I rub my thumb against the edge of the dark wrap still around my shoulders.
“Will they always be like that?”
His gaze drops briefly to the wrap, then lifts again.
“No.”
The certainty in that single word steadies something in me despite myself.
He steps forward then. Not close enough to make me retreat. Just close enough to take the tray and move it toward the lower table near the brazier, where the warmth is stronger. Then he gestures to the cushions there.
“Sit. Eat.”
Again, the command should grate more than it does. But after the stares and the measuring and the long ride across a world that still looks capable of killing me, the simple clarity of it feels almost like mercy.
I move to the cushions and sit.
Kaiven does not sit immediately. He adjusts the brazier vent slightly. Moves one folded fur closer to the fire. Shifts the tent flap so less cool air enters. Small things. Practical things. Quiet corrections to the world around me.
None of them are grand. All of them feel enormous. Because outside, he is king. Inside, he is still controlling every detail. But not to show power. To make space for me inside it.
Chapter 13
Keandra *
Iam given just enough time to wash the dust of travel from my skin before the camp comes for me again.
One of the younger women brings hot water in heavy bowls and leaves after speaking only what is necessary. Another sets down the folded clothing Oshara sent earlier. The garments are simple, but made better than anything I have ever owned. Soft underlayers. A heavier outer wrap in a deep earth color. A belt worked with small hammered metal pieces that catch the firelight. Nothing delicate. Nothing decorative just to be decorative. Everything looks made for a body expected to live, work, and endure.
I change slowly. The tent is warm, but my hands feel too cold. Every few breaths, I look toward the entrance even though no one comes through it. My hair is loose from travel. My face is still mine in the small polished metal mirror set near the wash things, but the rest of me already feels less certain. Less like the girl who left Mars. More like someone caught halfway between one life and another.
When I step back into the larger space of the tent, Kaiven is waiting.
He has changed too. The city king is gone. This male looks more dangerous. The dark clothing he wore in the capital has been replaced with heavier leather and wrapped layers made for open land. His forearms are bare. More of his throat shows. The markings I noticed before are visible now, dark lines and shapes worked into his skin and disappearing beneath the edges of what he wears. His hair is pulled back more roughly now. Less polished. He looks less like a man who sat in a government office and more like something the plains themselves made and armed. At one shoulder, worked into the leather, I catch the darker sign of Vek Talan again.
His eyes lift the moment I appear.
That look does not soften. But it changes. Not because he suddenly becomes easier to read. Because I feel the full weight of being seen by him in this new way. Not travel-worn. Not dust-covered. Dressed now as his wife would be dressed in his camp.
My pulse stumbles.
He says something in Tigris toward the entrance. A woman answers from just outside. Then he looks back at me.
“Come.”
The single word lands low in my stomach.
I follow him out into the night.
The camp is brighter now than before, transformed by full darkness and firelight. Flames leap in several large pits, sending heat and sparks into the air. Shadows move over hide tents and dark leather, and strong bodies gather in rings around the light. The smell of food is everywhere. Roasting meat. Warm bread. Herbs opening under heat. Smoke curling into the night sky. The wind has cooled, but the camp itself feels alive and warm and watchful.
Everyone is there.
That is what hits me first. Not every last person, maybe, but enough that the camp no longer feels like separate clusters of people working and living. It feels assembled. Focused. Waiting.
Waiting for this.
The women notice my clothing first. Then my hair. Then the fact that I step out beside Kaiven and not behind him. Men glance up too, but more briefly. Some lower their heads almost at once when Kaiven’s presence settles over the space. Children are hushed and pulled closer to mothers or older sisters. The warriors near the outer fire shift into place without seeming to move much at all.
