My cheeks heated, thinking how revealing the clothing was. “Er, I would prefer the clothes I came in.”
The female scrunched up her nose, blinking. “You want those rags over this?” She shook the top and the gold beads that adorned the front jingled musically. It looked heavy but well-made. I couldn’t imagine how long it took to sew those beads on.
“Yes,” I said bristling. I’d made those ‘rags’ myself, a long time ago.
“They are being cleaned,Missiki,” she said simply. “You must wear this until they are returned.”
I was about to protest but the other female, the silent one, returned with a small jar of a white, milky substance.
“What is that?” I asked warily.
“Salve for yourpyrokiburns. It will help the flesh heal, take the sting away.”
“No,” I said quickly.
“Nik?” the female asked, obviously dumbfounded that I would reject it. “Why?”
“I…” I trailed off, but then decided I would tell her the truth. There was no way around it and perhaps a female, even a Dakkari one, could sympathize. “He said he wouldn’t touch me until I healed.”
Both females looked even more confused.
“I want to avoid it as long as possible. I’m not ready to have sex with him, though I know that is my purpose now. I agreed to it,” I whispered, though I said the last part more to myself.
A cautious understanding finally entered the female’s eyes. She looked embarrassed actually and returned her attention to the clothing in her hands, inspecting the beads as if her life depended on it.
“Come,Missiki,” she finally said, raising her eyes. “We will dress you.”
She didn’t speak of the salve again as they went about their duties.
Though the shift dress the horde king had given me last night barely concealed my nudity, I would have preferred it over what they helped me dress in.
The skirt was made out of animal hide, similar to what the horde king had worn the night before. Tan in color, it was cleanly made, the stitching impressive. However, it came to my mid-thigh, exposing the majority of my legs. And I feared that if I bent over, my sex would be on display and exposed.
The gold beaded top was also too short, stopping just above my naval, molding to my breasts. Thankfully, the material was thick and the plethora of beads that decorated the front helped hide the outline of them. However, it left my shoulders and arms bare. The worst part, however, was that the neckline was attached to a thick golden band, which secured around my neck like a collar.
After helping me into sandals with very impractical, intricate, thin straps, the Dakkari females seemed pleased with their work. When I looked down at myself, my cheeks flushed with mortification because I felt every inch like a kept whore. Collared and exposed. All that was left was to be painted and coifed.
Which was apparently to be next, when I saw the females pulling out little pots of black and red pigments, a white bone brush, and gilded hair pins from their bundle.
“No,” I said, shaking my head, taking a step away. The beads on my top jingled and the collar around my neck felt too tight. “That’s quite enough.”
The Dakkari female frowned, looking down at the cosmetics in her hands. Her own eyelids were painted gold, her already dark eyes rimmed in a solid black powder. I didn’t want any of that on my face.
“Please,” I said, “just hand me the brush. I’ll brush out my hair, but that’s all I want.”
“I will do it,” the female said finally, gingerly setting her pots of cosmetics back into her bundle, though she didn’t seem happy about it. “It is my honor to serve you,Missiki.”
“My name is Luna,” I snapped, that overwhelming feeling returning full force, my voice sounding sharp to my own ears. I felt confined, on display. Nothing was in my control. I had been dropped into a world where nothing made sense and I just wanted someone to call me by my actualname. NotMissiki—whatever the hell that meant—notkallesornekkarorkassikariorMorakkari.
Luna.
The name my mother had given me. An old name of our race. An ancient name.
Both of the Dakkari females blinked and exchanged a look with one another, freezing in place, their tails flicking behind them wildly. I blew out a breath, lifting a shaking hand to my wavy hair, which I usually kept pinned back since it curled around my cheeks.
“We cannot call you by your given name,Missiki,” the female said, her tone surprisingly gentle. “It is forbidden. Just as we do not call theVorakkarby his given name.”
A name I still did not know, though I shared a bed with him. Though I’d bathed him and he’d caressed my breasts and told me I would be his queen.
