Page 15 of Between Flames and Deceit (Dragon’s Heart Duology #1)

Chapter Fourteen

Kallias

M y stallion snorted, his nostrils flaring as a ball rolled into his path, chased by a boy no taller than my knee. His ears flicked forward, tracking the child as he darted after it, heedless of the towering beast in his way. Behind him, his mother’s frantic voice rose above the bustle of the crowd.

“Pardon him, Your Majesty!” she cried, her back bent in a hurried bow. Her arms reached for him, but the boy slipped from her grasp and vanished into the throng, paying us no mind.

I chuckled, content. These were my people—their familiarity with me, even their disregard, spoke volumes. They were safe. Protected.

“Peace,” I said, my voice carrying above the market’s murmur.

She looked up, her eyes wide with relief. Her dress, frayed at the hem and patched over the knee, expressed long days and harder nights. The bonnet perched on her head, once white, bore streaks of earth and toil. She was of the working class, a woman whose son would one day inherit her burdens, just as surely as the sun would rise.

Greaves reined in his horse beside me, his keen gaze sweeping the crowd. The tension in his shoulders mirrored the weight pressing on my own.

I’d given so much—my blood, my peace, my very sense of self—to protect these people. And still, the sacrifice continued. Would they cower in fear when dragons darkened their skies? Or would they trust this decision? That it would keep them alive, ensure food for their tables?

“Elohios bless you,” a woman called, her voice rising above the murmurs as I rode past .

“Blessed of Elohios,” the chant swelled, spreading like a wave through the gathered masses.

My lips curved into a smile, but the sound twisted something deep within me.

The Radaanian people were faithful to their core. Survival had forged that bond. I’d led them through the war’s fire, into this fragile peace. Many witnessed the Velli rip through our ranks. Others carried stories of that horror passed down by their dead. And then there was me—alive when I shouldn’t be, rising again and again from wounds meant to end me, the light of Elohios blazing through my sunlit skin as proof of his favor.

I owed everything to my god. His wisdom lit my path. His strength bore the weight I could not carry alone. In return, I gave him all of myself—honesty, integrity, and the unwavering resolve demanded by my people and the god who chose me.

Yet, being placed on a pedestal under Elohios was an unease I could never shake.

The gold chains draped over my shoulders and chest felt heavier than their weight suggested, biting into my skin as if to remind me of the nation resting on my reputation.

We continued through the streets of Reem, the clamor of the marketplace blending with the steady clop of hooves on cobblestones. The mingled scents of baking bread and livestock filled the air. Greaves rode at my side, his ever-watchful eyes scanning the crowd, though the city patrol had been tripled.

I allowed the streets to guide the way, letting instinct and faith intertwine as I searched my heart for Elohios’ subtle leading.

As I rounded the corner onto the broad avenue, a prickle of unease crept up my spine. My eyes swept the square, noting its familiar rhythm—the wary merchants haggling, workers lingering in the shade, little ones darting between stalls. But two women stood out. Their posture, too rigid, too controlled—something about them didn’t belong.

They weren’t Radaanian.

Children clustered around the pair, giggling as they tossed dice into a chalk circle. The usual murmurs of blessings faded under the noise of the street, blending with the rhythmic hoofbeats of my stallion.

The women’s fine cloaks caught my eye, too pristine against the dust and heat. Torn at the edges, the fabric still clung to a quality of wealth. Their hoods were pulled back, revealing hair—brown and blonde—that looked too clean for the working class.

One woman shook a die in her hand, her fingers caressing the smooth surface as she blew on it, a motion practiced like a gambler’s ritual. She tossed the die with a flourish, and a cry of dismay escaped her when it landed .

The children’s laughter erupted around us, their high-pitched voices ringing through the air. They clutched their bellies, some collapsing onto the ground, kicking their feet in the dirt as if her misfortune were the greatest joke they’d ever heard.

Greaves pulled up beside me, and with a single glance, I knew he understood. What noblewoman would be caught on the filthy streets playing with children?

The woman’s golden hair tumbled forward as her shoulders slumped, defeated. She struggled to rise, letting out an ungraceful groan, fumbling with the clasp of her cloak. Around her, the young ones bounced to their feet, their energy unrestrained as they crowded closer, laughing in wild circles.

Who was this woman, to draw my people’s attention away from their king? The crowd’s focus shifted, yet no one seemed bothered for long. They shrugged it off and returned to their routines.

She tugged at her cloak, undone and falling loose, and handed it to her companion. I caught a glimpse of her cheeks flushed with the midday heat.

“Sun above.” The curse slipped from my lips before I could stop it.

Greaves made a strangled noise, his gaze darting over the crowd again, searching in vain for any guards who might be accompanying them.

I spurred my stallion into a brisk trot. The horse snorted at the sudden shift, its hooves striking the cobblestones with force as it surged forward. The woman’s eyes flicked to me, sharp with surprise.

Her gaze, the color of the deepest sea, locked onto mine. Shock flashed across her face as her lips parted in surprise.

The woman beside her—a stranger—ripped the cloak from her shoulders with a laugh, then turned toward me. “Balls!”

I froze, eyebrows shooting up at her exclamation. My stallion came to a halt as I took in the scene.

Nienna elbowed her friend, who wheezed. They both dropped into a curtsy, hers being far too low for her station. “My king!”

Curse it, they were sneaking around Reem, pretending to be common noblewomen.

I cleared my throat, shifting in the saddle. One hand rested on the pommel, the other on my hip as I tilted my head and waited.

Hoodlums swirled about like a ragged cloud, keeping their distance but bowing in awkward, uncoordinated movements. Grubby hands grasped at Nienna’s dress, pulling at her as they jostled her forward.

She flashed me a hesitant smile, swaying with their tugs. Her mouth opened, then closed, as though searching for something to say.

“It seems you’re at a loss for words, my lady,” I teased, letting her scramble for an explanation .

“I—I beg your pardon, my king. I’ve just lost a wager,” she stammered, her face deepening in color.

The woman beside her grimaced and edged a step away.

“And who do I have the pleasure of meeting?” I inquired, voice low and steady.

She seized the woman’s arm in a grip that could have snapped bone, snapping a smile that was more like a flash of teeth. “This is my handmaid–”

“Noblewoman Scythe,” the brunette blurted, dropping into a curtsey that was a more forced movement than a graceful gesture.

I squinted at them, Nienna’s grin faltering as a girl yanked at her skirts. “That’s an unusual name,” I murmured, trying to place the woman.

“You lost! You have to race us!” the girl demanded, ignoring my presence. She was small, her dress a tattered brown, a size too short. Her hand gripped Nienna’s as though it might be the only thing keeping her tethered to the world.

“I couldn’t beg your horse, could I, Your Majesty?” Her laugh wavered, betraying the nervous edge in her voice.

“‘Tis a beast reserved for royalty, I’m afraid,” I replied with a sigh. She wanted to play games, I would let her. Within Reem, Greaves and I could watch over her and protect her despite her lack of guards.

That, and I remembered her inexperience with horses.

“Drat.”

Her mild curse surprised me. I raised an eyebrow as she huffed, then straightened her posture.

“If you’ll excuse me, dear King,” she spun from me—actually turned her back on me, “I have a race to win.”

Her voice trailed off as I stared at her bare shoulders, glowing in the sunlight. I couldn’t tear my eyes away, my focus locked on the way she tied her hair. A bead of sweat ran down her neck, following the curve of her shoulder before disappearing into the fabric of her dress. I gripped the saddle tighter than I meant to, watching a few tendrils of hair slip free.

The urge to sweep them away—and taste that exposed skin—struck me like a fist to the chest.

When she gathered her skirts, hiking them between her knees, the impulse to sweep her onto my horse and ride straight to the safety of the castle nearly overtook me.

The smile faded from my lips, replaced by a dry mouth as she yanked the hem through her belt, revealing her legs.

They were wrapped in fabric that caused the children to giggle and point. But the tan trousers clung to her like a second skin, shaping every curve as she adjusted the waistband.

As she twisted, the definition in her thick thigh caught the light .

A snort tore my gaze from Nienna’s legs, and I snapped toward the ‘noblewoman’ at her side.

Who was she? And what lent her the confidence to snicker at me as if she’d spotted me ogling the princess’ body?

Good gods. I had.

Heat washed over me, thick and shameful. I cleared my throat and straightened, one hand resting on my belt.

Nienna glanced over her shoulder, brushing a curl from her face. Mischief gleamed in her eyes as the children lined up beside her.

“On your call, my king?”

My king.

A tight knot formed in my chest. What was wrong with me?

“On three,” I muttered, pushing the thought aside.

She crouched low, hands pressing into the dirt. The crowd, thin but watchful, shuffled back, clearing a path.

“One, two—”

She wiggled her rear, boots digging into the earth.

“—three.”

I strained to keep my voice steady as they bolted forward, a blur of whoops and laughter. Nienna’s legs ate up the distance, though she hesitated, darting after the children who weaved through the crowd.

I turned to Scythe with a sigh. “She hasn’t the faintest idea where she’s racing to, does she?”

“Not a clue.” She grinned, clutching the cloak tighter to her chest.

“Greaves.” My bodyguard and friend took a deep breath, his only complaint as he spurred his horse into a trot, following the ruckus of children and a full grown woman that were racing through the streets.

At dinner, Nienna seemed at ease for the first time in days. As Tallon approached to claim the seat beside her, she glanced my way and smiled—a real one, the corners of her eyes crinkling with warmth. That smile was her tell, unguarded and genuine, unlike the polished facade she wore for court.

The afternoon run through the city had lifted her spirits, and I knew why. Reem’s bustling chaos offered her a reprieve from all the suffocating expectations. I understood the need for escape. She was adjusting to life here, and the demands of court were a burden on anyone. I sought out common folk just the same, but I had many more years to learn how to blend in. For her, new to this world, a stolen afternoon outside noble eyes had been a gift.

Greaves, however, saw it differently. As we turned in for the night, he made his opinion known.

“You need to triple her guard,” he muttered, tucking his favorite knife under his pillow with a sharp, deliberate motion.

“And what good would that do?” I asked, pulling my tunic over my head and tossing it onto the chair. “You’ve seen her slip past them more times than I can count.”

He grunted in agreement. The thought trailed after me as I prepared for bed. She didn’t need more guards—another squad of well-meaning sentinels wouldn’t stop her. What she needed was a shadow, someone like Greaves, sharp enough to anticipate her moves and stubborn enough to keep up.

The man himself had shadowed me for years. Loyal to a fault, he was more than a bodyguard—he was the friend I hadn’t known I was missing, the one who remained steadfast when the world turned its back.

He had seen me at my worst. After Eldeiade took what she wanted and left me hollow, he endured my fury in the sparring ring without complaint. When Tallon was born and she refused me even a glimpse of him, Greaves witnessed my shame and never spoke a word.

“She needs someone to stop her before she does anything reckless,” he said, his voice low but firm.

I couldn’t help but snort. “Have you ever managed to hold me back?”

His huff carried a blend of humor and resignation as he sank onto his bed. “I’d like to think I’ve saved you from yourself more than a few times.” His gaze lingered, steady and unyielding. “You need to be careful, Kal.”

I dipped a cloth into the basin, letting the cool water seep through my fingers before pressing it to my face. The deliberate act bought me time to formulate a reply. He wasn’t worried about my safety. He’d seen too much—watched me endure Eldeiade’s manipulations—and he was too perceptive to miss the way my eyes followed Nienna.

A queen in the making, forged from strength and poise. She was what Radaan needed, what the people deserved.

What I could never claim.

“I am careful,” I said, keeping my tone calm.

Climbing into bed, I avoided his eyes. His silence stretched, heavy with unspoken words, until he sighed and shifted, the cot creaking beneath his weight.

The room fell quiet, but sleep eluded me. The night thickened, shadows pooling in corners while my thoughts spiraled. Her sketch haunted me. I remembered how her gaze had rested on me in the arena. That look—it had to be shock. Surely, that’s all it was.

I knew the customs of her people. Draconis were far from prudish, but their noblewomen were treasures, their virtue guarded. And yet, I had stood there in the sparring ring, stripped to the waist.

And I’d made enough of an impression for her to draw me.

Her lines, clean and deliberate, marked the canvas with a precision that betrayed practiced skill. The curves of the torso were mine, though the face remained a hollow void, the legs unfinished. Yet, cutting across the chest, she had etched the jagged scar—a brutal relic of the battlefield.

How many more scars had she noticed?

Sleep refused to claim me. I tried to ground my thoughts to the harvests in the south or the watchtowers guarding the eastern frontier. I thought of the Untamed Valley and the great crater that scarred the land. Anything to keep my mind from her . From the bead of sweat that had slipped down her neck, catching the light, or the way her trousers hugged her frame.

Did she have to wear fabric so close to her skin’s tone? Couldn’t it have been black? Red, perhaps?

An unbidden image flared—a sheer tunic, crimson trousers clinging to her figure. Heat coiled low in my stomach, and I cursed under my breath, biting back a groan as I turned again in the bed, kicking at the tangled sheets. Why were my rooms so hot?

Greaves grumbled from the cot, his words muffled by the pillow. “Fight it out or walk it off?” He didn’t bother lifting his head.

“Sleep,” I barked, scrubbing a hand over my face.

I would have sleep.

My finger tapped against my thigh beneath the council table, the anxious motion concealed from view. My gaze drifted to the empty chair on Tallon’s right, the left now occupied by his newest companion. Verard’gog—a minor landowner from the Craggs. It seemed all of his guests hailed from the east these days.

Nienna had avoided me for two nights. Two.

Not that I could offer her much in the way of marital advice. What wisdom could I share, except what not to do ?

Look your husband in the eye when he speaks. Listen when he rambles about the strain between nations. Don’t scream and strike him when he tries to kiss you.

Unbidden, shame unfurled in my chest, raw and biting. Memories of Eldeiade’s tirades clawed to the surface. Her voice, rising like a whip crack, accusing me of treating her like an animal, only to demand an heir in the next breath. The venom in her words as she tore at me in private, unraveling everything I tried to hold together.

Nothing was ever good enough for her.

I swallowed hard, forcing the thoughts aside. They lingered like ghosts at the edges of my mind, but the council’s murmur drew me to the present. Still, the bitterness remained, a familiar taste I couldn’t quite spit out.

It wouldn’t be Tallon enduring those tirades and verbal abuse. No, it would be Nienna.

The thought twisted through me as Lieghton’son droned on about the drought plaguing his province. He proposed trenches from the Fillyen River, while Har’mon railed against it, arguing it would devastate his wheat fields. Their voices blurred into the background, eclipsed by the rising tide of my own irritation.

Where was Nienna?

At a social gathering, perhaps, immersed in the labyrinthine games of court? Was she seated among noblewomen, nodding as they spoke of her “luck” in securing a match with Tallon?

My son chuckled low, his shoulders shaking with quiet amusement at some remark from Verard. The nobleman’s gaze flicked to mine, and for a moment, the shrewd smirk that followed slipped past his polished mask.

Perhaps she was alone, sketching—a refuge from the deceit and hollow courtesies that poisoned our world.

Was she drawing me again? Filling in the blanks of her unfinished sketch? A smile tugged at the corner of my lips. I shifted in my chair, angling my head to shield the traitorous expression from view.

I was a blasted king, smiling over a princess drawing me.

Throne or not, I had never allowed the burden of my years—or my crown—to drag my body into disrepair. Sparring with Greaves and the occasional disciplinary bout with Tallon kept my strength honed. I was no longer a young man, and the hard lines of my youth had softened, but they hadn’t disappeared. Clearly, they were sharp enough to inspire a virile, golden-haired woman to commit them to canvas.

“—Velli within the week.”

The name struck like a cold wind, scattering the warmth of her memory. Velli —my enemy and the architect of half my troubles—demanded my focus .

“His rooms are prepared.” My voice dipped, deliberate and firm. These were not friends. One ambassador, permitted under the treaty, would now reside within these walls—his quarters placed at the farthest end of the palace, as distant from Nienna’s as possible.

“It would serve us well to extend an olive branch, Father.” Tallon’s gaze locked on mine, a glint of challenge in their depths.

I frowned, my disapproval clear.

“Perhaps a ball in his honor,” he said.

“A ball? ” General Darius spat the word, his voice rough with disbelief.

Across the table, Fallione stiffened, his fists tightening as his gaze drilled into the map, as if sheer focus could temper the bite he no doubt wished to unleash.

“Yes,” Tallon continued, unflinching, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk. “A formal occasion, General. Nobles dressed in finery, exchanging pleasantries. Though I imagine you might find little to discuss beyond soldiering—bland topics for a dance.”

“You weren’t there, boy , when Vellos–”

“There isn’t enough notice.” My tone cut through the tension before Darius could step too far. Tallon’s goading had worked, but the general should’ve known better. “A few days won’t suffice to prepare.”

“Just a small one.” Tallon brushed a hand through his dark hair, revealing the sharp angles of his face, features gleaming with an intensity that bordered on defiance. “Say the word, Father. I’ll handle it. Foreign relations are my domain—let me do my job.”

It was the first time he’d ever shown enthusiasm for the duties laid upon him. His smile, more a baring of teeth than a sign of goodwill, carried a challenge I did not trust. The calculation in his gaze made my chest tighten, but I couldn’t ignore the truth. Radaan didn’t belong to me alone. It was his kingdom, too.

The lantern’s glow flickered across his face, and for a moment, his eyes gleamed like a predator’s—too much like the Velli.

But this was my son. My only heir. Without him, the throne held no future. If he wanted to test himself, I wouldn’t stand in his way.

“Done,” I said. “Set it for the day after his arrival.”

Fallione’s jaw tightened as his eyes closed, a practiced gesture of restrained fury. Across the table, Darius sank into his seat, muttering curses under his breath while shaking his head.

“Thank you,” Tallon replied, his tone laden with anything but gratitude. “Who’s the ambassador?”

A groan rippled through the room. My own eyes closed against the dull throb of frustration. He listened only when it served his purpose, a trait inherited straight from his mother.

“Egath,” I said at last, the name heavy on my tongue .

Egath, son of Wrath. The warrior whose blade came within a whisper of my heart at the foothills. The descendant of the man I killed.

“Done!”

Tallon shot to his feet with far more enthusiasm than the topic deserved. Verard rose with him, both offering a curt excuse before taking their leave.

The heavy thud of the doors shutting echoed through the chamber. Silence reigned until Darius turned a scowl on me, his disapproval written in the hard lines of his face.

I met his glare with indifference. He had no heirs. War consumed his every moment. He wouldn’t understand.

Not that I did either.

That night, I distanced myself from Nienna. My mask remained a quiet defense against the swirling tension in the room. The Velli were coming—into the very heart of Radaan, the one place I had kept them out of. The safety of my people, the sanctuary I had fought for, would be exposed to their bloodlust.

Even as I avoided her, I could feel her presence. The sound of her voice, the warmth in her gaze—it was a balm to my fractured soul. She embodied everything pure and unbroken—the fire in the Radaanian people that refused to fade. As long as she was safe, perhaps it would be enough.

Tallon rambled on about the ball, dismissing every suggestion Nienna made with a scoff. She tried to offer encouragement, but he shut her down each time, his laughter biting, his words belittling.

The way he treated her stirred a cold anger in me, a bitterness I knew all too well.

I couldn’t stay. I rose, the chair scraping against the stone floor. As I left the dining hall, I felt her gaze following me, sharp with questions. She wanted to ask, but the company wouldn’t allow it.

When we ventured past the private kitchen in our wing, without a word, Igor handed me my cider, a grin flickering across his face. I moved on, passing the cup to Greaves, who took a sip as we walked.

When we reached the pond stairwell, he offered me the mug, nodding as if it passed his inspection.

“I swear you drink more each time,” I muttered, eyeing the half-filled cup.

“Some poisons are measured by quantity, not potency.” Greaves sighed, taking his position by the door. “I do it for your sake. ”

With a snort, I strode to the stone wall and leaned over, the chill in the air biting at my skin. I counted the months in my mind until the harvests ended. The south would keep their land producing year-round, while the north would begin with cold-hardy greens. But the warm-season crops would finish in a few months.

We needed our men in the fields, not fighting wars.

Unease churned in my gut. No dragons arrived yet, and the whirlstorms added uncertainty to the delivery of Nienna’s letter. A Velli stood on Radaan soil. I despised the thought of those monsters in my kingdom. They made me feel exposed, fragile.

And I loathed it.

If the Velli moved, I’d have to pull my men back to the Craggs. The loss of manpower to work the harvests and bring in food might balance out with the bodies left in the mountains. Another war wasn’t an easy choice, but perhaps it was necessary.

The door to the roof groaned open, pulling me from my thoughts. I breathed in, forcing my mind to calm as I turned to face her.

Nienna peeked through, her silhouette bathed in the warm glow of the palace. Dusk had already settled, and the crickets sang their evening chorus.

“If you would rather be alone…” she began.

I ignored the rest of her words, focused on how her eyes softened with concern. She fretted about me. A princess, worried for a king.

“Come,” I said, gesturing with a tilt of my head. Her frown eased, replaced by a hesitant smile as she crossed the threshold. She wore a red dress, the deep hue like blood.

It did not bode well for my evening.

The garment hugged her curves as she walked, swaying over black boots.

“You’re worried.”

Her attention did not drift to the fields or the sky above. She didn’t peer down at the queen’s garden, tangled and forgotten. No, her eyes—darkened by the fading light—focused on my face as she stood beside me.

I met her gaze, taking a slow sip of my cider, now lukewarm. “I don’t worry—I prepare.”

“What are you preparing for?”

A thrill ran through me when her stare lingered on my mouth.

Sun above, it had been too long since a woman looked at me that way.

“Everything.”

It came out more of a grunt than I intended, and my attention shifted to the fields again. She made a thoughtful noise, letting me simmer while I studied the borders. An oxcart had wandered too close to the wheat field. Its wheel trail cut through the chaff, leaving a disorganized path .

Daylight dimmed with the setting sun, yet she stayed beside me, leaning against the wall, silent but watchful. She didn’t press for conversation, nor did she pry. She was content with just being.

“Why are you here?” The question gnawed at me, buzzing like a fly too close to my ear.

The Velli’s arrival weighed heavily on me, and the absence of dragons was unsettling. My hunger for her was an unfamiliar ache. It all left me feeling young, unprepared.

And I was taking it out on her.

“I want to be.”

I blinked, frowning as I studied her dark silhouette. Her face was turned upward, eyes closed. The breeze tugged at her wavy hair, her presence still, serene.

I grunted, reaching for my empty mug, eager to escape the burden of the night—of everyone’s company, even hers.

“You owe me marriage advice.”

“I have none to give.” The words snarled from my throat, biting as I hated myself for lashing out but couldn’t stop. “My marriage was a torturous, miserable affair. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

“Kallias.”

I froze, my boots anchoring to the cool, sparkling sandstone. My gaze shot to Greaves, a silent plea for his aid.

Her voice—commanding, demanding—struck deep. It was the essence of a queen addressing her subject, the tone of a lover scorned.

The man exhaled, his brows rising as he stared at the ground. I’d opened that door, and now I had to face the consequences. My response would either drive her away, shattering whatever fragile connection we’d built, or it would break down another wall between us.

She was Tallon’s betrothed. A union forged in the name of alliance. She was safe from me, as I was from her.

Her hand found my shoulder, searing through the thick fabric of my overcoat. “It’s one Velli. Your people are safe.”

Elohios above, how did she know?

“This is the single place I swore they would never set foot in again.” The words grated from my throat. “You’ve never seen them fight, Nienna. Never felt the power they wield.”

Bile crawled up, remembering the soldiers torn apart in front of me. Velli drank their blood as though it were water. Men stripped of their will, forced into combat against comrades. Faces of those I had known—fighting by my side—dying on my sword, their bodies puppets controlled by the enemy. She never –

“I haven’t.” Her voice, soft and steady, pulled me from my recollections. She caught my hand, her grip warm. “Tell me.”

And I knew she would listen. She would sit with me all night if necessary, letting me relive my worst memories. She would bear it, share it with me. But she shouldn’t. She was too pure, too innocent. She didn’t need to carry my nightmares. Radaan’s burden was mine alone to bear.

“My advice for tonight is this,” I said, easing her fingers off, ignoring the brief flicker of hurt in her eyes. “Do not touch a man who is not your betrothed.”

Her hand jerked from my shoulder, and she sucked in a breath, stepping back. I ground my teeth and stormed for the door, leaving her alone in the darkening silence of the roof.