Page 13 of Between Flames and Deceit (Dragon’s Heart Duology #1)

Chapter Twelve

Nienna

T he breeze grazed my parted lips—a whisper of coolness, or maybe just the sound of my own breath catching. Flames licked at my skin, spreading a warm blush over my cheeks and ears, staining them a vivid scarlet.

And yet, I could not tear my eyes from Kallias’ body.

Broad shoulders thick with solid, corded muscle, each line of his chest and capable arms stark under the midday light. His wrists were caught in his sleeves, drawing my gaze lower, where the taut ridges of his abdomen rose and fell with quiet power. A faint dusting of dark hair brushed across his skin, the trail disappearing into his trousers’ waistband.

He whipped the tunic back over his head in one fluid motion, the fabric whispering over his torso as he stretched and flexed. I snapped my mouth shut, caught between fleeing and pretending I hadn’t just ogled him like a stunned courtier.

The shirt fell past his navel; the hem skimming his hips, and some small part of me wanted to demand he take it right back off.

Those eyes locked onto mine, and I struggled to swallow around the dryness in my throat, forcing a smile. His brow furrowed, gaze flicking to my guards, then to me with the intensity of a hawk zeroing in. With a swift jerk, he tugged his sword from the sand and strode forward.

I pressed my damp palms against my skirts, moving closer to the iron fence—a slim barrier between me and the arena’s sandy drop. My mouth felt parched, and I traced my lips with my tongue, a small, nervous gesture that caught his eye.

“Good day. ”

“Where is Tallon?”

Our voices overlapped, but his cut through, overpowering my cracked tone with ease.

I gripped the handrail to steady myself. “I was told he’d be here.” My eyes slid down, almost involuntarily, to where the linen clung to his bronzed skin, the fabric skimming each carved line of muscle—leaving little to the imagination. “Fyrn’sol told me he would be here.” The words tumbled out again, and I cursed my own repetition.

Think of Fyrn—clever, graceful Fyrn with her golden hair and eyes like a midsummer sky.

But my attention kept drifting to Kallias, to the way his presence seemed to fill every corner of the arena.

His sharp gaze pinned me, slicing through me as if he could hear my thoughts. My smile wavered, brittle under the intensity of his scrutiny. Those piercing eyes, dazzling yet shrewd, weighed each word I spoke, as if testing their truth. Heat prickled over my cheeks, deepening the flush that must have looked painfully incriminating.

Surely, he did not think I sought him out?

Not that I could complain, considering the state I found him in.

The arena’s entryway crashed open, and I gave Radaan’s gods a silent prayer of thanks as Tallon strode in.

“Father,” he drawled, fingers pushing back his dark hair.

Fyrn’sol beamed as she trailed him, her eyes flicking between me and Kallias. She rushed toward me as Tallon flashed a vicious grin, then altered his course to the arena’s stairs.

Fyrn dipped into a quick curtsy, then tugged me aside. “Come along,” she whispered.

She guided me with a firm hand, but I couldn’t escape the press of Kallias’ gaze until I turned away, forcing myself to focus on each step.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured as we reached the front row. “I didn’t realize you’d head straight here!”

Embarrassment shifted to frustration. As a princess, I expected her by my side, guiding me when the time came. Instead, I entered an empty arena and glimpsed a man’s bare chest—an image now seared into my mind.

I blinked, but Kallias’ physique refused to fade. Each flex and ripple just as clear as before. I forced my attention onto Tallon, determined to banish the memory. Fyrn wasn’t to blame, and I had no right to dump my guilt on her.

The prince strolled across the sand toward Greaves, his steps slow and deliberate. The guard tracked him with a steady gaze, but remained still, a silent sentinel whose loyalty lay with the king alone—not a mere servant to be summoned .

Clad in his customary black from collar to boot, my betrothed moved toward the arena’s shaded half, sparing himself the worst of the sun’s heat. Yet, if Kallias maneuvered him into the sunlight, he’d soon regret his choice of attire. As he shrugged off his overcoat, I found myself comparing the two men. They were as different as night and day: Tallon, all dark hair and sharp angles, lean and wiry, with narrowed green eyes that missed nothing; Kallias, silver-threaded and powerful, his frame broad and steady, every inch of him a testament to hard-won strength.

Act like an heir, or I’ll treat you as the bastard you are.

Fyrn chattered on about an upcoming social she was organizing, her voice a cheerful hum. My gaze drifted past her, drawn to the men, and the unspoken tension between them. I wondered how much legitimacy ran through their private words.

The king never showed his hand, always controlled and precise. Even in moments of anger, he kept his temper leashed, like a tiger restrained by a length of chain. He served a god of truth, his loyalty bound to honesty. Did he know of Tallon’s questionable lineage? Had he guessed? Surely, if he knew for certain, he would have ensured another heir by now. Perhaps he harbored doubts—or maybe, as Scythe suggested, it was merely a slip of phrasing.

But Kallias didn’t slip.

“I would be delighted for you to attend.”

Fyrn’s words jolted me back, just as Tallon stalked toward the weapon rack. He selected a sword, the cold gleam of metal catching the light.

“Yes, I’d love to,” I replied, hoping to sound collected despite my wandering mind. “When was it again?”

“You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?” she teased, arching a brow.

Fyrn cast me a sly grin and tilted her head toward the arena. “Quite the distraction, isn’t he?”

Oh, sea beneath—she caught me staring. The ground felt unsteady beneath me. “I assure you, I wasn’t–”

“Oh, Princess,” she interrupted, her smile widening. “He’s your betrothed. If anyone’s allowed to appraise the goods, it’s you.”

Relief flooded over me, and I forced a nervous grin, pretending that, yes, Tallon was indeed the object of my interest. “My apologies. When is your gathering?”

“Tomorrow, after the council meeting,” she replied. “The Gad family will be there—they’re quite influential along the border and share your taste for art.” Her tone held a gentle nudge, urging me to seize the opportunity for connection.

Still, if Kallias—no, Tallon—was to spar after the gathering, my attention would rather lie here, in the heart of the arena .

Sacrifices would have to be made.

“Send for me, and I’ll be there.”

The prince now strode up to his father, shoulders squared. Tension coiled between them, sharp words barely audible, and Kallias shook his head, his jaw set like stone.

“Where are the others?” I whispered, scanning the barren room once more. Dust clung to the empty seats, the silence thick and oppressive.

“The king disbanded the fighting games after he returned from the war,” she said. “Queen Eldeiade loved them. She scheduled one every time he visited, but he never attended.”

“Did she not welcome him home?” I asked, my shock evident.

Surely, the absence of affection didn’t mean she would ignore him so thoroughly. The notion that she would dismiss his visits in favor of something he despised troubled me. If I were married to a king like Kallias, I would be by his side every moment he returned from the battlefield.

“I only visited with my parents then,” Fyrn continued, her voice dropping lower as she leaned closer, her curls brushing my shoulder. “But she accused him of treating her like a womb, nothing more. So, she staged the games to keep him at bay.”

My lips dipped in a frown, thoughts tumbling over themselves as my gaze returned to the arena. The men stood ready, locked in tense fighting stances. I’d witnessed the Dragon Riders spar enough to recognize Kallias as the superior swordsman.

“I doubt that,” I murmured.

My words felt almost too blunt, but they could not be helped. The king was too proper, too kind. I had seen him honor me in ways no one else had. He recognized my worth, allowed me to speak at the council even when he didn’t need to. He’d been nothing but respectful, and I couldn’t fathom him treating any woman as less than she deserved.

Tallon made the first move, lunging with an overhead strike. The clash of steel echoed in the arena. They fought with naked blades?

“Me too.” Her tone carried a quiet bitterness. “You should have seen how she treated people. She only showed love to her son—tried to keep him from the king as much as she could, and he stayed away. They were almost never together.”

My heart tightened at the thought. Would Tallon treat me the same way? My parents loved each other fiercely—and often enough that my brother and I would hide to avoid their overt displays of affection. I came from a home where love was a blessing, not just a duty. And yet, I was marrying into a family so broken, so distant—one that seemed to loathe the very idea of connection.

Kallias parried Tallon’s strike, letting him take the offensive. Blow after blow rained down, each met with calm, almost shrugging off the attacks.

How many verbal blows had the king deflected from his late queen? How many insults had he endured and dismissed as effortlessly as he shrugged off Tallon’s attacks? Would I be expected to do the same?

The thought turned my stomach. I had agreed to this union for an alliance, for the good of my people—but also for myself. It was my choice, despite the burden of duty.

But what if that meant living in a world of isolation, in a marriage where love was merely a formality? If I broke the engagement, I knew my father would welcome me home—but what would I return to? A sullied reputation, the stain of a princess who ran from her fate, from her father’s blood oath? I’d be branded a failure, a coward, no matter what my heart truly desired.

I could escape a miserable married life, but at what cost? Not only for me, but for the Radaanian people, for Draconia. This alliance was critical for both sides. I might not have witnessed the full horror of war, but I saw Kallias picking up the pieces of his nation, rebuilding what had been torn apart. He wasn’t just a king—he was trying to create something new from the ashes of destruction.

And Tallon? He would raze it all to the ground without a second thought.

Kallias’ sword swung out with precision, twisting Tallon’s blow back onto himself. It was as though, in that instant, he finally had enough of his son’s reckless assault. Like a wave crashing against rocks, he surged forward, closing the distance with relentless force. The prince stumbled, retreating, his strikes now panicked and wild as he tried to parry the unyielding barrage.

Fyrn gasped, her breath catching as Tallon faltered. Panic flashed across his face, a raw expression I’d never seen on the arrogant young man. He caught himself, then retreated farther, his footfalls quick and desperate, no longer attempting to defend himself.

“Bare blades?” I choked out. One wrong move, and the royal bloodline—if it even was—could be severed for good.

“The king demands it,” Fyrn murmured, her gaze glued to the arena. “I think he believes wooden staves are too soft after the war.”

Of course. He bore witness to the carnage of battle, the lives lost—he would see this fight as more than a training exercise. There was no place for softness now.

A low snarl cut through the tension, and my lips parted in surprise as I realized it came from Kallias. He lunged again, not giving Tallon an inch. Each strike, each thrust, was deliberate, precise, and as swift as the wind. The king wasn’t relying on brute strength; he read his son’s every feint, every attempt to deceive him, and countering with a speed that only came from years of relentless practice. The kind of practice that separated warriors from mere men .

He smacked Tallon across the head with the flat of his blade, the slap echoing.

Fyrn let out a soft, empathetic whimper as the prince crumpled to the sand. But my gaze never left Kallias. He stepped back, giving him room to rise, his chest rising and falling with measured breaths. His sword tip dug into the sand, and the breeze ruffled his silvering hair. He ran a hand through the strands, pushing them away from his brow, muttering something too low for me to hear.

Tallon’s reply was a venomous snarl. White-knuckled, Kallias gripped the hilt, spinning around, and stalked back to the arena’s center.

Greaves, standing at attention against the wall, gave no indication of concern. It was clear he knew Kallias could handle Tallon with ease.

“He should be more careful. He’s bleeding,” Fyrn whispered.

It was true. Blood trickled down Tallon’s cheek, and he wiped it away with disgust before forcing himself to his feet. His gaze flicked in our direction, but his anger was all-consuming. With a grimace, he stormed toward Kallias, his features a mask of rage.

“One slip-up, and his son’s face could be scarred forever,” she murmured.

I blinked—she thought the king had been careless. I bit my cheek, holding back my rebuke. Ronan and my father had sparred enough that I knew Kallias’ every step was deliberate. His blows were controlled, his movements calculated. He was letting Tallon waste his energy, waiting for him to become overly confident, then striking when the moment was right.

That strike hadn’t been careless—it took the utmost care.

“At least you wouldn’t have to marry him,” I scoffed.

Her lips twitched in a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Her gaze remained fixed on the prince, and guilt twisted my heart. I winced, knowing she was his friend.

“Surly Kallias won’t let that happen,” I added, attempting to reassure her.

“I hope not. He never seems to care for Tallon, though.”

I frowned at Fyrn’s casual use of Tallon’s name—she was his friend, no doubt, but the informality struck me as odd, and I thought back on previous conversations, trying to recall if she used it before. Perhaps he’d given her permission to speak so freely.

The prince, predictably, didn’t learn. Blow after blow, he drove at Kallias, each attack leaving him more frustrated than the last.

The bout ended as fast as it started. The king spun behind, slamming the sword’s pommel between his shoulder blades. Tallon collapsed, and Kallias growled something under his breath. This time, he didn’t step back. He loomed over the prince—a silent challenge. Clearly, Kallias was trying to teach him a lesson. But he refused to yield.

“Again!” Tallon barked, voice thick with frustration .

Kallias paced to the center, and Tallon rose—his movements slow, measured. My brow pinched at the pure malice in his glare. Then he lunged.

The king, though surprised, was not caught off-guard. He twisted, avoiding the sharp edge. But Tallon, quick and desperate, hooked an arm around his neck and used the momentum to slam his hilt into his right shoulder.

Greaves, ever stoic at his place near the wall, flinched. A grimace pulled his face taut.

Kallias doubled over, gritting his teeth with a wince as he rolled the prince to the ground, his weapon a flash of silver as it hovered just above Tallon’s throat. Fyrn gasped as the blade hung there, suspended in an eerie stillness.

This was wrong—and not because Kallias had my betrothed at sword-point. Unease slithered through me like cold fingers, my pulse quickening. This wasn’t just a sparring match anymore. It wasn’t tension between mentor and student, or father and son.

It was darker.

Wrath billowed off Tallon in waves as he lay in the sand, panting and disheveled. The bitter animosity radiating from him felt like a storm gathering—unrelenting and vicious. He spat something, and Fyrn and I leaned forward as if we might catch his words. Kallias’ gaze flicked toward us and I shrank back with a nervous swallow.

“No.” His command sent a ripple through the arena, and Fyrn recoiled into her seat.

The irritation pulling at her brow didn’t escape me. “What did he say?” I asked.

“I only heard the king,” she murmured, but her eyes betrayed her—shifting with something unsaid. There was more she refused to say.

Kallias turned on his heel, storming toward Greaves, who was already retrieving his mantle from the stand.

Tallon’s glare whipped to me, filled with the promise of vengeance so vehement it chilled my blood. A low hum of warning buzzed in my chest. I’d done nothing to provoke such fury, such ire. I straightened, lifting my chin in silent defiance. He could take that attitude and redirect it somewhere useful—like actually learning how to wield a sword.

Without waiting for the prince to rise, I stood, my movements deliberate. I dipped my head toward him, acknowledging his humiliation—then strode past Fyrn, who scrambled to her feet, and walked away. My pace didn’t falter. I was no longer interested in whatever game Tallon thought he was playing. I wasn’t impressed.

The evening meal passed in a quiet haze. The prince and I shared the same space, but the silence between us was a wall too thick to breach. Surrounded by a crowd, I was utterly alone. Besides Edith and Scythe, I knew no one here. Fyrn was across the room, wrapped up in conversation with some young women, all of whom kept sneaking glances at the dais.

Or rather—at Tallon.

I couldn’t understand why it annoyed me that they found him attractive. He had a certain boyish charm—bright green eyes and dark hair that fell across his brow. Yet I knew the darkness behind that gaze. The cruelty. The anger. It was impossible to reconcile the man he was with the face that captivated others. I hated I was destined to marry him, and I resented the fact that all the noblewomen saw something I didn’t.

When Kallias rose from the table, I watched him go, timing my escape by the seconds. As soon as I deemed it safe, I excused myself and practically fled the hall. It took more effort than usual to shake my guards, requiring me to insist on my freedom to roam—punctuated by a lofty chin raise that lacked conviction.

I managed to navigate the route to the rooftop, my steps quickening as I neared the stairs. The sun, the warmth, the wind on my face—it was what I craved.

And perhaps, the king’s company.

Hiking my skirts, I pushed forward and cleared the door to the balcony—only to find it empty.

Disappointment settled deep, and my shoulders sagged as I made my way toward the short wall. The sky was darkening, the fading yellow light bleeding into deep blue. No vibrant colors this evening, just the slow retreat of daylight—mirroring my heavy mood.

With a soft grunt, I hoisted myself up, letting my feet swing over the edge. Overgrown and wild, the garden below bled into a thick forest that bordered the untamed fields. The scene reflected the disarray inside me, the untended chaos of thoughts I couldn’t quiet.

I don’t know how long I sat there. Time seemed to stretch and bend. Eventually, the weight of my unease lifted, as if carried away on the breeze. My hair whipped around my face, and I closed my eyes, listening to the rush of wind as the sun disappeared beneath the horizon. Stars blinked to life far above, familiar and constant, though now viewed from a different angle—just like everything else.

“I didn’t realize today was so trying.”

Kallias’ voice snapped me from my thoughts, and I gasped, twisting to face him.

“If you throw yourself to your death, please wait until I leave,” he said with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, offering me a steaming mug. “It will look less like I pushed you.”

I laughed and took the cup, fingers brushing his warm skin. The connection sent butterflies skittering low in my belly, and I pulled away, sniffing the drink.

He raised an eyebrow, sipping his own. “It’s cider.”

Steam curled beneath my nose as I brought the mug to my lips. Hot, sweet, comforting. It smelled like him. Cinnamon. I hid a grin, glancing out at the darkening fields. The sip was smooth, warmth spreading down my throat, filling my chest—tangy apples with a touch of sweetness.

I nodded, satisfied. “Thank you.”

“Once I saw your guards roaming the halls, I thought refreshments were in order.”

“How did you know I’d be here?” I teased. “I could’ve been anywhere.”

He braced against the wall beside me, scanning the garden below. “I come here to be alone. It’s my sanctuary when days are trying.”

I shifted, ready to get down. “I didn’t mean to impose–”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, raising a hand. “Please stay. It seems our days have both been more ill than good.”

I settled back into my seat, curling around my cup, trying to leech the heat from it but also protect it from the wind. Silence lapsed between us, and I wondered which part of his day was the worst. Was it the council meeting where he had to face down his son? Or the sparring ring? There was so much to being a king that I wasn’t privy to—perhaps it was something else.

“How’s your shoulder?” I asked.

He scoffed, rolling it in a half-shrug. “A hilt hurts less than a blade through the socket. Tallon knew I favored it.”

“That sounds… unpleasant.” I grimaced. “Vellos?”

“The battle of Ereth’nor. We were outnumbered three to one.” He blinked, his expression softening.

I leaned forward, resting my chin on my hand as I watched him. “And yet, here you are.”

“I’m harder to kill than most.” He tipped his cup toward me, eyes glinting. “Best keep that in mind.”

I pressed a palm to my chest in mock horror. “I would never! Besides, my dragons are far too distant to carry me home.”

“Not you.” His gaze flickered, a slight wrinkle creasing his brow before he looked away. “Tallon’s too eager for the throne. But I jest.” His eyes held a guarded light as he watched me over the rim of his mug, as if weighing my reaction.

“The throne, not the yoke,” I murmured.

“He will mature.”

“Are you convincing me or yourself?” I bit down on my lip. What was it about this man that caused me to blurt out such things? He put me at ease, made me feel seen. But he was the king!

“You don’t care for him.”

Something sat on the edge of my tongue—denial? An excuse for my outburst?

His brow lifted, a spark of challenge. “Truth, remember?”

I clamped my mouth shut, watching him. His eyes held a glimmer, as if he’d known my answer long before I spoke it, and his lips edged into a faint smile. He wasn’t upset.

“No.” Admitting it brought a strange sense of relief. “I don’t care for his attitude or the way he treats me. I was raised better, and expected more from him.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw, though he kept his eyes steady, willing me to continue.

“He’s rude, immature, and full of himself. I’ve tried, again and again, to prove my worth, yet he shuns me at every turn. I can’t see us finding happiness in marriage.”

He looked away, back to the dark fields, his face cast in shadow as the night deepened. Crickets chirped, their happy tune mocking my turmoil.

“He asked to be released from the alliance,” he said.

I drew in a sharp breath. I hadn’t dared suggest that, determined to fulfill my duty for Draconia’s sake. For Tallon to request my dismissal—retract his father’s blood oath and the very foundation of our treaty—would push Draconia and Radaan to the brink of war.

“Radaan needs this, Nienna.” His tone steadied, though his voice remained tight, guarded. “If we don’t secure this alliance—and the marriage that binds it—the Velli will attack within a year. They won’t stop, and this time, I’m not certain we can hold them back.”

His jaw tightened as he exhaled a weary sigh. He was risking everything by telling me Tallon requested to dissolve the contract—all for the sake of honesty.

“Kallias—”

His gaze darkened, a perfect mirror of the night sky as he searched my face.

“—I will marry Tallon. Draconia needs food. Our dragons deserve better hunting grounds. My duty isn’t to him, but to our kingdoms. I know where I belong, and it’s here, at Radaan’s side.”

His eyelids drifted shut as if my words pained him, and he turned away .

“If I may be blunt?” I asked, hating the invisible weight he shouldered—even though I was the one marrying Tallon.

He nodded, draining his mug.

“I’ve heard there was little love between you and the late queen.”

His eye twitched, and his posture shifted—the stiff set of his shoulders, the subtle bracing of his stance. There was more to the story, more than he wanted to share, and I needed to uncover it.

“Perhaps you could offer guidance.”

“Marriage advice?” His scoff came short and dry.

“From one loveless union to the next.” I beamed, though the words cut a gash through my heart. Love was never an expectation, but I had hoped, at least, for a partner I could tolerate.

“I fear I’m rather unqualified.” He held out his hand, a silent gesture for my cup.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” I drained the last sip and swung my legs over the wall, dropping beside him. The warmth radiating from him brushed my skin like a stolen comfort. “You can teach me how to win Tallon’s heart. You’re the most qualified—unless you were the one who pushed the queen away?”

A flicker betrayed him, a brief twitch at the corner of his eye. His tell. I extended the cup, grinning in challenge.

He squinted, then sighed, and took it from my grasp. His fingers grazed my palm, the touch lingering just enough to notice.

“Come tomorrow night.” He shook his head, a reluctant smirk tugging at his lips. “I’ll share my pearls of wisdom. Though I doubt you’ll find them valuable.”

“I shall string them into a necklace.”

I laughed, retreating toward the door. My steps were lighter, my chest unburdened. It wasn’t the crisp air or even the time with him—it was the invitation. He wanted me to return.

And that was just silly.