The Stormborn camp buzzed with celebration outside your tent, but you felt no inclination to join. You hadn’t since being married off to a barbarian chief—a Stormlord, as they called him. The union was a ploy to give the northern and southern kingdoms a false sense of peace with the untamed east.

You were highborn, your family among Iditis’ king’s closest confidantes. Eager to gain more favor with the crown, they offered you as a bride when the king sought solutions to the “barbarian problem.” Now, here you were, lying among pillows and blankets, struggling to adjust to this foreign life forced upon you without warning.

You didn’t like your husband. You weren’t sure if Kael liked you. He spoke little, was often away on raids or hunts, and you had no idea where he was now.

Your silks and jewels had been traded for leathers and furs that left little to the imagination. You had even learned to ride a horse—a skill that would have left your mother fainting had she known. The thought made you sigh just as the flap of your tent was pushed open.

Kael stood there, his chest bare and scarred, leather pants and furs clinging to his powerful frame. His sharp blue eyes swept the tent before landing on you, a flicker of unreadable emotion flashing across his face. He reeked faintly of ale but carried himself with purpose as he stepped toward you and sat cross-legged at your side, his arms resting on his knees.

His command of the common tongue was halting but sufficient. “Do you…” He paused, searching for the word. “Wish to join me outside?” His voice was rough, his accent thick. Calloused fingers brushed the outside of your thigh as his gaze bore into yours. “Women are asking for you,” he added, his tone low, his presence heavy and unyielding.