Page 19 of Between Flames and Deceit (Dragon’s Heart Duology #1)

Chapter Eighteen

Kallias

I was more alert now than when I’d left my quarters, guilt clawing like a jagged hook in my chest. Greaves hurried to keep pace behind me, his boots a faint echo in the corridor. The roof called to me with its cold silence and the promise of solitude, but I pushed the thought aside. Like a wounded animal, I craved the dark comfort of my own space to tend to my wounds.

Pay my penance.

Shame made it hard to keep my head held high. I knew better. I never should’ve brought her to the library. Never should have allowed myself to be alone with her. Why she seemed to be attracted to me, I couldn’t fathom—but Elohios knew how much I wanted her.

She wasn’t mine to want.

I reached my chambers and threw the door open with more force than intended. The loud crack made me wince. I despised losing control. There was nothing worse than leadership that couldn’t control their temper—or desires. A man ruled themselves first, or they ruled nothing at all.

Greaves entered after me, quiet and composed. I yanked my tunic off and tossed it aside before attacking the buckle at my waist. My silence spoke for me—there was no excuse for what I’d done. None that I dared to offer. The clasp resisted, and with a frustrated breath, I stilled my hands and closed my eyes.

At least it had been Greaves who found us. His loyalty was unshakable. He wouldn’t speak of my lapse in judgment. That much I could trust. But did Nienna know that ?

A fresh wave of dread surged through me. Did she think her reputation was ruined? Had I left her to believe the worst?

My eyes snapped open as Greaves poured water into the basin. The water’s soft slosh seemed too loud in the room’s silence. He prepared for me to wash and retire to bed—where I should have been all along—not stealing moments with my son’s future wife in the dead of night.

The buckle finally gave, and I let it hang loose as I sank onto the edge of my bed. My fingers threaded through my hair, but the memory of her touch made my chest tighten. I dragged my hands down my face, pressing them over my mouth as I met Greaves’ pointed glare.

“You realize how old you are?” he asked, tone sharp, arms folded as he leaned against the dresser.

“I haven’t forgotten.”

He grunted, unimpressed, but said no more. I should have had more restraint. I was old enough to know better. It had been nearly twenty years since I’d last lain with a woman, not for lack of offers. A few courtiers had tried their hand, but after Eldeiade… I had no desire to entangle myself in that again. Or so I thought.

I stared at the floor, hands cradling my head. Nienna had to know it was a mistake. A lapse. One no one could ever discover. If she let it slip to her handmaid, and the rumors reached my staff, everything would crumble. Tallon would demand I send her back to Draconia with her reputation in tatters, and risk sending their dragons in righteous revenge. My name—Elohios-blessed—would rot under my own hypocrisy. The nobles would turn. My generals would abandon me. I would fall, undone by my inability to control my desires.

Cold water hit me like a thunderclap. I jerked to my feet, sputtering.

Greaves stood there, empty pitcher in hand. His raised brow and faint shrug offered no apology. “Perhaps now you’ll get some sleep,” he said.

I glared, muttering something about finding a new bodyguard, but peeled off my soaked clothes and donned dry trousers. Greaves took up his post by the door, arms crossed, as though I couldn’t be trusted to stay in my bed.

I climbed under the covers, turning my back to him. My fingers combed through damp hair, smoothing it away from my face, but rest wouldn’t come. My mind circled endlessly, trapped in a storm of guilt and regret.

She wasn’t at the council meeting. The droning nobles argued over flax taxes, but the words slipped past me. My shoulders stiffened beneath Radaan’s mantle, the fabric’s ornate trim biting into my skin. Its heaviness mirrored the guilt coiled deep in my soul, pressing harder today than ever.

No one else knew. Yet every glance in my direction felt like a blade, sharp with unspoken accusation.

Her absence struck like a missing heartbeat. Tallon, however, was present—lounging with Verard’gog, his indifference to governance plain. The place to my right remained empty. His chair. One day, I imagined, he might sit there and actually care about such matters. But today, the thought rang hollow.

At least Nienna understood duty. Though new to Radaan, she had a grasp on the kingdom’s needs and an unflinching loyalty to its people. She’d make a worthy queen.

Her body, soft beneath me, flared in my thoughts. The memory burned—the press of her lips, her quiet moans.

Don’t you dare stop.

A grimace twisted my face. I pinched the bridge of my nose, forcing my focus back to the present. Safer ground for a treacherous mind.

“The tax on wool is far less! And what about the goats Claydon’sol raises? Is he even taxed?”

“The Sols pay their share, as required by law,” I answered, sharper than intended.

“Wool is scarcer and more labor-intensive. You can’t compare them.” Another noble’s protest rippled through the chamber. Their squabbling sent jabbing pulses behind my temples.

Tallon chuckled. My glare snapped to him. He faced Verard, entirely disengaged. The sight stirred an impulse to drag him into the debate, though I knew it would only end in embarrassment—for us both.

Even basic tasks, like preparing for the Velli reception, had proven beyond him. His choice of attire for Nienna was a mockery—but she owned it. He meant to humiliate her, but instead, every eye in the room was drawn to her bold defiance.

Elohios help me, I couldn’t look away. The sheer fabric clung to her, a second skin that left nothing hidden.

Shame pressed harder. I straightened, drawing the room’s attention. “Council’s dismissed.”

Confused murmurs rippled around me, but I didn’t wait for questions. I strode from the chamber, each step heavy with unspoken turmoil. Darius moved to follow, but I waved him off. If I let him, he’d drag me to a healer who would offer nothing but useless remedies.

Tallon watched as I passed, his head tilted in mild curiosity. I never dismissed early—always listened to my people’s concerns, as a king should. His gaze prickled, but I kept moving.

My pauldron slipped, and I stood straighter, righting it. Could nothing go right today?

The corridor loomed quiet, the routine of my day shattered. Normally, I would spar or visit the temple after council sessions. Neither appealed now. Sparring would earn me bruises and Greaves’ wordless disapproval—a lecture delivered through blows.

My steps slowed. Where was Nienna?

Greaves drew even with me. “Are you well?”

“Just a headache,” I muttered, though we both knew better. “Perhaps I’ll send for the healer.”

“You don’t need a healer,” he said. “You need the temple.”

The corner of my eye twitched, but I couldn’t refute him. He was right. My guilt dragged behind me like a shadow, and until I apologized to Nienna, and righted things with my god, there would be no relief.

I exhaled, a pointed signal of my displeasure, before pivoting and heading toward the temple district.

He fell into step behind me without further protest, his silence more valuable than any apology. For all his infuriating habits, Greaves understood his role as well as I did. In public, he knew his place, offering his opinions only when protocol allowed. In private, however, he exercised a certain freedom, though he compensated for it by holding his tongue when it mattered most.

Last night, his disapproval had been palpable, his expression a silent accusation. Yet even in my chambers, he refrained from speaking aloud what we both knew—I made a mistake. He didn’t need to say it. His words, when offered, were rarely soothing, but I relied on him regardless—just as Radaan relied on me.

My son was a problem without a solution. His upbringing bore the weight of my failures. I had exhausted my arsenal of reprimands. Threats of banishment, sparring matches—they were meaningless gestures, like scolding a child for playing too rough. Assigning him to dull diplomatic duties or limiting his wine only underscored the futility. None of it would forge the man Radaan needed him to become.

A dull ache pulsed in the back of my neck, tempting me to rub the tension away, but I resisted. There was no escape from this, no reprieve from the consequences of my choices. This was the hand I had been dealt, and I would see it played through.

At least Radaan had Nienn a

Tallon had Nienna—assuming he didn’t push her to the breaking point and drive her back to Draconia. Yet she had already shown more resilience than that. She didn’t run—she wouldn’t. She loathed him, yes, but she stayed. Not as a lover or equal, but as a general waging a private war. She calculated her moves, wielding every flaw and misstep of his as a weapon.

For now, I would be her shield while she fought her battles against him.

The palace gates gave way to sunlight, and a faint relief loosened the invisible chains binding my shoulders. The warmth of the sun seemed to scrape away the guilty shadows clinging to my thoughts. My jaw, tight moments ago, relaxed as I inhaled the garden’s sweet air.

Startled workers glanced up at my unexpected arrival, their tools stilled. I waved them back to their duties with a small smile. They had work to do, and my presence shouldn’t unsettle them. At least their roles were straightforward, their purpose unclouded by the burden of fractured family ties.

The temple loomed ahead, its arches stark against the morning sky. Two priests glanced my way, then quickly ducked into the shadows of the alcoves. Only Greaves would hear my confessions here, my prayers bleeding into the silence of stone walls. Only he was privy to my sins.

And a certain princess.

Greaves moved to unfasten my yoke, his fingers deft against the heavy clasps. My jaw tightened as I debated whether to kneel before Elohios with the mantle weighing on my shoulders. A man’s desires drove me, but it wasn’t just a man who failed—it was a king. My recklessness jeopardized more than my own reputation. I gambled the fragile peace I fought for and put Radaan’s people at risk.

“Leave it,” I said.

Without hesitation, Greaves began re-securing the clasps. To rise from my knees while bearing the mantle would be awkward, but the struggle felt appropriate. Kingship demanded balance, a sacrifice of personal desires for the greater good.

He stepped back as I approached the altar, leaving the rug behind. Comfort had no place here. The chill in the chamber pressed against my skin, no longer the soothing calm I once knew, but a cold judgment. Elohios’ stone gaze bore down from above, sharp and unyielding, dissecting every corner of my soul.

I compromised a woman.

When I lowered to my knees, I grunted, the mantle pulling at my shoulders.

I betrayed my son.

My head bowed, shame dragging it down as if the act itself might absolve me. A faint breeze stirred the air, icy tendrils snaking around me and biting at my exposed skin .

I risked everything: Radaan’s people, the alliance with Draconia, the very peace I fought to preserve. My selfish actions could have set a war in motion—one we would not survive.

“Forgive me.” My voice wavered in the vast, empty chamber. Injustice seeped into my choices, deceit tainting truths I left unspoken. To rule through lies would unravel everything I built. Other kingdoms thrived on treachery, but Elohios blessed me for my honesty and the justice I upheld.

The breeze stilled. I waited, straining for any sign of forgiveness. None came.

I inhaled, steadying myself, and began another prayer, this one voiceless, meant for no ears but the god’s.

Bolster my strength. Sharpen my resolve. Remind me of my duty. Spare me the temptation she stirs within me. Remind me that she is not mine –

A laugh, light and melodic, broke the silence. Nienna’s. It rippled through the still air, mocking my plea. A second voice joined hers, feminine and cutting, scattering my focus like leaves in a storm.

At least I found her.

Would she have confided in Fyrn’sol? I trusted her instincts and her ability to act with grace, yet no amount of tact could erase what I did. A princess pressed against a bookshelf, kissed as though the world burned around us—it could have been her escape from Tallon.

My breath escaped in a sharp hiss. I didn’t want her tethered to him, left to endure the fate he offered. But there was no alternative. If she left, Radaan would crumble.

Grant me wisdom. My thoughts twisted into a final plea, the words heavy, raw, and unanswered.

The dinner felt as wretched as every other—though tonight, each barbed remark Tallon aimed at Nienna ignited an urge to lash out. My hand curled under the table, nails biting into my palm. The Velli ambassador sat smug and calculating, his very presence a provocation. When he joined in, testing Nienna’s limits, my patience frayed, anger simmering close to boiling over.

To my left, Griar’tal droned on about breeding a new line of horses, his voice an irritating hum against the tension at the table. My focus remained fixed on Nienna, watching for her response to Tallon’s latest volley.

“I would love to travel. I should see the kingdom I will become princess of,” she said, her tone sharp enough to cut. A determined attempt to force an invitation .

Egath chuckled, his jagged teeth glinting. “You’ll be queen one day, my dear. Better to conserve your strength—for heirs.”

My grip tightened on the silverware. I stabbed a potato, the motion deliberate, though it did little to steady me. To Tallon, Nienna was nothing more than a vessel for his ambitions—less than Griar’tal’s prized stallions, a broodmare for his legacy.

“A queen should be as capable as a king, wouldn’t you agree, Your Majesty?” Nienna’s gaze locked with mine, dark and imploring. Her silent plea sliced through the tension—a wordless request for reprieve after enduring an evening of relentless jabs.

I held her stare and inclined my head, my voice measured. “The kingdom’s strength depends on both the king and queen. Take her. Let her out of the Golden Palace.”

The words tasted bitter. The thought of her leaving—especially under Tallon’s care—twisted my gut, but for her sake, I relented.

“If King of the Plentiful Plains suggests it, then you must, Tallon.” Egath’s grin widened as he leaned forward. “I’m well-acquainted with the Craggs. I’d seek permission to accompany you.”

The mention of the mountain range froze me. The Craggs? Now? He never showed interest before, and unease prickled under my skin.

“I will consider your request,” I replied, knowing I wouldn’t. “But I suggest you stay with Claydon’sol while you visit.” The man was no genius, but he would keep Nienna safe.

Tallon faced me, a predatory smile pulling at his lips. “Accidents happen in those mountains, Father. You bear the scars to prove it.”

I eased back, studying him. His words weren’t mere petulance. They carried a darker edge, a warning I wasn’t ready to dismiss—not with Nienna involved.

The princess leaned forward, her posture demure, her expression schooled into the perfect mask. Her smile, restrained yet polite, suited the occasion, but her eyes betrayed her desperation. She wanted this—needed it.

Did she hope to spend more time with her betrothed? Doubtful. Avoid me? Possible. Or did the prospect of freedom beyond the palace walls call to her? Probable.

I forced my attention back to Tallon, the uneasy knot in my chest tightening. His emotions always bled through his facade, much like his mother’s. He was too unguarded, too reckless.

“I’m due for a visit to the Manor in the Mountains,” I said, watching his lip curl in a silent snarl. “We’ll leave in two weeks.”

“Thank you!” Nienna’s voice brimmed with relief, her triumph unmistakable .

Tallon stiffened, his fork plunging into a carrot with a force that sent the vegetable skidding. His gaze flicked to Egath, and the unspoken exchange between them set my nerves alight. What was he plotting? Seeking assurance? A plan?

Without a word, he pushed to his feet and tossed his napkin onto the table. His departure was as abrupt as it was insolent, though he spared the bare minimum courtesy. “I beg my leave.”

His boots thundered against the marble steps, drawing a few glances from visiting nobles. Those unfamiliar with his tantrums watched, wide-eyed. The rest ignored him.

With his chair vacant, my line of sight to Nienna was clear. Her back remained rigid, her composure strained. Egath’s hand brushed hers, and she recoiled, a flicker of discomfort flashing across her face. His murmured apology barely concealed his amusement.

Rage coiled hot and sharp in my veins. I drowned it with a swig of wine, though the desire to challenge the Velli to a duel lingered, gnawing at my restraint.

Whatever Griar’tal had to say, I doubted I would concentrate on any more horses tonight.