**BOOK II OF THE FOUR REALMS SERIES**
When war came for Azura, Fara of Calate lost everything. Her husband, her new home, her freedom. When her captor - the formidable commander of the Leoth army - saves her life, she begins to see the enemy as som...
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He'd left her bed as soon as the ceremony was over. She'd felt sore and soiled and strangely empty inside. As if part of her had been taken away never to be replaced again.
She'd longed for a hot bath to soothe away the strange ache and clean the mess from her thighs. Blood and seed.
After bathing she'd prayed to the Gods that Valdr's seed would take root. That she could give him a child so soon. He would know then that he had made a good match.
All of Ethis would know it.
She'd risen with the dawn, having slept fitfully and barely, and had not managed to do more than peck at the food they'd brought her. Lanya, her maid, had then begun to heave open the chests of rich fabrics her father had gifted her as a wedding dowry. Silks and velvets (stolen) from Azura; golds as eager as her sun and greens as lush as her vineyards.
Now she was desperate to look upon her husband again. To watch the turn of his head under the morning sun, observe how the midday wind danced through his hair. Would there be a time when he would stay in her bed through the night? She sighed at the thought of it. Of such intimacy and binding together of souls.
A sudden knock on the door set her heart racing. Gods, was it him come to bid her good morning? Would he like the deep purple gown she wore?
She nodded for Lanya to receive whoever waited at the door and pulled herself up tall to face who she hoped was Valdr.
It was not.
Daegar strode through the open door which was almost as wide as he was. He nodded at Lanya who lowered her eyes before crossing the bedchamber away from him. He cast a look toward the bed, his shoulders tightening, before coming to stand before her.
'Good morning, Highness,' he said, without lowering his eyes from her.
She gave a slight nod.
Under his direct gaze, her skin felt tight over her body, her face hot. It was the knowing look in his eye, the quiet fury which accompanied it. His knowing that she was now made a woman. Not by him, even though she had once begged it of him, but by another and though she felt she ought to stand proud in the moment, she found herself feeling ashamed of it. She glanced away from his eyes as a lick of heat stroked at her throat. Lanya was clearing away the small jars of oils, the discarded lengths of gowns, ready to be brought out for the same dance on the morrow.
'You may leave us Lanya,' Dura said. The maid stopped, glanced over her shoulder, and gave a slight nod. She finished folding a yellow burst of colour into the trunk and exited the chamber soundlessly.
'You will not visit me again,' she told him quietly. 'I will not receive you.'
He did not look surprised by her words. Merely staring at her openly. 'I am your Khohn, Dura. You have no choice but to receive me.' He had used the same gentle tone but once before with her. When he had refused her.
