heat overwhelmed even the fires inside her belly. She needed to rest, but she refused to allow him to win.

  She growled, the low sound vibrating her ribs. “Get it over with.”

  “Are you feeling your hours of battle already? I’m not tired at all.”

  “You think to torture me with your words? If you are as good a warrior as you claim to be, then you should be able to end this swiftly.”

  “I can end it any time I want.”

  Sigrid made a quiet sound, a needy sound that desired both battle and for this to be over with. “Then fight me, husband. Show me just how strong you really are.”

  That spark grew in his eyes again. She concentrated on it, the flames that burned in his gaze. Was it desire? Men were usually easy to read, but she couldn’t pinpoint what this sultan wanted from her. Those flames were too dangerous to be desire.

  What did he have planned for her?

  He rushed her, locking his arms around her shoulders, flipping her back to his chest, and dragging her against his front. Heat flushed her cheeks, not just from the sudden touch but from her own reaction. The smooth skin of his forearm slid across her neck, tightening slowly, like a python threading around her throat. She could feel each of his heaving breaths, and Sigrid suddenly realized she’d never been this close to a man before.

  She flexed her stomach, brought her legs up, and scissor-kicked away from him. Though his hold was strong, he didn’t expect her to react so quickly. His arms loosened for the briefest moment, but it was enough for her to twist around.

  Mask met chest, and he snarled in pain.

  “That metal is hot.”

  Sigrid didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reply. She could have quipped how she was a dragon, and what exactly did he expect? It was too much of an opening if she argued with him again.

  She wiggled her arms free, hands scrabbling for purchase before he yanked them back to her sides. She wouldn’t draw blood with claws so it seemed.

  Kicking out her leg, she wrapped it around his knee and jerked forward. They both fell, landing heavy on the ground and knocking the breath from her lungs. Sand whipped in her face, a dust storm of glassy shards. Rolling away from him, she shook her head and tried to get onto her hands and knees.

  Her eyes. Her eyes were burning.

  Nadir slapped a hand on the back of her thigh, tugging her back to his side by the fabric of her skirts.

  “Bymerians know better than to wear so much clothing during battle,” he growled. “It’s too easy for someone to grab.”

  “Earthen folk know it can also be useful,” she replied.

  He rolled her onto her back, trying to straddle her. She let him, sliding a leg free from the folds of her skirts that he had assumed was pinned between his legs. Sigrid swung the free leg up and over his chest, slamming him hard against the ground where they locked each other in place. Her legs trembled as he struggled, but he stilled as she squeezed her legs painfully tight.

  Nadir huffed out an angry breath. “Where did that come from? Did you grow another limb, wife?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She flexed, forcing him to lay flat and allowing her to roll on top of him.

  He grabbed onto both her legs which had slid free from the hidden slices in her skirts. Dark skin met pale, and she paused to lock eyes with him.

  His yellow gaze burned.

  “I’ve been trying to get you like this for a while now,” he said with a chuckle. “Good to know all I had to do was make you angry enough to fight.”

  “Stop it.”

  “Why?”

  “We have an audience.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time.” He flinched to the side, avoiding the strike of her fist which pounded into the sand. “Easy there, Sultana. You wouldn’t want to hurt this pretty face, would you?”

  Nadir tossed her off him when she lifted a fist again. Sigrid rolled onto her side, anger flooding through her veins like a living thing. He was embarrassing her, choosing to make a spectacle when all his men were watching.

  She remained in the sand as he staggered to his feet. A sardonic grin spread across his face, and he opened his arms wide. “Come on then. Are you finished already? I thought you had more fight in you.”

  His men laughed, even those who sported wounds from her blade.

  She was done
with this battle. With these people. With this land. Everything in it made her someone she didn’t like. Sigrid wanted to go home where the air was cool, where water gurgled from deep inside the earth, and green leaves fell like snow.

  Snow. She wanted to feel cold snow on her skin again.

  An owl shrieked from the skies, and she swallowed past her swollen tongue. Camilla was right. A Beastkin woman never gave up. No matter how tired she was.

  Sigrid pushed herself up, tremors shaking through both arms.

  The sudden worry marring her new husband’s face was a little late. Perhaps he thought she was some immortal being who couldn’t feel tired. Let him see she was a woman, and that a woman was going to win this battle once and for all.

  “Enough,” she growled. “This ends now.”

  “Still fighting?” Nadir lifted a brow, but reached a hand forward. Sweat glistened on his chest and she wanted nothing more than to claw through those pectorals until they were seeped in red. “Then I’ll end it.”

  Sigrid rolled her neck, and let everything still inside her mind. She would not fight with anger or rage. She was a calm pool filled with silent water, iced over by a passing storm that disappeared in the distance.

  His footsteps thudded against the sand. He raced towards her with a sudden burst of power that flung sand in every direction.

  Sigrid twisted and snagged his shoulder as he passed. But the sultan had thought of the same tactic it seemed, because he hooked a hand around the horns of her mask. He head-butted her—a foolish thing to do—and she drew her nails from his shoulder across his chest.

  The metallic scent of blood filled the air. Sigrid gasped and stumbled backward while he fell to a knee.

  Bright lines of blood stretched across his skin. A small bead welled up, then trailed down the high peaks of muscle to pool in the valleys on his stomach.

  “Congratulations, wife,” he said. His head tilted down, staring at the sand instead of her. “You have won.”

  He knelt before her, and she didn’t know how to respond. A sultan never took a knee to a woman. His army would wonder what he was doing. His advisors would know this was a foolish decision. So she allowed her body to sag and sink into the sand in front of him.

  “Congratulations, husband,” she repeated, out of breath and exhaustion sparking black at the edges of her vision. “You have won.”

  Nadir looked up, and she tilted her head back so that he could see the bright bead of blood leaking out of the bottom of her mask. It was a cheap win. Her mask had struck her nose, but it was still a win.

  “It seems we have both won,” he muttered. The crowd around them burst into laughter again, cheers lifting into the sky.

  “Or lost.” Sigrid pressed her fists into the ground and slowly stood.

  She did not look back as she made her way to the tent where he’d hidden her. Her body ached more than her pride, but she felt as though this was a turning point that she might never come back from.

  Nadir

  What kind of woman fought like that? Nadir had seen nothing like it before. She moved with grace even when defending herself with a sword. Every single one of his men fell to her blade until he stepped in.

  His heart beat faster at the mere thought. He had been the only one capable of taming the icy woman. She had to be meant for him. Why else would he be the only one to bring her to her knees?

  He sat in his tent, alone for the first time in a few nights. His new wife was recovering in her tent, apparently. The fight had taken a lot out of her.

  The last time he had tried to see her, her maid servant had nearly tossed him out of the tent. Still, silence made him nervous. Women were supposed to talk. They never stopped making sounds, from words, to tapping fingers, to rustling cloth. But everything was eerily still inside his second wife’s tent.

  It made him uneasy.

  His own tent was filled with boisterous noise. People walking by laughed on the way to their own tents. The fire spat sparks that sizzled when they hit the sand around the pit. Even his own breathing was loud to his ears.

  How was she so silent all the time? He couldn’t be as quiet if he tried.

  The front tent flap opened, swishing in a smooth movement.

  “Sultan?” The deep voice belonged to Abdul, though he wished it was anyone other than his opinionated advisor. “A word, please.”

  “Go away, Abdul.”

  “Nadir.”

  He didn’t appreciate the chastising tone. Abdul always stepped a little too far when dealing with his sultan, but Nadir couldn’t very well throw him out. The sultanate made their kingdom successful. No land could be ruled by a single king.

  Footsteps sounded next to Nadir’s head where he lay sprawled out on crimson rugs. They were far more comfortable than the nest of pillows they made for his bed. He didn’t even know where they got the pillows, or who carried them this entire trip. All he knew was that they were there.

  Should he know that? His new wife seemed to think less of him for not knowing the details of his kingdom. She spat words at him like they were daggers. Shockingly, he felt the wounds far more than he wanted to admit.

  “Sultan,” Abdul repeated. He knelt next to Nadir’s side and sighed. “I don’t like seeing you like this, boy.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “I raised you like my own son when your brother died. I have seen you through many changes in your life, but I have never seen you act like this before. I worry about you. The entire sultanate worries about you.”

  “I have done nothing different.” Nadir could hear the petulant tone of his own voice.

  He didn’t like thinking he had changed so quickly, either. But Raheem had stayed quiet, and the personal guard was the only person he trusted with his life. The others always had an ulterior motive. It made trusting their concerns more than a little difficult.

  Abdul cleared his throat. “This girl… You know she is a means to an end, yes?”

  “What are you prattling on about?” Nadir tilted his head so he could meet his advisor’s gaze. The older man winced at the anger banked in Nadir’s yellow eyes. “If you have something to say, spit it out.”

  “You’re growing too attached to this little Wildewyn girl. She’s the only way we could fix that little raid of yours. We aren’t ready for war. Not yet. Marrying her gives us the time necessary to build and train our army. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  “Yes, yes.” Nadir heard more about this army than anything else in the recent years.

  It was a good idea to move on Wildewyn. They were too different, and dangerous, to remain so close to Bymere’s borders. They had murdered his brother, assassinated the king. Those assaults could not be ignored.

  He agreed with all of this. But he wasn’t certain about the girl. There were so many questions he wanted to ask her. So many truths she might utter that would help them in the long run.

  “She’s a remarkable warrior,” he said, clearing his throat. “Perhaps we should have her help train our men.”

  Abdul scoffed. “Earthen folk training our warriors? No, we will not stoop so low. Besides, she wouldn’t stand a chance against our assassins.”

  “It seems as though she’s already proven herself.”

  “The little war band you put together were only those willing to break ranks. And the border men she fought yesterday in that little tussle are hardly considered warriors. They’re on the border for a reason. She wouldn’t stand a chance against our hardened army. We have no need of her.”

  Nadir shrugged. “Seems foolish to ignore a chance to learn their ways.”

  “My boy.” Abdul reached forward and grabbed his hand. Worn callouses scraped against his own, and Nadir remembered that Abdul was as much a warrior as those on the battlefield. “I hate to see you lose yourself over a wench.”

  “A what?”

  “Women are a pleasant distraction from the real world. Trust me, I know.” The worn lines around Abdul’s eyes crinkled. “I remembe
r what it was like to be so young. To find the glory hidden within the arms of a woman is a right you have well earned. But I want you to remember you don’t have to like her. You can enjoy her, give her a good life as we promised her king, but I want you to put her in a box when we return to the Red Palace. Hide her away, so she cannot turn you away from us.”

  Nadir jerked, sitting up straight and staring down his advisor. “Are you suggesting that I am allowing her to control me in some way?”

  “I have observed differences in the way you—”

  “Perhaps you observed wrong.”

  Abdul bristled, his shoulders straightening and eyes narrowing. “I helped raise you. Don’t take that tone with me. You forget just how much I know about you, and just how much I can tell the people. Or, perhaps, your wives.”

  The coppery taste of blood flooded Nadir’s mouth. He’d bitten down so hard that his gums were bleeding.

  His advisor overstepped his bounds, and he wanted nothing more than to fly at the man in a rage. No one in the kingdom had any right to tell their sultan when he was doing something wrong, or when his actions were questionable. He was a sultan! He could do what he wanted whenever he wanted.

  But Abdul was right about a few things. The girl was getting into his head, and he didn’t have the time to suffer such an affliction. There were many plans in motion, most that he’d worked on with Abdul himself. Sigrid was a distraction to all these, and of course, his advisor was right. Abdul had raised him, advised him, and nurtured him all these years. He’d never been wrong before.

  He jerked his chin, indicating his advisor could leave.

  Abdul sighed and stood back up. His back was suspiciously hunched. Nadir remembered no weakness in the man. He’d been standing perfectly straight yesterday, while his second wife fought off a veritable army. But perhaps he was being too harsh on an aging man who had done much for him.

  Pinching the bridge of his nose, he gritted through his teeth, “I’ll take your words into consideration, advisor.”

  Abdul walked toward the exit, then paused at the entrance to the tent. “I understand your fascination with her, Nadir. She’s a butterfly we have captured in a jar. Wanting to see all the colors of her wings is natural. You should explore her, learn what you wish to learn from her, but then put her back in her cage. Don’t forget that butterflies die in the desert.”