Page 22 of Between Flames and Deceit (Dragon’s Heart Duology #1)

Chapter Twenty-One

Kallias

B loodlust coiled hot in my veins as I stalked through the corridors, every step an exercise in control. Decades of war tempered me, channeled the fury into a weapon. I wasn’t some young buck prone to losing composure. I had a task, and I would see it through.

Perhaps there would be satisfaction in it, but that was secondary.

My heartbeat stayed steady, a drumbeat forged in countless battles with the Velli. This confrontation wasn’t with an enemy, though—it was with family. My son.

Greaves was right. Tallon was my heir. Estranged or not, he bore my legacy. When Eldeiade died, I had hoped—foolishly, perhaps—that we could bridge the chasm between us. But the late queen’s venom lingered, years of whispers poisoning him against me.

Every title I bestowed, and olive branch offered, he tossed back with disdain. In time, I returned his coldness in kind. He played his games, and I focused on securing Radaan, preparing it to withstand the storm Tallon’s reign would bring.

But raising a hand to Nienna? That crossed a line—one impossible to ignore.

I shoved the door to his chambers open without hesitation. The sound echoed through the receiving room. Greaves hesitated behind me, but when he saw who lingered inside, he stepped in.

Egath flinched where he lounged on the sofa, his posture stiffening. I ignored him and strode toward Tallon, who leaned over a table, his palms pressed hard against its surface. A shattered vase lay in pieces on the floor, wine staining the rug like a fresh wound.

“See the ambassador out,” I ordered without sparing the Velli a glance.

Footsteps shuffled behind me, and the door clicked shut as Greaves escorted Egath away. My attention remained fixed on Tallon. Hatred radiated from him like heat from a forge. His disheveled hair framed a face twisted with scorn, and his wild eyes darted to the wine bottles scattered across another table.

The room stank of stale drink and arrogance.

It could have been his mother’s chambers—the same suffocating black-and-red decor, curtains drawn tight as though to block out reason itself. A sliver of light leaked through the edges, casting the chaos in an eerie glow.

“You’ve disgraced yourself,” I said.

Tallon barked a laugh, walking with a swagger that failed to mask his unease. “I’m a disgrace? That wench you expect me to bed–”

I launched, closing the distance in two strides. My fist snared a handful of his tunic, then slammed him into the table. His head jerked back, eyes wide with shock as he grabbed at me.

For a moment, the silence held. I had never laid a hand on him before—not once.

The disbelief in his face twisted into a sneer. “You already slept with her, didn’t you?”

Act. Don’t react.

My fist connected with his jaw before I had time to reconsider.

“You are a boy!” I snarled, my knuckles burning as they hovered near his nose.

He gasped beneath me, head lolled, chest heaving as he tried to mask his fear with defiance.

“She is a princess,” I hissed, my lip curling. “Not a tavern wench. Treat her with respect. Control your tongue, or I’ll curb it for you.”

“How exactly?” he spat. His green eyes burned with fury, but he didn’t look away. “You can’t make me do anything. I’m the prince!”

I leaned closer, letting him see the beast that stirred beneath my surface—the part of me forged in blood and fire. He recoiled, his boots scraping against the floor as he tried to push me off.

“Boy,” I said, my voice dropping to a deadly whisper, “I have removed countless tongues for less. What is one more?”

“You wouldn’t,” he stammered, his bravado cracking. “You hate bloodshed!”

A laugh rumbled from deep in my chest. “Your mother taught you that, didn’t she? But for Radaan, I would wade through rivers of blood.” Nienna’s face flashed in my mind, and I yanked Tallon upright, shaking him once for good measure. “I have turned a blind eye for too long. Start acting like a prince, or I will remove you from my line. ”

The words fell from my lips with a weight that chilled me to my core. They rang through my mind, daring me to find a lie in them, one that might earn Elohios’ judgment, but none appeared.

What unsettled me most wasn’t the truth in my threat—it was that I’d said it aloud.

“You mean to replace me.”

His words carried no question, just cold certainty. He gripped my forearm where I still held his tunic in a crushing grip. Accusation hardened his features, his nostrils flaring as a thin streak of blood dripped from his nose.

“Don’t make me.” I loosened my hold and waited, unmoving. If he wanted space, he would have to create it himself.

His eyebrows, raised in momentary shock, knitted into a dark scowl. A sneer tugged at his lip as he stepped back, the distance a shallow pretense of defiance.

“I’ll have your throne one day.” Poison laced every word, a slow drip of venom meant to linger.

“Perhaps.”

Let him simmer in the illusion of his own importance. Let him believe I would cast him aside. Not that I intended to wed again or risk bringing another heir into this cursed line.

Nienna’s image seared through me—head tilted back, lips parted in a moan as I pressed between her legs. The vision burned, a vivid memory, a cruel fantasy. I blinked it away, burying it with all the other impossible futures. She had to marry him, this festering wound of a man. She would suffer as I had, trapped in a farce of duty. But would he humiliate her, as his mother had me? Would he hurt her?

Rage coiled tight. I could still see the snap of his hand as it rose to strike her. A gesture too quick, too practiced. How many before her had suffered the heat of his ire?

He reached for a bottle of wine and hurled it at me as I lunged. It bounced off my shoulder before shattering on the floor, splinters of glass catching the dim light. I grabbed his overcoat, dragging him close until his nose nearly brushed mine. He clawed for my sword, but I held fast to the hilt, my laugh a low, bitter sound.

“You think you’re fit to rule because you wear silk and sit in comfort while others bleed for your peace?” My voice dropped to a dangerous hush. “Before you touch Princess Nienna again, ask Darius how many hands I’ve severed.”

Memories surged, unbidden—blades hacking through Velli limbs, screams swallowed by the clash of steel, and blood-soaked fields that reeked of death. I let him see it, all of it, the burden of my title, Golden Warrior of Elohios, earned in bone and gore .

“A king can rule without hands, after all.” I smiled, a sharp curve of teeth meant to cut, and shoved him back.

He staggered, trembling, his breath ragged as fury and fear warred in his expression.

Part of me dared him to lash out, to test the boyish bravado he’d only ever used on the weak. Let him face the warrior who carved victory from slaughter. But his courage faltered, and he stepped further away.

Disappointment pricked at me, but I nodded as if approving his retreat. Turning, I strode toward the door. The faint rustle of his breath followed me, but no bottle came flying this time.

Greaves met me in the corridor, his sharp eyes narrowing as he stepped closer. He adjusted the chains of my mantle with a practiced ease, his voice low enough to remain private. “There’s blood on your hand.”

I glanced down. A smear of red stained my knuckles, likely from the nose I had bloodied. Something twisted inside me—satisfaction, dark and unwelcome. I wiped the streak across my trousers, forcing the feeling back into the shadows.

It worried me, the ease with which I’d shed blood in the name of a certain princess.

My visit to the temple seethed with unwelcome thoughts of Nienna. Her voice curled through my mind like smoke, soft yet suffocating. I could almost feel her skin beneath my palm, remember the way she leaned into me—not with hesitation, but with a hunger that mirrored my own.

The cold bite of stone pressed into my knees, and I clenched my jaw, trying to wrestle my thoughts into submission. I was the king of Radaan, not some infatuated fool. If I let my desires take hold, I would be no better than Tallon, lashing out at the world with reckless emotion.

The image of his hand raised against her burned in my memory. My fists tightened, trembling with remnants of fury. She carried herself with strength and poise, even when faced with his disdain. Her defiance, the quiet fire in her eyes as she stood against him, marked her as a queen in every sense. Yet to him, she was a mere obstacle, an inconvenience.

He would never see her as I did—the way her compassion blended with her wits. He dismissed her beauty as if she were not a jewel among rubble. Her sea-blue eyes—deep, shadowed, endless—threatened to pull me under each time I thought of them. Frustration surged, and I tipped my head toward the heavens.

Elohios, take this temptation from me. Grant me the strength to endure.

But my pleas fell into silence. My thoughts spun back to her, ensnaring me again. She was a distraction I couldn’t afford. My duty to Radaan demanded my focus, and yet, I let my guard crumble in the library. Her demeanor had wavered between boldness and vulnerability, a plea that shattered my restraint. She asked me to kiss her, and I obeyed without hesitation.

The memory burned through me, an intoxicating mix of shame and longing. I looked at my son’s betrothed as no father should. Worse, I touched her. Kissed her. Shame coiled in my gut. With a growl, I slammed my fist against the floor. The jagged surface bit into my knuckles, the rough stone tearing at already raw knuckles. The pain was a hollow echo, unable to drown out the ache inside me.

Guide me. Show me what to do.

But no divine clarity came. Only the torment of images I couldn’t banish. The idea of her bound to Tallon by duty and vow I gave, made my chest tighten. I imagined his hand clasping hers in ceremony, joining her in ways I could only dream of. It set my blood aflame. The thought of him claiming her, Nienna spread out beneath him, head turned and gaze distant to shield herself from the moment…

A snarl ripped from my throat as I surged to my feet, unable to endure the torrent any longer. My breath came shallow and uneven.

Forgive me.

Greaves entered without a sound, his movements precise as he draped the gold mantel across my shoulders. He steadied the weight while I secured the upper clasps. The metal pressed down with the familiar heaviness of duty—a reminder that Radaan’s kings wore no crowns. The throne wasn’t a trophy to display; it was a yoke of labor, a mantle of honor forged in sweat and sacrifice.

My gaze drifted past him to the stone depiction of Elohios above the altar. The god’s sword rose high, his unyielding stare carved to pierce the soul. Those eyes seemed to strip away my defenses, laying bare the fractures I worked so hard to conceal.

Greaves finished the last clasp with practiced efficiency, then stepped back. His expression remained composed, but the faint crease between his brows betrayed his unease.

“We need to spar.” The words came out rough, edged with desperation I failed to suppress.

He inclined his head, understanding etched into the lines of his face, but he said nothing. He knew as well as I did that prayer alone couldn’t quiet today’s storm.

Sweat clung to my skin and soaked my tunic as I entered my chambers before dinner. There was nothing as irritating as placing a clean overcoat over a soiled tunic. Yet, appearances mattered. Even with my hair plastered to my forehead and exhaustion weighing down every step, I had to present myself as a king whose life appeared ordered, even when it was anything but.

Sparring offered the briefest reprieve. The rhythm of battle—the snap of a parry, the satisfying clash of metal—quieted my thoughts in a way nothing else could. Years of combat ingrained the movements into muscle memory, freeing me to focus on the fight. Greaves’ sudden feints and unpredictable strikes forced precision, leaving no room for distraction. Still, a welt burned across my forearm, a reminder of the moment my attention faltered. Nienna’s image had slipped into my mind unbidden, and Greaves made me pay for it.

“Your right parry is slow,” he said, his tone laced with amusement as he helped me remove my mantel.

I shot him a sharp glare over my shoulder, then walked toward the bedchamber. “You favor your left knee. You getting old, or clumsy?”

“At least I know my age,” he retorted with a low chuckle, settling the mantle onto its display stand.

I peeled off my overcoat with a grimace at the sweat stains marring the fabric. “Maybe I should find a younger guard.”

“Younger guards don’t hit as hard,” he scoffed, stripping his weapons with meticulous care. “They’d be too green, too nervous to land a proper blow.”

“Respectful.”

“Terrified,” he corrected, a smirk tugging at his lips as he removed a set of throwing knives from his boot.

“As they should be. I’m the king.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head, “scared they’ll break the frail old man.”

I hurled my damp tunic at him. He ducked, moving with a swiftness that belied his age.

A year older than I, he bore the scars of a life spent in service. His dark hair held fewer streaks of silver than mine, and he carried himself with a vigor I envied. Despite the battles he endured—many of them at my side—his movements remained fluid, almost youthful.

“Why harp on my age today?” I asked, watching him unfasten the buckles that strapped thin daggers to his shins. “Not long ago, you were assuring me I had time to see Radaan settled before Tallon takes the throne.”

His hands paused mid-motion, and he met my gaze, his expression sobering. “I think the way you look at a certain girl warrants a reminder.”

Tension stiffened my spine. My jaw clenched, and I turned away, wrestling with the stubborn clasp of my belt as I strode toward the bathing chamber. The buckle resisted until I yanked it free with a curse .

Unlike the rest of the palace, my bathing chamber bore the marks of my paranoia. Nobles and dignitaries preferred grand tubs for soaking, but I couldn’t forget the lesson of a knife slicing through the river’s current toward my heart—pinned beneath the surface. That memory drove me to commission an engineer to design the room.

Water fell from hidden spouts, cascading in a controlled rush through tiny holes that slowed the flow, creating a private waterfall. It pooled before draining, leaving no stagnant depths.

Sunlight spilled across the space, illuminating walls paneled in rich oak and adorned with thriving vines that stretched toward the glass wall overlooking Radaan. The view never failed to calm me. No one could see in from below, but standing under the rush of steaming water, staring out at the fields, eased my torment.

The soothing cascade above muffled the world outside. My gaze lingered on the glass, tracing the outlines of the distant horizon. Radaan stretched vast and golden before me, yet it seemed as though the magnitude of it rested solely on my shoulders.

Greaves leaned against the doorframe, bare-chested, his arms folded and his lips drawn tight. He didn’t speak. Instead, he picked up my discarded trousers, tossed them into a washbasin, and moved toward the wide window. His eyes scanned the view as though the answer to my troubles might be written in the horizon.

“I haven’t seen you lose control like that since Eldeiade,” he said.

I shut my eyes and reached for the soap. Peace wouldn’t come easily tonight. “I didn’t lose control.”

“You drew blood.”

“He needed to learn his place.”

“There’s a Velli in the palace.”

The soap slipped from my grasp, and my core clenched like someone struck me. My gaze drifted to my knuckles, still raw.

The enormity of my mistake surged forward like a wave. Blood spilled within the palace walls—my palace—while a Vellos ambassador lurked nearby. Not just nearby. In the prince’s chambers.

Horror clawed at the edges of my mind. I fought wars to keep blood magic from tainting this kingdom, yet my recklessness might have handed Egath a foothold on the throne.

“Send word to Tallon’s staff–”

“It’s done, Kal,” Greaves interrupted. “You were too caught up in your own rage to hear me give the orders. ”

His rebuke stung, but I swallowed my retort. He stood by the window, his reflection hard and unyielding, a soldier who knew my flaws better than I cared to admit.

“They’ll burn any cloth his blood touched.” His eyes shifted, catching mine in the faint light. “But your actions—they’re a greater concern.”

If anyone else dared to chastise me like that, I would have reminded them of their place. But this was Greaves. He fought beside me, had seen me at my worst. He spoke truths others feared to voice. And he knew me better than anyone—my strengths and weaknesses.

“It won’t happen again,” I muttered, scrubbing at my skin with a cloth as though I could strip away the shame along with the grime.

“It will.” His sigh carried the weight of years. He dropped into a chair, positioning himself to watch both the door and the window. “As long as she’s here, you’ll be distracted. You need space, Kal. You’re too hot-blooded right now.”

“What are you suggesting?” I growled, scrubbing faster. The sooner this bath ended, the sooner his lecture would, too.

“Send her away.”

My hands stilled. The suggestion hit just as hard as earlier. The thought of Nienna absent from council meetings or the dinner table carved a hollow ache in my chest. Those fleeting moments in the corridors—the ones I pretended didn’t matter—would vanish.

“Careful, Greaves. What you’re suggesting borders on treason.” My tone turned icy as I shut off the water and snatched a towel.

“I’m not saying void the contract or deliver her back to Draconia.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Send her and Tallon to another district. Give yourself time to clear your head.”

I wrapped the towel around my hips, glaring at him as he stood. “You forget your place.”

To send Nienna away would crush her. She longed to see more of Radaan, but she would know the truth behind such a command. She’d think she was the problem. The blame for the library incident already rested on my shoulders. I wouldn’t let her carry it.

“Do I?” His voice softened, but his gaze pierced me. “My place is to protect you. That’s what I’m doing.”

“Your job is to protect my body.” I straightened, letting the weight of my title settle into my expression. “My heart is mine to protect.”

Leaving the room felt like pulling at the final frayed threads that held my life together—unraveling what little control I still had. He was right to worry. His words weren’t out of line. Yet they forced me to confront the truths I couldn’t escape.

I could handle Nienna.

But could I handle myself?