Page 16 of Between Flames and Deceit (Dragon’s Heart Duology #1)

Chapter Fifteen

Nienna

“ Y ou’re wrong.” I snapped, storming through the door and slamming it behind me. Not that it slammed—there was something maddening about how smoothly it closed, as though it refused to match my frustration.

Scythe jolted upright from the sofa, her eyes wide and disoriented. “I’m never wrong!”

“He doesn’t like me.” I threw my hands at the back of my dress, fumbling with the lacing. The cords were out of reach, teasing me as my anger mounted.

“Trust me,” she said, trailing behind as I stormed to the bathing chambers, “he ogled you like a sticky bun, just waiting to devour you!”

“Well, devour, he did—a dragon with its meal.”

She froze, her grin flashing as she reached me. “That good, eh?”

“Ugh!” I shoved her away, struggling with the dress. The laces snagged, and I yanked it over my head, getting it caught on my shoulders. “He was upset tonight, so I thought, what’s the harm? I should make sure he’s all right.”

“You. Seeing if the king was fine?”

I seethed as she giggled, tugging at the laces.

“We were enjoying each other’s company,” I muttered from beneath the dress now tangled around my head.

“Oh?”

“—in silence! And I simply asked what was wrong.”

“Mm-hmm?” She yanked a lace loose with a quick tug, the snap echoing through the room, followed by a quiet whimper.

“I put my hand on his arm– ”

“You touched him?!” Scythe’s voice was a delighted squeal as she jerked the dress off my head, sending herself stumbling backward. “Was it like when you and the prince touched?”

I spun away, anger clawing at me. Every touch with Kallias was a spark, a warmth that spread through my chest—the first rays of sunlight after a storm. With him, there was always certainty. Safety.

“He scolded me—”

Scythe winced, her breath catching as she rushed over to pull the pins from my hair.

“—like a child.”

That was the worst part. We built something solid between us—an understanding, a friendship, as much as a man and a woman could have while being promised to his son. And yet, he rebuked me as though I were a toddler who reached for the cookie jar without permission.

He could go nurse his wounds and bear his burdens alone, if that’s how he would treat me. I was just trying to be polite, a friend.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean–”

“He’s the king, Scythe. He means everything he says.”

Curse Elohios and the honesty he demanded. Kallias was nothing if not truthful. If he did not want me touching him, that was fine. I wouldn’t.

And I would not let him touch me.

The next days dragged, a sickening blur of both haste and stagnation. Days rushed by as preparations for the ball consumed everyone. The Velli’s arrival loomed, and Fyrn was immersed in the planning, her time spent almost entirely with the prince. The way she fit in with him gnawed at me. I tried to join them once, but it was clear that Tallon wanted nothing from me. I’d pulled each trick I knew to gain his respect, yet still, he brushed me aside.

The evenings were worse.

Kallias avoided my gaze, though I could feel the weight of his stare whenever I retired. I knew he watched. So, I sauntered, chin lifted, a princess in every step. Let him watch me walk away, knowing I wouldn’t be joining him on his roof. Knowing that he should have taken more care with his words.

No. Kallias was always careful. Each word measured with purpose. I set my book aside and settled into the chaise, mind racing. That night, he’d been weighed down, burdened by more than just the crown. The pressure of it all made him snap—but still, he never lied .

When he told me not to touch him, was it for my sake, or his? His gaze lingered, sharp with something I couldn’t quite place. Scythe said he looked like a man starved the day I raced in Reem. She wouldn’t tease me if she didn’t believe Kallias had feelings.

Did he forbid my touch to protect me from other men, or to keep me away from him? I studied my palm, fingers tracing the lines. Had it calmed him, soothed him? Or had it stirred something dangerous beneath the surface?

“I know some witches who could read those,” Scythe offered, smirking over her book.

“What?”

She grinned. “The lines—on your hand.”

“Witchcraft is frowned upon,” Edith hissed, pausing in her mending. A cloak—mysteriously torn—lay in her lap.

My eyes rolled, and I was about to speak when a knock interrupted.

“Your dress!” Scythe chirped. She bounced up, jostling me, causing my book to hit the floor. “It’s going to be beautiful!”

I stooped over to retrieve it while Edith went to answer. She took the package from the messenger, closing the door with a harsh frown. She faced us, brow furrowed as I dangled off the chaise, grinning up at her, then placed it on the table, eyeing it as if it might bite.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“It’s awfully small.”

Scythe crawled over me, shoving me to the floor, eyes wide with excitement. “You haven’t even opened it!”

“It’s my dress!” I laughed, picking myself up off the carpet.

Tallon chose it himself, and on the heels of being shunned by his father, I was eager to garner some bridge between us. If wearing his selection accomplished that, I’d do it. A chime echoed in the distance—we didn’t have much time to prepare.

Scythe tore into the box, then froze. “Where’s the rest of it?”

All color drained from her face, her usual energy muted. Edith stiffened, her expression sharpening into a cold mask of fury. My chest tightened. I set my book aside, glancing between them. Dread coiled in my stomach as I approached the table.

“Where’s the rest of it?” Scythe choked out.

Her question wasn’t an exaggeration. Most of the dress seemed to be… absent.

I steeled myself and pulled the garment from the box. The fabric, no more than a whisper, shimmered under the light. Tiny black gemstones caught the glow like spilled ink against transparent crimson. The material reminded me of blood—sheer, yet vivid. Two daring slits ran up the front, slicing from ankle to waist in the bold style of Draconia. The neckline plunged scandalously low, the shoulders designed to drape over my arms, exposing my collarbone.

If it didn’t fit, I’d have nothing else.

To wear it would feel like wearing nothing at all. The fabric offered no lining, no backing—just translucent red gauze stitched with black gemstones that would catch the light and every prying eye.

The three of us stood in silence, staring at the indecent garment. Edith’s hands clenched the table’s edge, her knuckles white. Scythe’s jaw hung open, and for once, she seemed at a loss for words.

Tallon promised to find the perfect dress. He left no time for alternatives, no chance to commission a gown or even alter one I already owned. This was it. The only option.

My thoughts churned. Was this humiliation planned, a way to shame me in front of the court? Or was it meant to flaunt what he believed was his?

My pulse hammered, anger and defiance warring within. I wasn’t a pawn, and I wouldn’t shrink beneath their stares. If he desired me to be on display, then I’d make sure they looked.

I chose to flaunt it.

Heat crawled up my neck, flushing my face as my hands dampened with sweat. I had to piss.

But I straightened my spine, lifted my chin, and walked the corridors as if they were already mine. One day, they would be.

The dress revealed my thighs with each stride. Beneath it, black trousers hugged my legs like a second skin, as was the custom for female Draconis. It did little to quell the sensation of being exposed.

The fit was precise, a testament to Tallon’s interference. He hadn’t chosen this dress on a whim; a seamstress tailored it to my measurements. The timing, the craftsmanship—every detail screamed of deliberate planning. It was his doing, and I would wear it.

A strip of black fabric wrapped across my chest, barely concealing my breasts. I prayed it held through the night.

Radaanian women were modest, with their poofy-sleeves and high collars. Tonight, I paired my ensemble with towering boots, their sharp heels adding inches to my height. The taller I was, the more I could look down on Tallon—and ensure I’d never let him dictate my wardrobe again .

Gasps rippled through the halls, punctuated by the occasional stifled cough. Noblewomen clutched pearls while servants darted glances, their expressions caught between awe and scandal. My guards, stoic as ever, kept their gazes fixed ahead, helmets obscuring any hint of disapproval—or curiosity.

Boldness fueled by anger propelled me toward the herald. He hardly glanced up before his jaw slackened, lips forming a comical O . His wide eyes bulged as though they might tumble from their sockets.

“Princess Nienna of Draconia,” I snapped, my tone as sharp as the steel on the guards’ belts.

“Of course! Beg your pardon, Your Highness!” The herald jerked his gaze away, fumbling with the parchment in his trembling hands. He squinted at it as though confirming I belonged there. “Yes, yes—here!” His foot caught on the edge of his robe as he scrambled to the ballroom door.

The guards moved to open it, one lagging behind as the heavy panels creaked apart.

Curse this dress.

“Announcing Priestess—Princess Nienna of Draconia!” The herald’s words cracked, wobbling into an undignified screech.

“The Dragon’s Heart,” I corrected, my voice cool and commanding.

Sweat gleamed on his brow as he darted a panicked glance my way, then back at the stairs. “The Dragon’s Heart!” he managed, his tone rising an octave higher.

The staircase across the room remained empty. No one to distract the audience. Every eye would be on me.

This was not the time to stumble.

I lifted my chin, determination anchoring my steps as I descended the staircase. Each movement was deliberate, measured. The carpet muffled the sound of my boots, its plush weave deceptively soft underfoot. I kept my gaze forward, refusing to meet the sea of stares until I reached the landing.

When I last stood on this landing, it was to announce my betrothal to Tallon. The memory clung to the air, a ghost with harsh edges, heavy and acrid.

This time, the urge to kill him settled in my chest, cold and clear.

I pivoted on my heel, turning toward the crowd.

A musician faltered, his fingers stumbling over the strings. The jarring note sent another toppling backward, his chair saved from collapse by a quick-handed companion. Gasps rippled across the expanse, colliding with the awkward shuffle of instruments as the ensemble scrambled to regain their rhythm.

Heat scorched my ears, but something deeper, hotter, burned within. Fury kindled beneath my skin, propelling me as my gaze swept the room. I searched for Tallon’s mocking green eyes.

Instead, I met blue .

Kallias stared back, his rage tangible, a roaring inferno that made my own anger feel like a matchstick’s flicker. His head and shoulders rose above the sea of faces, his clenched jaw and storm-darkened eyes unmasking him completely.

Tallon emerged from the throng, standing just beyond the last step, his hand extended as if welcoming me to my own humiliation. A smirk tugged at his lips, the gesture almost boyish, ruined by the stray lock of hair falling against his brow.

The dress was a message—a statement meant to disgrace me.

So I’d wear it like a crown.

A cocky grin stretched across my face, false confidence masking the simmering fury beneath. I prowled down the steps, each stride calculated, hips swaying with defiance. Let them stare—feast their eyes. If Tallon wanted a spectacle, I’d give him one they’d never forget.

At the base of the stairs, I paused, tilting my head as I met Tallon’s outstretched hand with a raised brow.

“This is your grand reception?” My voice cut through the air, pointed with mockery. “I expected better.”

His smirk faltered for a heartbeat before venom glinted in his eyes. He withdrew and gestured toward the towering stranger at his side.

“Allow me to introduce Egath, future bride ,” Tallon said, voice clipped. “Egath, meet Nienna.”

The man was tall. Even with my boots giving me height, I was a head shorter. At first glance, he seemed ordinary—dark hair, emerald eyes like Tallon’s, nothing menacing. Then he smiled.

My blood ran cold.

His teeth were razor-sharp, filed to points that gleamed like ivory daggers under the chandeliers. He held his hand out—a shark stalking its prey.

“The pleasure is mine, Princess Nienna,” he said, voice smooth.

How he spoke so clearly with a mouthful of daggers remained a mystery, one I didn’t care to solve.

I refused to flinch. “The Dragon’s Heart,” I stated, extending my hand with regal detachment.

He took it, grip firm, eyes predatory. He lifted my palm to his lips, the brief touch deliberate. His gaze fixed on mine, his expression amused and calculating.

“Ah, yes. The dragons.” His voice oozed mockery, the grin spreading wide, grotesque in its indulgence. “When do they arrive again?”

I fought the urge to wipe my hand against my skirts. “When I need them.” I spun on my heel, eyes scanning the hushed crowd. “Where are the drinks, husband to be? ”

That was just the start. The night dragged on, each minute heavier than the last. My feet screamed in protest, my throat dry as dust, and no amount of wine eased the burn. I avoided food, afraid my nerves would betray me. I wore a mask of bravado, pretending to be cocky, confident—Tallon’s equal.

But Kallias remained a constant presence. He worked the crowd like a dragon, always in sight, ever within earshot. From the corner of my eye, I caught his gaze sliding over my transparent dress. He lingered on the curves of my body, eyes tracing upward in a slow, deliberate motion, a gesture that stoked the fire behind my facade.

I stood before the nobles and dignitaries, drawing strength from the weight of his gaze. My voice held steady, distant, as if anchored by his watchful presence. He was listening to every word.

Then, the exhaustion hit. It swept over like a storm, dousing the last embers of my resolve. The energy drained from my limbs, leaving me hollow, and my mask faltered. No one dared approach me—not even Tallon, who kept his distance more often than not.

Fyrn avoided me too, likely ashamed of my choice of dress—and ignorant of the fact that the prince selected it.

I slipped into the quiet corridors, my frustration mounting, and leveled a sharp glare at my guards. “I don’t have the energy to escape tonight. Leave me be.”

Of course, they refused.

For once, I didn’t try to evade them. I found a secluded hall, sank to the carpet, and tugged off my boots. Relief flooded through me as I massaged my aching feet. After a moment, I continued on, padding barefoot down the corridor.

I trudged up the stairs, the cool touch of tadpoles and frogs in the wrought iron offered a reprieve. The guards clattered, their armor clanging with each step.

Cold night air wrapped me in a welcome embrace. I let the door swing shut, leaving my guards behind, then dropped my boots in a careless pile. When I reached the wall, I climbed on, letting out a quiet moan as I stretched out, propping one leg up while the other dangled over the safety of the sandstone.

Every muscle in my body screamed with the effort to relax, the tension from the evening clinging to me like a second skin.

It was mere breaths before the door opened again, and I rolled my head to the side. Kallias stood, his broad frame outlined by the lantern light, casting him in shadow. I sighed, returning my gaze to the stars glittering in the black sky.

A hushed voice broke the stillness, followed by the loud clank of armor as my guards retreated. Footsteps heralded Kallias’ approach, and when he stopped, I drew in a deep breath and pushed upright.

I swung my legs inside the wall and braced my hands between my thighs, leaning forward. “Do you approve of your son’s choice of dress? ”

A soft creak betrayed the tension in his fist as it tightened around the hilt of his sword. I met his gaze—dark, brooding.

Definitely the wrong thing to say.

“You had every eye on you tonight,” he rasped.

“I know I had yours,” I said, a bitter laugh escaping. The mask was slipping. I was done pretending. Exhausted from the act. If he wanted me, he’d take me at my worst—or leave. I didn’t care if it was his roof.

“You have other dresses.”

“Telling me how to dress now?” I taunted.

“I could tell you what not to wear.”

“Next time I get dressed, I’ll be sure to invite you,” I shot back, leaning against the stone. “To ensure my outfit is approved.”

“Greaves,” Kallias bit out, the name sharp as a command.

I raised an eyebrow, glancing past him. The man shifted, uncomfortable, but when our eyes met, he dipped his head and retreated into the palace. The roof felt quieter now, just the two of us.

“Why did you wear it?”

“Questions, questions,” I murmured, tipping my chin, letting my hair spill down. The movement threw off my balance. I gasped, my nails digging into the stone. Kallias closed the gap between us, his arm wrapping around my waist and pulling me against his chest.

“How much wine did you have?”

I smiled, fingers tracing along his sleeve. Winds and seas, the man smelled incredible. Cinnamon and spice encased him, warm and familiar, with a touch of wood and a hint of musk.

He felt good too—solid muscle beneath fine clothing, heat radiating from him. His arm around me was firm, the closeness pinning him between my legs. The position sent flaming butterflies through my core.

“A bit of advice,” I murmured, my gaze drifting over his face. “Don’t touch a man’s betrothed.”

His jaw tightened, and I watched it, intrigued. A shadow of stubble darkened his cheeks, and his lips pressed into a tight line.

My own felt dry. I ran my tongue over them, almost without thinking.

His hand twitched at my back, and I leaned away. But instead of letting me go, he tightened his hold, drawing me in closer. His belt buckle jabbed into my thigh, and his gaze followed my tongue as it slid behind my teeth.

“I don’t think you’re in any condition to sit on a roof,” he said, tugging me off the wall.

I stumbled against him—not from the wine, but because my feet had given up .

His hands steadied me at the waist, keeping me balanced—and keeping a careful distance. His dark eyes locked on mine, cutting through the night. A mix of concern and desire flickered there, the same hunger I’d seen in too many men tonight.

I reached to cup his jaw, but he shied away.

“Why do you get to touch me, but I can’t touch you?” I asked.

“You don’t know what you’re doing. The wine’s talking.”

It hit me like cold water. I stepped back, the sudden clarity grounding me. Drawing from a strength I didn’t realize I had, I met his gaze with a cutting stare. “I know exactly what I’m doing—what I crave. But I don’t think you do.”

“I came here to make sure no stray nobleman pursued you.” He lifted his chin, arms crossing over his chest. “Every man in that room watched you. They’re not all honorable.”

“And your eyes never left me. You hovered, watching every conversation, waiting to intervene if needed. You followed me up here. Yet, you push me away. You’d think by running a kingdom you’d know how to get what you want!”

“I can’t have what I want.”

I recoiled, snapping my mouth shut. He ground his teeth together and glared at me, offering no more. His nostrils flared with his breaths, chest heaving—his mask long gone.

I swallowed, my words dry and cracked. “You came after me tonight. You sought me out. Yet you push me away.”

He said nothing. His piercing blue gaze drifted over me, scanning my dress, tracing every curve. It sparked something deep inside—a fire that grew from ember to full blaze. Ravenous. He took in my ample hips, then traveled along my waist, lingering at my chest. I made no move to shield myself, refusing to cross my arms. His eyes climbed higher, pausing at my mouth, and stayed there.

His gaze burned into my skin, each look a touch, slow and deliberate, sending heat crawling across my flesh. I bit my lip. A muscle flickered in his jaw as he studied me.

“Sea beneath,” I whispered. “You cannot have what you want.”

My mind screamed—this wasn’t right. He couldn’t mean it. When his eyes locked with mine, they burned .

Gods, to be viewed like that. To be seen as something worth claiming, devouring. Yet he held himself back, tethering that hunger, forcing restraint.

I wanted him to lose that control.

Tallon never looked at me that way. Never would.

“You are my son’s betrothed .” Each word dragged from him, heavy and reluctant. I was off limits. The blood oath bound me to the prince. If we crossed that line—if I let him—the alliance would crumble .

Radaan’s fragile peace would splinter. His lands would face war again, and my dragons wouldn’t come unless they came to destroy. The people’s faith in him would wither, blaming him for a broken treaty.

“And you are the father of my betrothed.” The words scraped from my dry throat, my pulse hammering against my ribs. Saying it didn’t quell the blaze rolling through me. I swallowed, and propped a hand on my hip as I studied him.

His snug overcoat buttoned over a pristine white tunic. The neckline had loosened, the fabric tugged as though he’d yanked at it to breathe. The gold chains of his mantle glinted in the starlight, draped over his broad chest. His arms remained crossed, but the strain on the seams of his sleeves told a different story, as if the tension in his muscles threatened to burst through.

The coat narrowed at his trim waist, hinting at the power concealed beneath. A dark leather belt, fastened with a gleaming gold buckle, rested against black trousers tailored to perfection. The fabric hugged his thighs, muscular and solid, commanding my gaze until I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from staring too long.

Those thighs alone could ruin me.

Dark boots wrapped his calves, buckles gleaming. Even here in the palace, where fashion dictated concealment, he tucked his pants into his boots like a soldier—unyielding, vigilant.

My gaze traveled upward, absorbing every detail as if I were committing a masterpiece to memory. When my eyes met his face again, his hand shifted, thumb hooking into his belt with an easy confidence that sent a flush crawling up my neck.

“Like what you see?” he asked, voice husky and low.

I’d seen handsome men before, from the polished nobles with their aristocratic features to the unyielding strength of the Spire’s warriors. Yet Kallias eclipsed them all—a league of his own.

His glacier-blue eyes held mine, a storm of restraint and yearning. I had to leave. To stay any longer would push us both to the edge. He was far too disciplined to act on his desires. A king couldn’t always have what he coveted.

“I don’t just like it,” I breathed, not daring myself to raise my voice. “I burn for it.”

His breath hitched, sharp and audible, as if I struck him. The fire in his eyes flared brighter.

Then I ran.

Like a child fleeing from ridicule or punishment, I fled into the palace. I didn’t look back, refused to meet his searing gaze again. Greaves stood sentinel near the door, an immovable shadow as I swept past him and down the stairs. The quiet corridors offered no solace, only the soft echo of my steps as I jogged, my heartbeat a frantic drumbeat in my ears.

I was no lovesick girl. I was a grown woman who’d said too much. Yet it wasn’t just my mistake—his words fanned the flames too.

But his truth lingered, haunting me. I can’t have what I want.

He wanted me. The thought stopped me cold in the middle of the hall. My lips curved into a smile before I could stop them, a giddy laugh slipping free. He desired me—truly. The thrill of it sent a spark through my veins, leaving me breathless.

Then it hit me—I’d left my boots behind. The absurdity of it broke whatever tension clung to me, and I chuckled, soft and incredulous. Barefoot, I padded toward my room, the cool stone floors grounding me as I held my secret close to my heart.