Page 18 of Between Flames and Deceit (Dragon’s Heart Duology #1)

Chapter Seventeen

Nienna

I could not sleep.

No matter how I twisted beneath the blankets, my thoughts spiraled back to Kallias—the feel of his calloused fingers brushing my wrist, the shiver that followed. I tried to focus on Fyrn and her visit tomorrow, or the looming misery of a life bound to Tallon. Even Egath crept into my mind, with schemes forming on how I could show him I wasn’t to be trifled with.

But none of it held. My thoughts circled back to the moment on the roof—Kallias’ arms locking around me when he feared I might fall. I could still feel the solid strength of him pressed close, the warmth radiating from his body. His scent lingered in my memory, rich with spice and the faintest trace of woodsmoke.

A groan tore from my throat as I buried my face in a pillow, muffling a silent scream.

Why couldn’t I stop thinking about him? Why couldn’t I just sleep?

At the foot of my bed, Edith’s small breaths filled the quiet, soft and rhythmic. She didn’t snore, a minor blessing, but her even exhalations told me she slept deeply enough not to notice me—if I stayed silent.

My chest burned with frustration, then I tossed the pillow aside and slid out of bed. The night’s chill sank into my skin. My slippers waited nearby, their soft lining a welcome warmth against the cold floor. I slipped them on, wincing at every creak of the wooden boards.

Was it still night, or had morning crept closer? I couldn’t tell .

A glance at Edith, undisturbed, solidified my resolve. I didn’t want to wake her. If she caught me, she’d insist on a tonic as dreadful as that bitter bean tea Kallias gave me earlier. I shuddered at the thought.

After I found my thin blue cape draped over my chair, I fastened it over my nightdress. The fabric whispered as it settled over my shoulders, offering little protection against the icy air. But it would have to do.

The palace was a labyrinth I didn’t know well enough to navigate without risk of encountering servants, but the nobles would be asleep by now. Most of the staff working at this hour would stick to tasks out of sight. If I was careful, I could avoid anyone while I wandered.

I spared only a fleeting glance at the hidden passage behind the dresser before turning to the narrow door in my dressing room. It was the servants’ current route, and as the hinges swung open without a creak, I had to admit it was a convenient improvement.

A single lantern sputtered in its bracket, casting uneven light that flickered over the narrow walls. I hesitated at the threshold, biting my lip. Scythe would have loved this—she’d have taken the hidden passageways simply for adventure’s sake. I only needed to stretch my legs and quiet my mind.

After a steadying breath, I stepped into the cramped corridor and eased the door shut behind me. The soft click didn’t carry, and Edith did not stir. With a smile, I moved, the thin soles of my slippers making no sound on the smooth floor.

The walls pressed close, brushing my shoulders, and the ceiling hung low enough to make me stoop. The confined space clawed at my nerves, but I reminded myself that the servants walked these halls every day without complaint. If they could manage, so could I.

At first, my steps were tentative, passing intersections shrouded in shadows. I needed to slip past the guards stationed near my chambers before venturing into the main corridors, where the space felt less suffocating. My breath hitched as a faint sound reached me—a soft scrape, or perhaps just my imagination. I froze, tilting my head to listen, then continued when silence enveloped me again.

The farther I moved, the more the confinement gnawed at me. These corridors were clean. No scurrying mice or even a stray cobweb broke the stillness. When I judged I was far enough from my rooms—and those perpetually alert guards—I angled toward the main hall.

When I reached a small door, I pressed my palm to its worn wood and inched it open. Light spilled through the gap, stark and blinding after my time in the dim passage. The mirrored lanterns cast harsh reflections, illuminating every detail. I squinted as I peeked out, my gaze roaming over the ornate decor—polished floors, trailing plants, and paintings that lined the walls .

My attention caught on a vivid depiction of a woman sipping tea in a lush garden. The deep greens of the foliage and the striking red of the flowers felt familiar and I tried to place them. I clutched my cloak tighter and slipped out, easing the door shut.

My heart thudded against my ribs, its frantic rhythm spurred by the thrill of solitude. No guards shadowed my steps, no Greaves watching over me and Kallias. It was just me, alone in the quiet halls. I bit down on a smile, willing my breath to even out. Every sound mattered now—I needed to listen for footsteps, to hide if necessary.

Heat crept into my cheeks as I ignored the state of my attire. Scythe, of course, would’ve helped me dress without a word. Edith would have woken with a start, summoned an entire escort, and glared at me all the way to the garden.

My fingertips brushed the vines snaking up the walls, their paths guided by artful hooks. One plant held my gaze—a sprawling specimen with variegated leaves striped in green, white, and faint pink. The delicate patterns reminded me of Veridis’ temple. I snorted at the absurdity of it—pink leaves.

The palace glowed with serene warmth, its rich hues and vibrant greenery exuding life. A gilded frame caught my attention, cradling a painting of a fair-haired boy darting through a sunlit forest. A stag lingered in the background, its gaze protective, while a rabbit peeked from behind a tree. I leaned closer, letting out a breathless laugh at the rabbit’s scrunched nose. The artist even captured its amusement as perfectly as the boy’s joy.

Something thudded, and the spell of peace shattered. I spun, heart jolting, as a hushed voice followed the noise.

Sea beneath! I snatched a fistful of my nightdress and sprinted down the corridor. My feet barely touched the polished floor as I wove through the halls, each turn a desperate attempt to lose whoever—or whatever—was behind me. My lungs burned, ears straining for any hint of pursuit.

I rounded another corner—and collided with a solid form.

A startled yelp escaped me as I grabbed for the man’s tunic to steady myself. He staggered but righted us, his hands firm on my elbows. The faint scent of warm spices filled the air, reaching me before I dared glance up. My face ignited with embarrassment, a blush burning hot under my skin.

“Should I call for the guards?” Kallias asked, the question a deep rumble. His gaze pinned me as I struggled to find words. “Or are you running from them again?”

A nervous laugh tumbled out as I winced. “I think it was a servant this time.”

His hair was disheveled and his tunic—deep green and half-laced—revealed the shallow curve of his chest.

Before I could dwell on his state of dress too long, a soft curse sounded from down the hall. Kallias turned, his hand sliding to the small of my back.

His eyes locked with mine, alight with a mischievous glint. “Care for a walk?”

“Why else would I be out here?” I countered, my own smile teasing.

Without another word, he guided me forward. The heat of his palm burned through my cape, a phantom warmth that spread to my skin. My heart thundered—not just from the adventure, but from the sensation his simple touch aroused.

The palace’s labyrinthine corridors posed no challenge to him. Kallias moved with purpose, his confidence in every step evident as he led me deeper. Each turn came with a light press of his fingers against my arm, an effortless command I couldn’t ignore. A quiet laugh slipped from me as his pace quickened, the thrill infectious.

“Who are you running from?” I whispered, tilting my head to steal a glance at him.

His face seemed almost alive with boyish energy. Blue eyes glittered with amusement, and his rare, unguarded smile carved warmth into his features. “Greaves.”

I couldn’t help but snicker. Whatever plan he’d crafted to avoid his ever-present shadow had worked. At the end of another passage, he shoved a door open and nudged me inside. The room swallowed me in darkness, the only light spilling in from the hall.

“One moment.” His tone was soft, unhurried, though his movements were swift. He found a lantern on a nearby table, his hands deft as he struck a flame. The warm glow illuminated his features, then he leaned against the door, pushing it shut with a quiet click.

“He would’ve noticed the…” His voice faltered, words dying mid-sentence as his gaze swept over me.

I froze, clutching the edges of my cape tighter. The blue fabric hid what the thin white silk beneath did not. His expression shifted, the playful warmth replaced by something darker. The wrinkle between his brows deepened as if he only now realized the precarious intimacy of the moment.

Silence settled between us, heavy and awkward. My cheeks burned under his scrutiny, and I turned, focusing on the room he’d chosen for our escape.

Books lined the walls from floor to ceiling, their spines a rainbow of muted tones in the lantern’s glow. Shadows pooled in the corners, adding a mysterious air to the space. A small sofa sat at the room’s center flanked by modest tables, its fabric worn with use.

I kept my gaze on the shelves, my fingers skimming the edge of a table as Kallias approached me. Anything to hold my attention away from him.

His low murmur broke the stillness, “I should’ve warned you—”

Warn me? Of the dangers of slipping into a darkened room with a man who haunted my dreams ?

“—the kahve might keep you up,” he continued, stepping closer.

His tone softened, but the tension in his frame remained. I forced myself to meet his eyes, though the guarded expression there stung. The light-hearted man from the halls had vanished, replaced by someone measured, his feelings hidden behind a mask I longed to tear away.

“What do you do when it keeps you awake?” I asked, the question barely audible as I clutched my cape tighter, the fabric creasing beneath my fingers.

Kallias studied my face, his gaze lingering. When he cleared his throat, he gestured to the shelves. “I read. It quiets my mind. Care to join me?”

The thought of reading beside him felt anything but calming. Yet my head betrayed me, nodding in agreement.

“Choose whatever catches your eye,” he said, moving past me to pick up a book from a nearby table. He lowered himself onto the sofa, the cushions shifting under his weight. “This is the northern library. Most of these are about legends or history—dry enough to put even the restless to sleep.” He crossed an ankle over his knee, then opened the tome to a page marked by a delicate black feather.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and turned toward the shelves. Anything would be better than thinking about my sheer nightdress or the magnetic pull of his presence.

The books bore worn spines, their titles embossed in fading gold. They smelled of leather and ink, a comforting combination. How many of these had he read? How many sleepless nights brought him here to find solace in their pages?

I skimmed the rows. ‘History of the Aenor.’ ‘History of the Agolaths.’ Apostos. Azarat . The titles blurred into monotony. Skipping a few shelves, I crouched to scan another section, the flickering lantern light casting long shadows across the bindings.

‘Tale of Isa and Vane.’ ‘Tales from the Crater of Gods.’ My fingers paused on the latter, its dark cover inviting in a way the others hadn’t. “The crater?” I called out, pulling it free.

Kallias didn’t look up. “A meteor struck the northern lands long ago. The area’s… unique. Life there flourishes in strange ways—enough to inspire stories of mammoths and other curiosities.”

I cradled the book, flipping it open as I wandered to the sofa. “The tales within these pages have been recorded from firsthand accounts and verified by multiple sources,” I read aloud, settling on the farthest edge of the cushion. Its plush fabric enveloped me as I perched, unwilling to relax too much.

“Keep your wits about you with that one,” he said, throwing an arm over the backrest .

I kicked off my slippers, tucked a leg beneath me, and stretched the other in his direction. He glanced at it, then swallowed before his attention returned to his book.

That’s when I noticed. He looked… different. His usual mantle, adorned with golden chains and gleaming pauldrons, was absent. Instead, a simple dark green tunic embroidered with gold thread softened his appearance. Black trousers tucked into polished boots gleamed in the lantern light.

For once, he wasn’t the king of Radaan. He was just Kallias.

I adjusted my cape over my lap, then stared down at the open book in my hands. Draconia held its own myths of merfolk, sea serpents—entire worlds beneath the surface. What mysteries would a crater offer?

I read the same paragraph over and over, unable to absorb a single word. After a few moments, I flipped the page to keep up appearances, then stole another glance at him. He tilted his head at something in his book, his lips pressing into a thoughtful line. His finger traced the page’s edge before he turned it, the subtle movement drawing my attention. My heart thudded in my chest, heat rising to my cheeks. I skipped to another page.

“You’re a quick reader,” he said without looking up.

I peered over the rim of my book, hiding behind it like a shield. “It’s interesting,” I blurted, my response tumbling out too fast.

He smirked at his own book. “As the first three pages describing the levels of stone are. What’s the third level again? Quartz?”

My teeth grazed my lip, my cheeks burning as I scoured the inked words for anything resembling an answer, but the letters swam. Glancing back up at him, he flashed a knowing smile and his brow raised in challenge. I clenched the tome tighter.

Caught. Again.

“Perhaps this isn’t the right book for me,” I muttered, snapping it shut. My fingers curled over the cover, as if holding it too tightly would betray my nerves.

“If the garden paths are more to your liking, I’m sure Greaves–”

“No!” The word burst out before I could temper it. Heat climbed up my neck as I bit my lip, wishing I could snatch it back. “I mean… no. I’d rather stay here.”

The mantle was gone tonight. No crown, no weight of the throne. Just Kallias. And I didn’t want to lose that.

His dark brow arched as he shifted, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward. His book now rested forgotten on his knee. “Surely you’re not nervous.”

A laugh caught in my throat, dry and unconvincing. Butterflies stirred low in my stomach, their wings igniting flames that raced through my veins. A vivid, shameful image of myself straddling his lap seared my thoughts, leaving my cheeks unbearably red. “Not at all,” I croaked .

His chuckle was deep, rich, and far too knowing. I shifted my feet, but before I could tuck my foot beneath me, he snagged it. My breath hitched as his fingers wrapped around my ankle, warm and rough from countless battles. He didn’t tug, but the unspoken command was there. I relaxed into his hold, and he pulled it into his lap with deliberate care, settling my heel against his thigh.

His gaze locked on mine, unwavering, a challenge burning in his eyes. My pulse thundered as his palm slid up, slow and unhurried, trailing heat along my calf. The motion was infuriatingly steady, each inch of contact unraveling my composure. A whisper in the depths of my mind told me I should protest, wrench my leg away, but the truth sat heavy between us—I wouldn’t.

I couldn’t.

It was just my ankle for the love of the sea.

His hand stopped beneath my knee, fingers cradling the back of my calf. The room felt charged, the air electric—and I reveled in it. His breaths came quicker now, his lips parting as his focus narrowed. That gaze—blistering, unguarded—pinned me in place.

My heart slammed, warring between right and wrong. I should stop this, shove his hand away, create the distance that decency demanded. But instead, I shifted, sliding my foot a fraction deeper into his lap. His jaw twitched, and the slight clench of his fingers warned me not to push further.

Good. Let me unnerve him.

I raised my book again, burying my nose in its pages. Pretend. I could pretend we were two strangers sharing quiet moments in the dim light. Pretend the heat pooling in my core wasn’t because of him.

The words blurred before my eyes, swimming in meaningless swirls. Still, I turned pages at a steady pace, faking interest in tedious descriptions of stone layers and crater flora. Kallias hadn’t been wrong about the dry content—it did little to distract me. Especially with his thumb stroking along my skin, a lazy, maddening rhythm that made focus impossible.

My eyes darted toward him over the book’s edge. His own expression betrayed nothing but concentration, brow furrowed as he absorbed whatever legend or history that had captured him. The gold embroidery of his tunic caught the lamplight, the deep green softening his sharp features. His silver-threaded hair, slightly mussed, lent him an air of ease. Dignified. Put-together.

Like he knew how to handle a woman.

He flipped a page, his long fingers precise and deliberate, and then his gaze found mine.

The intensity there stole the breath from my lungs. His thumb stilled on my leg, a silent acknowledgment that we’d crossed some invisible line. Neither of us spoke. Neither of us moved. His eyes searched, daring me, waiting for me to decide.

I shifted my foot again, brushing the edge of his belt buckle. His hand rose with the motion, stopping beneath the bend of my knee. His grip tightened. Not harsh, but firm enough to let me feel his restraint. The charged silence thickened, words unnecessary as his thumb resumed its agonizingly slow sweep.

“Nienna.”

The way he spoke my name terrified me. It wasn’t just a word—He rasped it like a starving man. My name was a command to stop, a desperate plea for more. It was a prayer to his god for mercy. Hunger roughened his voice, fraying its edges like an unraveling thread.

I tore my leg from his grasp and scrambled to my feet. My heart pounded against my ribs as I fumbled to shelve the book, my fingers trembling so violently I almost dropped it. Blood roared in my ears, drowning out all sound until his hand landed on the shelf beside me. The warmth of his presence radiated against my back, crumbling the last remnants of my composure.

“Was it not to your liking?” His breath skimmed the nape of my neck, coaxing a shiver down my spine.

My fingers grazed the spines of books without focus, pretending to search. My grip faltered as I clutched one, its title a blur. “I… couldn’t give it the attention it deserved.”

“And what has you so distracted?” His voice dropped lower, a coaxing murmur that slid beneath my skin.

Every sensible instinct screamed at me to flee, to demand distance, to uphold decorum. But duty had shackled me all my life—telling me how to act, what to wear, even how to breathe. For once, I wanted to choose for myself.

I spun, pressing my back against the shelves. My cape fell open, revealing the thin fabric of my nightdress beneath. His gaze roved over me, tracing every curve with a precision that stole my breath. His eyes followed the dart of my tongue as I wet my dry lips.

My breaths hitched, shallow and unsteady. The corner of his eye twitched once—twice.

For the first time, I reached for what I wanted. My trembling hands gripped his tunic and tugged. The strength in his posture wavered as he leaned closer.

“Please,” I whispered. My fingers slid to his belt, clutching the leather like a lifeline.

“Please what?” He closed the distance by a fraction, his arm trembling with restraint, the tension crackling between us like a storm about to break.

“You know.” My voice shook, an accusation heavy with longing.

Heat rolled off him in waves, his need a palpable force. “Say it.”

His command was a blade, cutting through every ounce of hesitation I had left. This was Kallias, not some boy or mere noble. He wanted me to ask this of him. He needed to protect me, provide for me.

And I would let him.

Just once.

“Kiss me.”

The dam broke. His lips crashed to mine with a growl, his restraint snapping like a brittle twig. The shelf rattled beneath the force, books tumbling around us. His hand cupped my chin, tilting my face up as his mouth claimed mine. Sensation blazed through me—a wild, electric fire that consumed every coherent thought.

I moaned against him, my fingers twisting in his tunic as his tongue traced the seam of my lips. When I opened to him, he deepened the kiss, plunging into me with slow, deliberate intent. A heady mix of spice and heat flooded my senses. My knees buckled, but his arm at my waist held me firm.

One hand slid down to my thigh, lifting it to hook around his hip. He pressed into me, his solid frame anchoring me as more books clattered. The pressure of his leg between mine sparked something primal, and I moved against him, desperate for more. His groan vibrated through my chest, igniting a reckless need that left me gasping.

“Don’t you dare stop,” I snarled, tugging him back when he pulled away.

He chuckled against my mouth, his kiss slowing, steadying me even as my pulse hammered. With a swift motion, he grasped my thighs and hoisted me up, pinning me against the shelves. I hissed at the pleasure of him pressed against me, and threw back my head, knocking books askew and to the ground. His lips moved to my neck and I threaded my fingers through his hair, moaning against the kisses he trailed down my skin, tugging him closer.

The library door flung open.

I gasped. Kallias froze, his hands tightening around my legs as his head whipped toward the intruder. Shame burned through me as he lowered me to the floor.

Greaves stood in the doorway, closing it behind him with measured precision. His expression remained impassive, though his gaze flicked between us. He stepped aside to stand at the door, boot propped against the base to keep it from opening. With a rigid set to his posture, his hand rested on the pommel of his sword. He said nothing, only turned his attention to the far wall, ignoring us.

I had been caught in the act—kissing the king of Radaan, not the prince. Heat clawed up my throat, and my stomach twisted into a violent knot. My hands trembled uncontrollably, my legs unsteady beneath me. If Greaves spoke of this—if word spread of what I had done—the alliance would crumble. I’d be branded a disgrace, sent back home to rot in shame. Marriage prospects would vanish, leaving me to wither away in a locked tower of regret and isolation.

Kallias’ fingers brushed against my temple, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His palm cupped my cheek, the faint tremor in his touch betraying the composure on his face. Tears blurred the world, but I could still see the tight line of his jaw, the frustration hardening his features. Without a word, he turned, each step deliberate and heavy with unspoken meaning. He reached the door, yanked it open, and strode into the hallway. The echo of his retreating footsteps filled the silence.

Greaves hesitated. His unreadable gaze flicked to mine, offering a subtle shake of his head before he followed the king, his boots clicking softly on the floorboards.

The door thudded shut.

I stood amidst the chaos—books scattered like broken promises—and wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold together the pieces of my unraveling world. My knees gave out, and I sank to the floor, the hard edges of fallen tomes pressing into my thighs.

What had I done?

My lips still tingled, a bittersweet ache.

My first real kiss, and I’d given it to the wrong man. Again.