Page 12 of Between Flames and Deceit (Dragon’s Heart Duology #1)

Chapter Eleven

Kallias

T he way her gaze trailed me, eyes wide, lips parted—that blue stare studied my body with such curiosity it woke something–

“Do you need help with the buttons?”

Greaves’ low voice jarred me from my thoughts, and I glanced at his reflection in the mirror.

He was unbuckling his armor, preparing for the night. Eldeiade never shared a room with me—only Greaves. After the second midnight assassin, I decided to give him a bed in my quarters rather than force him to sleep on the floor.

As his hands worked at the leather straps, he raised a dark eyebrow, daring me to confess my thoughts.

My fingers hurried to their task—I didn’t require his assistance. “Tallon’s negligence was unacceptable.” The words slipped out, sharp and unforgiving.

In the solitude of my rooms, I could speak freely, and if there was one person I could trust with the truth, it was Greaves. He’d been by my side since my reckless youth, always cleaning up the chaos I created, the trouble I got us into. He never faltered and remained steadfast whenever I needed him. In battle, he saved my life more times than I could recall—and I repaid that debt just as often.

“The ambassador didn’t seem offended,” he offered, setting his chest piece on the stand beside his bed.

I sighed, shrugging off my overcoat, then draped it over a chair. “She shouldn’t have been so forgiving.” I yanked at my tunic’s ties, frustration creeping in. “It’s the one duty he asked for. The single task he seemed fit for. ”

When his mother died, I pushed Tallon to take a position in the palace. It was my attempt to move him through his grief. I wanted to give him purpose.

“You keep telling me he’s young. Let him mature,” he said.

In the mirror, I caught his indifferent shrug as he pulled off his tunic, revealing the scars he earned defending me. I kept offering the same excuse for my son, that he’d grow up—that his childish antics would fade with time. But I wasn’t saying it for Greaves alone. I thought that perhaps, with enough repetition, I might convince myself, too.

“Princess Nienna will age him,” he added. “Let her help him find his maturity.”

I shot a glare at his back as he slipped on a clean tunic and settled on the edge of the bed.

He paused, catching my stare, then sighed with resignation. “Don’t start,” he muttered.

This argument had circled between us since her arrival. Nienna carried herself with the tact expected of royalty, a confidence that gnawed at my soul like a plague. She was prepared—poised to inherit the weight of the crown. Somehow, she navigated the court’s tangled politics with ease, despite never setting foot beyond her island.

Nienna had the resilience of fire and the calm of deep waters. Her spirit, fierce and unyielding, clashed with Tallon’s attempts to break it—she defied him at every turn. She would never fade into the shadows while he ruled—and that defiance filled me with hope.

But she deserved more.

I arranged her betrothal to secure Draconia’s alliance and its powerful dragon fleets, all for Radaan’s protection. Tallon was my only option, the single heir I had. The generals and I knew the treaty with Vellos would only hold long enough for them to amass their strength for a fresh assault.

The war crippled both countries. Vellos wanted the space to breathe, to grow bold, bide their time for another strike. I wished for a lasting peace that might secure a better future, and Nienna was the only bridge to that promise.

What else was I to do for Tallon? After his mother died, I tried every path I knew—gentleness, which he rejected; bribery—he scorned me. I even turned to discipline, and he mocked it. In the end, I dealt with him the best way I could: I let him live his life as he pleased, and I lived mine.

If he threw away this alliance, I would keep my word and cast him to the Untamed Valley. Those northern wilds seethed with creatures twisted by pestilence, inhabited by only the hardest of souls. There, outlaws ruled by the sword—a brutal land for a reckless heir.

“She understands her role,” Greaves murmured. “She’s a–”

I cocked my head, the movement slow and deliberate enough to cut his words short. “She is more than a tool.”

“A spitfire, but a tool all the same. She understands her worth, Kal, recognizes why she’s here—and now she knows Tallon. Let them forge their way. She is no Eldeiade; she won’t–”

“Enough.” I tore the tunic from my shoulders and tossed it aside. “See to my door.”

At my dismissal, he grumbled under his breath, then left, taking up his watch outside my quarters.

The sound of her name still cut me years after her death. No agony compared to the fate of marrying someone who loathed your every breath, who cursed your presence and ridiculed your voice.

Allowing Tallon to be raised under her venomous influence had been a mistake. Even so, I couldn’t wish a union as mine—a life of contempt hidden behind titles and vows—for him.

Or Nienna.

Jarion pleaded for his favorite ship engineer to receive training abroad. The council meeting veered far off course. It began with a motion to ease the fish tax—an attempt to bring more variety to the common folk—and somehow wound its way to the question of funding a family’s vacation under the guise of professional development.

But the engineer wasn’t the one who held my attention.

My gaze kept drifting to Nienna, who sat rigid with her hands clenched in her lap, her knuckles pale as bone. She maintained a soft smile, but her eyes were leagues away, locked on the foot of the table. Fyrn’sol and Tallon flanked her on either side, and she bristled as Fyrn dipped across her to murmur something to Tallon. He threw his head back, laughing loud enough to draw Hector’s icy glance. The southern general had no love for my heir and showed as much with a narrowed stare.

A dark lock fell over Tallon’s brow as he leaned past Nienna to reply. Her sea-blue eyes flashed to mine, the politeness in her smile faltering for a heartbeat. Her gaze all but begged for reprieve, some signal from me that I saw her, understood her isolation. Surrounded by her betrothed and a noblewoman’s kinship, she sat adrift, lost in the press of voices around her.

I knew that feeling all too well.

“Princess Nienna.” Withering son of a jester—what was I doing?

Her eyes brightened, a spark lighting in that endless blue, and her smile curved higher. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

Beside her, Tallon turned, an intrigued smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Your people sail the seas, do they not?”

“They do, though…” She hesitated, a glimmer of eagerness breaking through her composure. “May I offer a suggestion?”

My lips twitched at the corner as she leaned in, her interest unmistakable. Here she was, the woman trained and raised for this moment—full of ideas, with solutions burning on the tip of her tongue.

“Please do.” I inclined my head, inviting her forward.

She rose with grace, adjusting her gown of deep green—the shade, perhaps unknowingly, adding a sense of belonging to her presence here in Radaan.

With each step toward the map, life seemed to pour into her. A faint blush warmed her cheeks, and she ducked her head as if to hide it before pointing to a scattering of islands across the southern sea.

“The Kulletti,” she began, voice steady with a trace of pride, “are known for their seafaring. Surely you trade with them already—their ships are renowned far beyond these waters.”

Jarion hummed, tapping a finger on the table. “They are iron-bound, built for war. We need vessels for trade.”

“You’ve seen their merchant ships, Sir Jarion.” She softened the correction with a smile that disarmed him, drawing a reluctant nod in agreement.

“They have fishing vessels twice the size of the ship we sailed in on,” she said. “Big enough to catch a whale and haul it back to port.”

“And you’ve seen them?” Tallon strode up behind her. “They’ve never reached our shores?”

His habit of stepping up whenever she spoke wasn’t growth—it was the need to loom over her, to remind her of her place, or so he thought.

“I’ve flown on dragonback, Prince,” she replied, eyes fixed on him with a glint of ice beneath her court-practiced smile. “I’ve seen a great many things you haven’t.”

My lips pressed together as I watched their exchange unfold. Tallon’s expression remained smooth, untroubled, as he shrugged and flicked a strand of hair from his face.

“That island chain is too distant for a mere engineer.” He tossed the words with a sidelong glance at the map, barely sparing it a look. He knew its markings well enough—he wasn’t that negligent—but his dismissal stung with deliberate disrespect.

“Her suggestion has merit.”

At my comment, Tallon’s smirk fell from his face. Betrayal colored his features as his brows lowered and his jaw clenched. I was taking her side, putting him in his place in front of the council—which wasn’t new, but was never well received.

“The Kulletti are unlike any people you’ve known,” I continued. “Your engineer will need to study their customs. Prince Tallon shall ensure he has what he needs for this task—as is proper for his role as foreign diplomat.”

My words landed as I intended—another blow to his pride. His shoulders drew back, his black and red overcoat pulled taut, a show of defiance he hardly concealed.

Nienna’s lips parted, as if she had more to offer, but uncertainty flickered over her features. She glanced at me, words held at bay. I leaned in my seat, my gaze trained on Tallon, shuttered yet sharp. His nostrils flared, the bruised look of an unbroken stallion flashing across his face. With a forced smile, he turned on his heel, striding away from the table.

His newest shadow, Flinn’dor, rose and bowed before trailing after him. My eyes narrowed as I watched my son’s retreat, noting the company he had begun to keep. Fyrn, too, cast a glance over her shoulder, her gaze lingering, before shifting back to Nienna.

“The Kulletti it is,” Jarion declared.

Sweat already beaded on my brow as I shrugged out of my overcoat. A servant took it, then arranged my mantle on a stand, stepping aside to blend into the arena’s wall.

I rolled my shoulders, relishing the freedom. The overcoat was stifling, tempering my bulk into a form more suitable for court. But each movement in it was measured, constrained.

The battle hall was a sand-filled pit with an open roof, letting in the harsh midday sun. Once a place of noble entertainment, it stood silent, the two-hundred seats empty. I drew my sword, the rasp of steel cutting through the air.

Tallon’s mother relished the violence, encouraged it even, filling the hall with bloodthirsty crowds.

Now, it was a place for a father to discipline an unruly son.

When I returned with the signed peace treaty, I hoped for an end to bloodshed. I had done my duty, seen too many soldiers die. The mockery of battle had no appeal anymore. I retired the royal combatants, sending them away, despite Tallon’s complaints .

I swung the sword in a wide arc, following through with a lunge. My right shoulder twinged, an old ache from when it had nearly been hacked off by a Velli warrior. I ignored the sharp reminder and fell into the flow of practice, each move as instinctive as breathing. The door slammed shut behind me, but I didn’t look up.

The sun had passed its zenith. When I finished, I would take a reprieve—a cold bath, a necessary one, given the way the heat clung to my tunic, sticking to my chest and chafing my skin as it dragged across my back.

“You’ve brought this on yourself.” I grunted, the words slipping from my mouth as the steps neared. Soft footfalls, the kind that made me wonder if Tallon had opted for something less ostentatious today.

Without looking up, I thrust the sword into the sand and tugged at the hem of my tunic. Sun be cursed, I cared little for formality at the moment—no one else was here to witness my lapse.

Greaves coughed, or rather, choked, his gaze fixed somewhere behind me. I turned, barely restraining a flinch.

It wasn’t Tallon who entered.