Page 20 of Between Flames and Deceit (Dragon’s Heart Duology #1)

Chapter Nineteen

Nienna

I couldn’t endure another moment. Kallias sat so near, his presence tangible, yet a chasm stretched between us. The unspoken confessions simmering within me—questions I longed to voice—clawed at my resolve. Egath’s silent proximity only sharpened the edge of my discomfort. A phantom stirring curled through my body, a sensation foreign and unsettling. I didn’t know enough about the Velli to determine if it was imagined or if Egath, tearing into his steak with disinterest, was the source.

Either way, I was done.

“I beg your leave, Your Majesty,” I murmured, pushing to my feet.

Kallias rose as well, setting off a ripple of movement through the hall as every guest followed suit. His calm, steady gaze held mine, and I froze under its weight.

“It’s been a long day,” he said, his voice smooth and deliberate. “I will retire as well.”

Lowering my head, I stepped aside, hiding my turmoil. Before I could round the table, Kallias excused himself from his companion and extended his elbow.

The gesture was perfectly proper, nothing unusual. I swallowed hard, laying my palm on his arm, fighting to steady my breath. This wasn’t improper. It was customary for him to escort me in place of Tallon. Yet Egath’s sharp, lingering gaze burned where my hand rested. His smirk hinted at knowledge I preferred he didn’t possess.

Kallias led me out, and the impact of every stare pressed against my back. My pulse raced to a breakneck speed, drowning out the murmurs of the room.

Calm. This was normal. Acceptable .

The moment we cleared the dining hall, my fingers twitched, itching to pull away. The memory of last night blazed hot, leaving a pile of humiliated ashes in its wake. He hadn’t spoken to me since, aside from dinner. I knew why.

It was a mistake.

I initiated it, and he might have welcomed it, but I should have shown restraint. His arm beneath my hand radiated warmth, his closeness smothering. I wanted to tear away, lock myself in my room, and bury the shame.

But he turned, guiding me down a different corridor. Confusion prickled, and I glanced around, recognizing the path but puzzled by his choice. Why wasn’t he taking me to my quarters?

Unless he didn’t see it as a mistake.

A cursed flicker of hope kindled in my chest, and though I tried to extinguish it, my denial only fanned the flame.

He hadn’t spoken—was it restraint or hesitation? Was he leading me to privacy, where words weren’t necessary, where actions might resume what we’d begun?

Greaves followed at a measured pace, dismissing the guards who attempted to fall in line. His presence was deliberate, his loyalty assured. Had Kallias sworn him to secrecy, making him an accomplice in this unspoken arrangement?

The air thickened with the warm scent of cinnamon and cloves. Servants bustled past, bowing as they carried trays and supplies. Overgrown vines spilled from planters along the walls, their leaves twisting toward the glittering sandstone that reflected a soft golden light. Towers of greenery filled massive pots, and the entire hall exuded a rare, lived-in warmth, far from the cold grandeur of the noble courts.

The spice in the air deepened as we approached a door propped open. Servants flowed in and out with ease, greeting Kallias with familiarity. His replies were warm, his voice low and genuine, each word carrying a quiet reverence for his people. He knew them.

He was a good king.

I would ruin him.

The thought tightened my throat, splitting my emotions. Horror at the damage I could cause tangled with a giddy thrill. He was everything a ruler should be—honest, moral, beloved. Yet I tempted him. My presence alone had the power to erode his perfection, to stain his legacy.

The idea left me breathless.

Kallias rounded the corner, stepping into a room heavy with heat and moisture. My grin widened as my gaze landed on the snug kitchen carved into the wall. It was tiny—smaller than my dressing room—but alive with activity. Steam curled from several pots bubbling on a modest stove, the humid air thick with the mingling scents of simmering spices .

A wiry man in a stained apron turned from a towering spice rack crammed with jars of powders, pastes, and seeds. Herbs dangled from the ceiling, their leaves wilting in the oppressive humidity.

“Your Majesty!” The cook bowed, his bald head gleaming with perspiration. When he straightened, his eyes widened, landing on me. “And Your Highness!”

Kallias chuckled, a sound low and rich. “The usual.”

“Of course!” the man chirped, darting around the cramped kitchen. His movements were quick but practiced, and I couldn’t suppress a laugh as he rummaged through a cabinet, producing two simple gold mugs—ones I’d grown accustomed to.

Kallias gestured toward him. “Nienna, meet Igor, the man responsible for our cider.”

“It’s delicious. Thank you.”

Igor’s face lit up, and he bowed again. “It is my honor! ” With a flourish, he ladled deep amber liquid into the mugs, his focus absolute. He handed them to Kallias, who offered one to me.

I wrapped both hands around the metal, the warmth seeping into my chilled fingers. The steam carried a medley of spices—cinnamon, clove, and the faintest hint of apple. I brought it closer, inhaling deeply, the fragrant vapors curling through my chest like a slow, gentle fire.

Or maybe the heat came from Kallias, standing so near and thoughtful enough to bring me here.

“Thank you, Igor.” He nodded toward the cook and backed out of the room.

I followed, the cup clutched close, more for the butterflies it shielded than the warmth it offered.

As we moved farther from the kitchen, the corridors emptied, the clatter of staff fading behind us. Recognition stirred as I realized the path led to the balcony.

“I almost feel bad Greaves doesn’t get any,” I murmured as the spiral staircase came into view.

Without hesitation, he held out his mug to the man, who accepted it with a raised brow, swirling the liquid before taking a cautious sip. He grunted, pursed his lips, and took another, slower this time.

“I hope you burn yourself,” Kallias muttered, though the corner of his mouth tugged upward. Greaves’ only response was the faintest lift beneath his tidy, trimmed beard, the tiniest hint of a smile.

His bodyguard was calm, reserved, but Kallias burned in contrast. His heat wasn’t confined to his temper or demeanor—it radiated through him, through every glance and movement. Though he wore a reserved mask, cool and deliberate, I could feel the wildfire just beneath, waiting to ignite.

“Why the frogs?” I asked as we stepped onto the winding staircase .

Kallias glanced at the carved tadpoles underfoot, his brows knitting together. “Deep in the Untamed Valley—some call it the Valley Beneath—there are sprawling bogs to the northwest. Miserable terrain. My mother hated the place and refused to visit. She said it stank, suffocated with heat, and demanded gills just to breathe. My father, though, saw beauty in all of Radaan. He commissioned a craftsman to capture the life thriving there.”

My gaze followed the intricate details: lily pads resting on the steps, delicate flowers sprouting along the rails. “And did she change her mind after seeing this?”

“She did,” Kallias said, tapping the carved shape of a flying insect on the support beam. His lip curled. “She insisted these be added—bugs the size of your palm that swarm and leave you scratching for days.”

I recoiled with a cringe. That would ruin the charm.

His faint smile flickered and then faded as we reached the landing. His expression turned solemn as he opened the balcony door and stepped aside. With a bow, he gestured for me to pass. Warmth crept into my cheeks, my stomach twisting as I did so.

“Wait here.”

From the corner of my eye, I caught Greaves throwing Kallias a sharp glare, but the king didn’t acknowledge him. Instead, he shut the door in his face. When he turned to me, his expression shifted, the subtle hardness of the king’s mask slipping.

The balcony was his refuge, where the pressure of his status lightened just enough to let me glimpse the man beneath. Here, he could be Kallias, not only the ruler of Radaan. Beyond this space, he could never separate himself from the mantle of kingship.

The cider tempted me, and I nursed the spiced drink as I wandered toward the stone balustrade, gazing out at the expanse. The sun had long since melted against the earth, streaking the horizon with the fading purples and deep indigos of dusk. Daylight hours were shortening. I'd heard of ‘snow’—frozen flakes that fell from the sky in the depth of winter—and wondered if I’d ever witness such a thing.

Kallias leaned against the wall beside me, releasing a quiet sigh. The sound stirred something in me, my pulse quickening. I kept my focus on the distant fields, where a farmer, no more than a speck, led a horse along a narrow road.

“Nienna–”

“I don’t usually see farmers out this late,” I interrupted, unwilling to broach any topic he addressed with that grave tone.

“The second alfalfa harvest is underway,” he said. “Farmers work long hours this time of year. That horse is limping, though. That’s why he’s running late. ”

I squinted at the faint figure, trying to make out the supposed limp. “How can you see that far?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he tried again. “Last night–”

“Do you think it’ll snow this winter?”

He straightened, the tension in his frame palpable. “Nienna.”

My chest tightened, pulse pounding in my ears as I met his gaze. His lips pressed into a hard line, and a deep crease carved itself between his brows. Dread flooded me with his pained expression, drowning the fragile hope I’d clung to.

“I’m sorry,” I blurted, desperate to stop whatever words hovered on his tongue. “I shouldn’t have…” The sentence withered before it formed, shame choking me into silence.

His attention roved over my face, lingering for a moment, as though searching for something unspoken. His hand rose, hesitated, then fell back to his side. “You are not responsible for what happened last night.”

I gripped the mug, its warmth the only anchor against the tremor threatening to give me away. “If I remember correctly… I asked for it.”

A flicker of pain flashed in his expression, smothered as quickly as it appeared. A small flinch, as if my words struck harder than any blade.

“And the responsibility falls on me.” His hand found the hilt of his sword, fingers tightening, but he held my gaze. “I shouldn’t have let it happen. I should have had more restraint. You deserve an apology—”

My heart stumbled over itself. “There’s no reason to–”

“—and a promise.” His brows furrowed into a grim line. “It won’t happen again. I’ll make sure of it.”

The words shattered something inside me. My breath caught, the ache twisting deeper with every beat of silence.

A mistake. That’s what I was.

“Greaves remains loyal to me,” he continued, his voice colder now, each word another stone on the wall between us. “Word will not come from me or him concerning the matter.” His mask slipped into place, locking me out.

I wanted to believe it shielded me from his true feelings, but the sting of accusation couldn’t be ignored.

He wouldn’t tell. Would I?

“I haven’t told anyone,” I murmured, though my stomach churned with his unspoken distrust. He thought I might. He believed I’d betray this secret—that I might trade it like coin, gossip for sport—when my reputation was at stake.

The cider soured in my mouth, its sweetness turned sharp and acidic.

He exhaled, his shoulders easing, and the sight sent heat rushing to my cheeks. Relief—his relief—only enraged me. How dare he only care for his crown’s untarnished shine?

The insult burned hotter than my shame .

I placed the mug on the wall with deliberate calm. His gaze flicked to it, then back to me, wariness shadowing his features.

“I wouldn’t whisper secrets that could send me to Draconia with my purity in question,” I said, my voice as cold as the night air biting at my cheeks. The venom spilled freely now, my treacherous tears brimming but unshed. “I am not yours, Kallias. And you are not mine. Perhaps we should keep our distance to remember that.”

Each word lanced through the fragile thread between us, severing it with precision. I refused to waver, even as my vision blurred, even as my heart fractured beneath the weight of unspoken truths.

A muscle jumped in his jaw as his teeth ground together. “I agree. You’re bound to my son, and he deserves an unsullied wife.”

My lip curled in a snarl, and my fingers twitched with the urge to strike him. How dare he say Tallon deserved anything! That snake deserved to rot in the bog.

Pain knifed through my stomach as I turned and stormed toward the door. I refused to be treated like a mistake—a stain. His apology and acceptance of blame meant nothing when the kiss still burned in my mind, scalding away every trace of composure. It unraveled me, made me long for something I could never have.

I yanked the door open, the hinges groaning under the force, and Greaves’ keen eyes flicked over my face before shifting toward the balcony.

“He needs you,” I hissed, shoving past him. My boots thudded against the stairs as I descended.

Anger warred with despair in my chest. Why couldn’t Tallon be like Kallias? Why did he have to be the one my heart longed for? There were plenty of men who treated me with respect, some even considered more handsome by conventional standards.

Yet, Kallias saw me. Beyond my title and predetermined duty. He knew I’d never be content to live caged, birthing heirs on command. I imagined Tallon already had a governess hired to whisk my newborn babes away to teach them his ways. The thought poisoned my resolve.

I missed a step, my boot catching on the final one, and stumbled. Hot tears blurred my vision, and I clung to the railing, breathing hard.

I forced myself to stop. To breathe. The last thing I needed was to be seen weeping like a scorned lover in the halls. My grip tightened on the rail, and the cold engraved dragonfly dug into my palm, anchoring me.

This was my duty. My father trusted my honor. My mother had once been a stranger to him, yet their love grew with time. Perhaps I could learn to love another—not the king on the balcony .

The world tilted as a rough hand clamped over my mouth. I thrashed, heels scraping stone, and clawed at the fingers sealing off my scream. As the assailant hauled me to the side, my teeth sank into his finger.

“Whore!”

My breath fled when my back slammed into the wall, his body pinned hard against mine. Grit scraped my skin as Tallon’s furious face came into view, his black hair wild, and his pale cheeks splotched red.

“You couldn’t settle for me, could you?” His sneer twisted his features into something cruel.

I bucked against his hold, slamming my palms into his chest. “Get off me!”

“I bet you didn’t tell him that!”

Teeth bared, I struggled against his weight. Better to face the snake. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I growled.

“How long have you been sneaking around with him? Every night?” He seethed, hatred distorting his features.

My palm cracked across his cheek. His head snapped to the side, and his hand rose as if to return the blow.

“Go on, Tallon.” I snarled, leaning into him. “I dare you.”

He hesitated, then lunged. His fingers gripped my throat—not to choke, but to pin me in place.

Fury boiled in my veins. “You’re risking everything! ”

“I never wanted this marriage,” he spat. Wine soured his breath as he leaned closer. “But my father demanded it. Signed me away to you, and for what? I don’t need your worthless dragons!”

His words hit harder than the hand on my throat. Another rejection, this time delivered with venom.

He sneered. “Perhaps you planned it all along—what does he need me for if he can make another heir?”

“You’re drunk!” I spat.

His fingers tightened with a warning squeeze, and my hands brushed his tunic, shying away from the press of his body. My grasp danced around his belt, searching.

“Perhaps, but I’ve more sense than my rutting father. I don’t need you or him. Radaan is mine, and–”

I flicked my wrist, and the cold steel of his dagger kissed his throat.

“Back off.”

He froze, eyes widening. The point pressed into his skin, and his hold on me slackened.

“A knife doesn’t make you less of a whore,” he hissed, taking a step.

I flipped the blade in my hand, catching it by the hilt. “Careful, boy . Your future wife doesn’t take kindly to insults. ”

His hands trembled at his sides, and his face darkened with barely contained rage. I tilted my head and smirked, pretending his fury amused me.

Then I spun on my heel and strode down the hall.

My grip tightened on the weapon, its hilt biting into my palm. My ears strained for the sound of footsteps, but he didn’t follow.

I forced my expression into something polite, serene. The dagger disappeared into the folds of my dress as I straightened my posture. The facade held firm, but inside, my heart ached, splintered into pieces too jagged to mend.

It was all a play I was locked in. Some drama that I starred in. Promised to a prince who hated me, trusted to marry him by a starving nation. A king that wanted me, but his kingdom’s survival hinged on my union.

This wasn’t a drama.

It was a tragedy.