Page 21 of Between Flames and Deceit (Dragon’s Heart Duology #1)

Chapter Twenty

Nienna

S cythe’s smile vanished as I crossed the threshold of my chambers, the dagger slipping from my fingers to clatter against the floor. She rose from the chair where she’d been reading, placing the book aside. Her wary gaze swept over me, her composure cracking.

Before the first tear escaped, she pulled me into her arms. Her embrace was firm, anchoring me as my strength collapsed. My knees buckled, and I sagged against her, crushed by everything I couldn’t say.

I hated Tallon. The thought of marrying him made my stomach churn, but my father’s blood oath bound me. My duty demanded it, though my heart rebelled against every thread of that obligation.

“What happened?” Scythe guided me to the sofa in the receiving room, and I let her lead me, too drained to resist.

“It’s all wrong.” Tears choked my words, and I nestled my head into the crook of her neck as her fingers brushed back my hair, her touch gentle but grounding. “I never expected to marry for love—I’ve always known that.”

My knees drew to my chest as I curled into her. “But why—why do I…” My voice fractured into a sob, Kallias’ face flashing in my mind. His promise, his shame, Tallon’s vile accusations—all of it lashed at me like a storm.

“You love him, don’t you?” she whispered. She didn’t name him, but she didn’t need to.

The silence that followed screamed louder than any confession I might’ve given. I couldn’t bring myself to say it, couldn’t manage anything but another broken sob. It would have been easier to hate everyone here, to despise Fyrn, to see Kallias as nothing more than a man on the throne. If only Tallon continued on with his indifference—I could have endured.

But tonight shattered that fragile pretense. His attack revealed a darker truth—the prince would never leave me in peace. My future with him wouldn’t hold even the hope of friendship. It would be a battleground every day—a war waged in silence and rage.

Could I endure that? A lifetime of bitterness and strife?

“Are we going home?” Scythe asked, her voice low, as if fearing the answer.

Home. Draconia. The familiar halls where I might wait for another proposal to tether me to a foreign kingdom—or resign myself to a solitary life without a husband or children.

Kallias rose unbidden into my thoughts. I saw him on the battlefield, his scarred chest bared, blood streaking his sword. A Velli blade pierced him, the steel sinking into his flesh with horrifying finality.

“I despise it here,” I spat, forcing the image from my mind.

The lie tasted bitter, but we both knew it for what it was. I couldn’t hate Reem, not truly. I was growing to care for its people, to appreciate its beauty. Radaan offered food and timber that could rebuild Draconia, strengthen them enough to push deeper into the Wild Shores.

But if I fled, Kallias would die. I knew it like I knew my own heart. Draconia could scrape by through famine. My people would endure, but his—they would pay the price in blood.

“I can’t,” I whispered. Then I wiped the tears from my cheeks and pushed myself upright, steeling my voice. Princesses did not break in their handmaidens’ arms. “I won’t.”

Scythe studied me, her brows knitting together as worry flickered in her gaze.

“I refuse to abandon Radaan and allow them to be ravaged by war.” The words trembled, but the resolve behind them didn’t waver.

The unspoken truth hung heavy between us.

I wouldn’t leave Kallias.

Fyrn’s presence offered a reprieve from thoughts of the king, but even her company circled back to Tallon. It was the safe choice—the obvious one, given I was to marry him. She seemed determined to make it palatable.

“If you’d like, I could show you his sprinter,” she said, her face alight with enthusiasm. “He’s the fastest Radaan has seen in years!”

Horses. Boys and their horses .

“I’d rather hear about your goats.” My sigh escaped as I cradled a rose, its velvet petals cool against my palm.

We wandered through the garden, its perfume weaving through the air, while the noblewomen lingered over tea. The walk had been Fyrn’s idea, her attempt to pacify court murmurs about my nonconformity to Tallon’s hand-picked attire.

“My goats?” She wrinkled her nose. “Surely you don’t mean the Kuh’lir?”

“Tallon plans to take me to your father’s manor in a week. He breeds them, doesn’t he? It seems proper to learn more about them.” I brushed my thumb along the crimson petal and let the rose fall from my grasp.

Goats were safer ground. Anything was safer than Tallon.

“Nienna, are you well?”

Her question snapped my gaze to hers, sharp and searching, as though my secrets might spill across my face.

“I’m fine.”

“You’ve been distant all day.” Her hand clasped mine, firm but gentle, and her brows knit with concern. “If something else weighs on you, or if you’d prefer to rest–”

“No.”

Rest meant returning to my rooms, a gilded cage masquerading as a sanctuary. The entire palace suffocated me. Every hallway echoed with the fear of meeting the king or Tallon.

“What is it?” She lowered her voice, leading me past the colorful tea tables, away from the women exchanging pleasantries. Beneath a low-hanging tree, its leaves gilded with the first touch of autumn, she stopped.

“I see it in your eyes,” she pressed, her mask slipping to reveal unguarded worry. “Something troubles you. It’s about Tallon, isn’t it?”

Him and his father .

“Let me help you,” she added.

No one could fix this. My prison stretched far beyond stone walls and duty-bound corridors.

My resistance crumbled. I sank onto the bench beneath the tree’s shade and dropped my head into my hands. “I’m a princess—I’ll never marry for love.”

Her shoulders softened, and she sat beside me, eyes distant. “No one expects high ladies to,” she murmured, her words weighted by something more personal.

The wistfulness in her tone made me glance up. She wasn’t looking at me but at some unseen thing, beyond the flowers swaying in the breeze.

Her lips twisted into a fragile smile that never touched her eyes. “It’s not in the cards for me, either,” she added.

“You’ve accepted no betrothal,” I said, forming my words with care .

“Not yet. But the one I love—he won’t have me.” Her voice wavered, and unshed tears glimmered in her gaze. “I’m bound for a loveless union, to bear heirs and nothing more, while my heart belongs to another.” She scoffed. “And they say men have it hard.”

Her bitterness mirrored my own.

“I’d hoped I might grow to care for my match,” I admitted, the crack in my tone betraying my composure. My focus fell to my slippers, the grass brushing their edges. “At least enough to be his friend. To prove my worth.”

“He’ll never see mine.” Fyrn’s jaw clenched, her words sharp and brittle. “I’ll play the part, smile when required, but his heart will never belong to me.”

“You can’t imagine how much I understand that.” A grimace pulled at my lips. “I know you’re close to Tallon–”

“Acquaintances. Nothing more.” Her dry chuckle carried a hint of pain, as if she didn’t want to be attached to the man I loathed.

“When I’m forced to marry him, the stress alone might render me barren and send one of us to an early grave.”

Her brows knitted, her worry deepening. “Then leave. Break the betrothal.”

“No.” The weight of duty settled on my shoulders, heavy and suffocating. “For the sake of both kingdoms, I’ll endure. But could it even be called a marriage?”

Fyrn slipped her arms around me, her embrace warm against the coolness of the breeze. “At least you’ll have me. You can always claim you need mountain air, and I shall escape my brood of children to join you.”

“You’d better bring sticky buns,” I murmured into her shoulder, a faint laugh breaking through the ache in my chest.

“Only if you bring the wine,” she teased, nudging me as her giggle mingled with the rustling leaves.

For the first time that day, the cage felt less suffocating. At least someone sympathized, even if they didn’t have all the information.

The afternoon unfolded more smoothly than expected. Sharing burdens with Fyrn—her secret and mine—was like balancing the scales. With that silent understanding between us, the pretense eased. We slipped our masks back on, even if the smiles weren’t genuine.

My return to the noblewomen for tea brought the inevitable talk of the wedding. Murmurs churned like a gathering storm, and I braced for the onslaught. Fyrn must have noticed the tension in my posture because she steered the conversation away from Tallon, redirecting it toward subjects she knew I could tolerate.

“Who should paint the ceremony?” she asked, her bright tone lifting the mood like sunlight breaking through clouds .

Chatter turned to palace artists and their most beloved works, and Fyrn lamented the loss of one particular painter whose masterpiece immortalized a ceremony following the Great Hunt. The mention drew giggles from the younger women, but an older noblewoman from the north silenced them with a sharp look.

“The celebration of life is sanctified by Verdis,” she admonished, her milky-blue eyes locking onto me as though searching for weakness.

I straightened my spine and let my expression settle into practiced reverence.

“Life demands death, and death precedes life,” she intoned, raising her tea cup with a deliberate motion. Her scrutiny burned like a brand on my skin. “Radaan should lose the blessing of the gods if its royals scorn their will. Do not mock the sacred—such irreverence borders on blasphemy.”

“We meant no disrespect, Madam Elain’gog,” one of the younger women murmured, her voice honeyed with deference. “We only recall the… modesty of the painting.”

Elain’s glare could have frozen the tea in her cup. “There is no shame in what the gods have blessed.”

“But imagine the painter asking Princess Nienna and Prince Tallon to disrobe–”

“Enough,” Fyrn cut in, her words slicing like a sword.

The offender flushed crimson, shrinking into her seat, mumbling an apology to her tea.

Elain turned her withering gaze back to me. “A word of wisdom, Princess. You are in Radaan now, where we rise and fall with the gods’ favor. Earn their hand, and your future will be secure.”

Her meaning struck with all the subtlety of a dagger. Radaan’s people demanded devotion from their rulers, their faith woven into their loyalties. A monarch without the divine might rule, but they’d find their throne cold and their allies scarce.

I swallowed hard, the tea bitter on my tongue. Kallias worshiped Elohios, the god of justice and truth. My chest tightened at the thought, guilt gnawing at the edges of my conscience. His devotion to honesty felt like a cruel irony in light of what happened in the library.

Choosing a deity wasn’t a matter of faith—it was survival. If I hoped to save these people, I had to become one of them, even if it meant pledging myself to a god I didn’t believe in.

My gaze drifted to the garden gate, the path beyond it calling to me like a promise of freedom I couldn’t claim. It was a reminder that my life was not my own.

Fyrn suggested I skip the council meeting. I admitted I wanted nothing more—not just to avoid Tallon, but his father, too.

Still, we went. Together, hand in hand, we entered the chamber as a war general took his seat—Darius. I avoided the king’s piercing gaze, offering only a polite bow. Fyrn dipped into a deep curtsy, her grip on my hand tightening as we straightened.

My chest constricted, each heartbeat a hammer’s blow. I stood caught between the man my heart ached for, who wanted nothing of me, and the boy who openly despised me.

I lifted my chin. A future queen wouldn’t cower before discomfort. Steeling myself, I stepped toward the row where Tallon sat, his conversation halting as he glared at me. His gaze crawled down my deep blue dress, his lip curling in disdain.

Egath’s sharp smile greeted me, his jagged teeth a cruel taunt. I braced myself, but the sight of him sent a chill down my spine. Prepared for Tallon’s hatred, I hadn’t accounted for the Velli ambassador’s unsettling presence. My hand tightened around Fyrn’s, seeking her steadiness.

“Greetings, Princess.” Egath rose, his bow shallow and mocking. The prince remained sprawled in his seat, eyes sharp with scrutiny, as though he could peel away my secrets.

“Ambassador,” I replied, the smile on my lips brittle. My teeth clenched as I lowered into my chair.

Tallon shifted, moving his leg further from me with an exaggerated gesture. I forced a sweet grin, but the memory of pressing a blade to his throat simmered beneath it. He underestimated me before. He was foolish enough to do it again.

Egath’s low chuckle slithered like some slick creature as he resumed his seat. I lifted my chin against the unease gnawing at me.

“Welcome, counselors.”

Kallias’ voice shattered my composure. My pulse stuttered as I met his gaze, the crowded room fading to a blur. At least twenty men separated us, yet his eyes made the distance feel like a whisper. His jaw tightened, his expression composed but strained as he dipped his head slightly.

“Welcome, Ambassador. Prince Tallon. Princess Nienna,” Kallias said evenly, though his son let out a thoughtful hum when my name was spoken, drawing attention, “and Lady Fyrn’sol.”

The king turned to the slim, pale man across the table. “Sai’glon, begin with the tensions in the foothills. ”

Sai straightened, his dark hair brushing his shoulders as he shifted, his discomfort obvious. “Yes, Your Majesty. In the Glon district, there have been multiple reports of threats and theft.”

My heart sank. A week ago, I’d written to my father about the mounting unrest, but the whirlstorms would delay any response for weeks.

“Do we have any information about the culprits?” Kallias asked, his tone calm but probing.

Sai hesitated, his lips curling before he masked it with a wince. “The threats originate from Velli traders who approach the boundary. Our people refuse to trade with them.”

“And the thefts?”

“Tracks lead east, through the Pass of Thousands.”

Kallias turned toward Egath, his brow dipping into a controlled frown. “Ambassador, are you aware of these events?”

The Velli rose with deliberate slowness, his lanky frame unfolding as he addressed the room. “I’ve heard no such accusations .” He drew that last word out with venom. “I will investigate, but perhaps if the Radaanians were open to trade, such claims would not arise.”

Sai’s glare burned into the wood, his hands hidden. “He admits it!”

“Peace, Sai’glon,” Kallias said, firm but calm. His hand pressed flat against the table. “My people are free to choose their commerce partners.”

Tallon leaned forward. “The Velli are starving.”

The declaration made me frown—defending their enemy here, before his own council?

“We have more than enough,” he continued. “Send a portion of our tax.”

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the room.

“The tax belongs to Radaan,” Kallias said, his voice sharp as steel, his hand curling into a white-knuckled fist.

Sai’glon’s fury blazed in his eyes, though not for Egath—it burned for Tallon. “You expect us to give our crops to those monsters?” he growled, tone edged with disgust.

Generals leaned back, their faces unreadable but for the glint of curiosity or approval. Noblemen exchanged quiet glances, basking in the anticipation of a fight. Beside me, Tallon’s lips curved into a smirk.

“They are blood crops, boy! ” Sai’glon thundered. “A thousand fell in that pass–”

“ Prince! ” Tallon spat, rising from his seat.

Kallias rose, his fist slamming into the table, silencing the room. “Enough! This council will maintain order.” His glare swept from Sai to his son. “Choose your words with care—or remain silent. ”

“Perhaps wisdom would honor the treaty,” Tallon said, chest puffed with defiance.

Fyrn sucked in a breath, her gaze flickering between them. Egath stood to the side, his sharp eyes dissecting the scene with a precision I found unsettling.

“Radaan upholds the agreement, as does Vellos,” Kallias spoke, each word clipped and deliberate. “As the foreign advisor, you might want to acquaint yourself with your people’s grievances.”

Before Tallon could utter something that could damn him further, I rose, placing a steady hand on his shoulder. “The dragons–”

He recoiled, jerking his arm free as his hand shot toward me. I flinched at the sudden motion, the sound of wood groaning under pressure punctuating the moment. With chin raised, I caught his hateful green gaze and refused to look away. His palm froze mid-air, trembling as rage rippled through him.

The room plunged into silence, the kind so heavy it pressed against the skin. The prince shook with fury, every taut muscle betraying his wrath. I forced a smile, though it felt more like baring my teeth. If he struck me, he’d doom his people—my dragons were their last chance.

Footsteps echoed across the chamber, but I didn’t break from Tallon’s stare. He would yield first. I’d been raised among dragons, not cowards.

A rough hand clamped onto his arm, yanking it down.

“Dare to raise a hand to her again,” Kallias hissed, his voice low and razor-sharp, “and you’ll lose it.”

Tallon struggled against his grip, but he held firm, dragging him closer.

“See yourself out before you start a war,” he growled.

“You’re blinded by her–”

The crack of the king's hand across Tallon’s face was so swift I staggered, colliding with Fyrn behind me. She caught my arm, steadying me as the room pulsed with unspoken fury. The prince froze, his cheek burning red with the imprint of Kallias’ strike.

“Leave. Now,” the king commanded.

Tallon spat a curse, his glare searing into me before he stormed out. Guards trailed after him, their boots thudding in obedient rhythm.

The others remained rigid, their hands clenched and expressions caught between disbelief and indignation. Shame crawled up my neck, hot and suffocating. This wasn’t my fault, yet Kallias had to intervene—had to restore order in a way that left my position exposed.

His gaze softened as it found mine, though his voice stayed cold. “Radaan meant no insult, Princess Nienna. Forgive us for Tallon’s actions.”

His apology wasn’t owed, but I knew why he offered it. As long as I stayed, my dragons were his. Still, I’d sooner die than let someone like Tallon wield their power .

“Words are slippery things when tensions rise,” I replied, my voice steady despite the chaos in my mind.

The king turned, pinning Egath with a glare sharp enough to cut. “I trust we can all proceed with civility?”

Egath’s mouth twitched, amusement tugging at the corners, but he inclined his head in agreement.

“My apologies, Your Majesty.” Sai’glon’s tone cooled, but the fire in his eyes still smoldered. His people bore scars too raw to endure more disrespect, especially from a bratty prince.

“Princess.” Kallias gestured toward the council table, positioning himself between me and Egath. “I believe you had something to say.” His blue eyes, bright as cornflowers but edged with caution, held mine. “Perhaps it would be better heard there.”

Pleasure and unease wrestled in my chest. The lone vacant seat belonged to Tallon, a place I hadn’t earned and likely never would when he sat upon the throne. Yet Kallias recognized my worth.

I swallowed hard, nodding as he led me forward. My hands trembled, skirts brushing against my legs as our steps rang out in the room’s heavy silence. The weight of countless stares pressed on my back, but I straightened my shoulders, forcing my chin high.

Kallias paused to pull out the chair, his presence grounding me. I sank into the seat, smoothing my skirts as the nobles’ murmurs ebbed. When he settled beside me, his knee brushed mine. My cheeks warmed, but I locked eyes with the assembly, deflecting their scrutiny with my own steady gaze.

“Your dragons,” a grizzled general prompted, leaning forward.

I caught Egath’s glare, sharp as a dagger, from across the table.

“ My dragons…”

When the meeting ended, I spotted Kallias storming down the hall, each stride heavy with fury. I rushed to my rooms, throwing the door open behind me.

Scythe sat on the couch, four ribbons tangled between her toes. She struggled to weave them into an intricate braid, her foot yanking the threads tight. At the sound of my entrance, she jumped, a startled squeal escaping as she tumbled off the sofa.

“Oi! What happened to being a subtle princess?” she called, untangling her legs from the mess of skirts.

“Hurry!” I hissed, tugging at my overdress .

She tossed her ribbons aside, scrambling to help peel the dress off me. “Where to?”

I dashed to the dresser that blocked the old passageway. It felt heavier than I remembered and refused to budge under my weight.

“Oh! Adventures!” She squealed, grinning. She put her shoulder into it, and together we shoved the dresser aside with a groan of protest from the wood.

A narrow door emerged from the dust behind it. Just big enough for us to crawl through. If these passages led to the royal rooms, I hoped to catch a fragment of Kallias and Tallon’s conversation again.

“What happened?” Scythe asked, her lamp casting a dim light on my face as she wedged herself beside me.

I opened the door and crept through. “I think your spare time would be better spent cleaning this than braiding ribbons,” I muttered, brushing something soft and gooey.

“Creepy tunnels aren’t on my to-do list,” she snorted, following me inside. “It’s below my pay.”

The light confirmed my worst fear—rat droppings smeared across my hand. I wiped it on my leggings with a grimace. We crawled deeper into the pitch-black tunnel, halting at every creak above us.

The Spire was unlike other palaces. There was only so much stone to hollow out before reaching its limits. Older places like the Golden Palace had been built layer after layer, sections stacked over tunnels, halls over passages. I had no idea where we were, but I remembered where I’d last heard Kallias’ voice.

As we rounded the corner, muffled sounds reached us. Scythe met my gaze, her eyes bright with mischief. She scrambled toward the small door ahead, marked by a trail less dusty than the rest of the crawlspace. With a quick flick, she dimmed the lamp to a faint glow and pressed her ear against the wood. I joined her.

“I am the king! ” Kallias roared. “He pushes back on everything I say or do, taunts my nobles, and allies with the Velli . Elohios knows why he’s been spending so much time with the eastern nobles.”

“Kal.”

A voice, too familiar. Someone close enough to call him by a nickname. Greaves.

“I would have killed him—wanted to,” the king growled, the words muffled as if he were turned away.

“He mingles with eastern nobles, but doesn’t like Sai’glon. Why?”

“I have no idea. You know him as well as I do,” Kallias bit out.

“He’s your son.”

“Is he?” The question was chased with a scoff.

Scythe raised an eyebrow at me .

“If he wasn’t, you wouldn’t put him on the throne.”

A thump sounded, followed by a muffled noise—something hit or thrown. “I’ve no choice. Tallon is the only option, regardless of whether he’s mine. I‘m not leaving Radaan anytime soon. I’ll have time.”

“Time for what, Kal? To teach him? Eldeiade had him for seventeen years. He learned all he would from her. You’re not getting younger–”

“As you keep reminding me.”

“Without another heir—the throne will be left to him. He’s too open with his rebellion. If you don’t do something drastic, he’ll tear this kingdom apart and take Nienna with him.”

“Do not bring her into this.”

Scythe’s brows shot up, and I frowned, pressing closer to the door.

Greaves’ voice came again, darker. “Send her back.”

“Enough,” Kallias snapped, his tone icy, dismissing his guard without hesitation.

“You won’t, because you can’t, but it’s what’s best. You’ll ruin her.”

A loud slam echoed through the room, followed by heavy footsteps storming off.

Greaves groaned from the other side. “Gods, where are we off to with all that pent-up rage?”

“To do something drastic.”

A door slammed.

Scythe turned the lamp up, her eyes wide. “What happened today?!”

“We need to find Tallon’s room!” I hedged, searching the darkness in the direction the footsteps had faded.

“Nienna! What’s going on?” She grabbed my arm as I tried to crawl past her.

“I hate Tallon,” I hissed, struggling against her grip.

Her nails dug into my skin like claws. “I know!”

“And he hates me!”

“I know! ”

“And I lo—like–” I faltered, my words strangling me. I glared down at her hand, desperate to pull free.

“Nienna, I know! But why is the king so riled up about you?”

“Because he kissed me!”

Scythe’s jaw dropped. She snapped it shut, blinking as she digested that. Her grip loosened, and I sank against the wall, clutching my arm to my chest. My heart pounded, and I hated how wrong it felt to say it aloud, even though I trusted her.

“Is he a good kisser?”

Her mischievous grin pulled a reluctant laugh from me as she pressed against my shoulder .

“Gods, does Edith know?”

“She was sleeping like the dead when I snuck out. She’s as clueless as the staff.” I sighed, rubbing my face.

“Well, someone else knows.”

“Greaves was the one who… well, he found us,” I muttered, wiping away the spiderweb clinging to my leggings.

“Lucky man.”

“Scythe!” I laughed, giving her a playful shove.

“What else happened between you and Tallon, then? His royal brattiness growing?”

“Worse,” I groaned. “He’s bitter and lashing out. He doesn’t want this union, and the more time we spend together, the worse it gets. We’re at each other’s throats now. Last night, he attacked me–”

“And you didn’t kill him?!” She twisted in the cramped tunnel, eyes scanning my body as if she might find a wound I’d hidden.

“Kill him?” My laugh was bitter. “With what? I have no dragons here. No magic. I stole his dagger and fended him off, but not before he accused me of seducing his father.”

“That’s not a bad idea. Do you think if–”

“Scythe.” I cut her off with a sharp glare. “There is no me and Kallias.”

She leaned against the wall, lips pressed together, studying me with quiet intensity. She lifted the lantern, holding it higher, like she could peer into the depths of my thoughts, my unspoken desire for the king.

“The contract says I’m to marry the prince. Think of the scandal if Kallias tried for my hand. Father would ride Argos here and lay waste to the palace.” The blood oath could only be purged in dragonfire. “I’m marrying Tallon.”

Scythe grimaced, wrinkling her nose, but she didn’t push further. I was grateful. I didn’t need her to fuel any foolish hope. Neither Radaan nor Draconia could survive that.

“Right then, Future Queen. We’re missing something drastic .”