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.

Chapter Five

Getting A Few Things Straight

I sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed waiting for my king to come home.

I had spent most of the day with Diandra.

That morning, I had gotten out of bed and Diandra had called for my robe, or my lornya, as they called it. It was long, had slits up the side, was sleeveless and was made of the finest light blue silk I’d ever seen.

While I ate (creamy yogurt, sweet dried fruit and some kind of grain all mixed together, it was actually quite tasty) and drank coffee (the only good thing so far, the savages had coffee, though the milk they had to put in it tasted slightly tangy), Diandra chatted to me about Seerim, her three sons (all, she bragged openly, in training to be warriors, her first, she bragged scarily, had already made his “first kill”) and her one daughter (“He would deny it, he is proud of his warrior sons, but Sheena is Seerim’s favorite,” she said), my women (I refused to call them slaves) carted in a big, oval copper tub with one side swayed back and filled it with buckets of steaming water. Then they poured some milky substance in it, some oil, swirled it around and dropped flower petals on top.

After I was finished eating, three of them guided me to the warm, fragrant bath and Diandra went to some trunks in the corner with the dark skinned woman (Teetru was her name and Diandra confirmed that, since she once had the charge of a Maroo princess (Maroo being Teetru’s homeland), she therefore had experience with serving “royalty” and she was their boss of sorts). I tried to protest but they refused to accept as they bathed me and washed my hair in a bath that smelled vaguely of spice, vaguely of musk and not-so-vaguely of orange blossoms.

I had to admit, it was nice. It was weird, but it was nice.

Once bathed, they clothed me in an outfit Teetru and Diandra chose. A sarong woven with gold thread shot with white and turquoise blue with a hint of silver. This was attached to a wide, braided belt of thick turquoise, white and gold threads with thin gold chains plaited through. My br**sts were wrapped in a turquoise bandeau bikini top. Added to this were gold bands at my biceps, a necklace that was a fall of intricate gold chains with tiny, blinking aquamarine stones and chandelier earrings of the same.

Best of all, they gave me a pair of turquoise silk underwear. Actual underwear. They fit snug in the ass and the silk had no give but I didn’t care. I wanted to do cartwheels because I… had… underwear.

And, okay, it sucked to admit but there was no way around it. The outfit was freaking great. Everything about it was amazing. The material, the colors, the jewels, they freaking rocked.

And since I had nothing (so far) but coffee to be happy about, I was not going to berate myself for being happy about my cool-as-shit clothes.

I had to hang onto something, didn’t I?

They sat me down and put eye shadow and kohl on my eyes and a gooey, tasty stuff tinted pink on my lips. They also brushed out my hair, dipping their fingers in a clay pot with more goo and gliding it through my hair, twisting it in long coils then securing it back from my face with a succession of little gold pins with aquamarine stones at the end (almost but not quite like bobby pins) that went from ear, over the top of my head, to ear.

Diandra took one look at me when I was done and smiled with happy approval, stating, “Your king showers great bounty on you. This is very good.”

I stared at her.

Bounty. Right.