Page 24 of Between Flames and Deceit (Dragon’s Heart Duology #1)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Kallias

S he was drenched in blood. Not hers, thankfully—Reem owed the stars for that. She escaped with only a small cut on her palm.

If something had happened to her… I would have torn the city apart.

Even now, with her pressed close, skin feverish against mine—a blazing proof of life—my fury churned beneath the surface. I would have answers. Who dared to orchestrate an assassination within my palace walls? How did they breach its defenses? Why hadn’t an alarm been raised? Why had I received no warning?

Nienna trembled against my shoulder, tears falling in a steady, soundless stream. Her first taste of danger came in the form of a brutal trial of fight or flight—a desperate struggle, a narrow escape, her life hanging by a thread.

And it happened under my roof.

Her nails dug into my arm, tiny crescents of pain as she fought to contain her sobs. My hand tightened around my sword hilt, the metal biting into my palm. Somewhere in the palace, Greaves hunted the intruder. They had better be alive when he found them. I had questions, and someone would answer them.

Instinct pointed to Egath, but I forced those thoughts down. What motive could he have for targeting Nienna? Vellos was desperate, yes—drought choked their fields, and famine hollowed their people. I’d seen their gaunt faces myself: starving women, skeletal children, infants too frail to cry. But they couldn’t risk provoking another war. They didn’t have the strength to survive one.

Not yet

No, Egath wasn’t the hand behind this. But I would still keep him close. Darius would see to that, assigning a Thresher of Nyryn to shadow his every step. The elite soldiers blessed by Nyryn were ruthless, a force of precision and carnage.

The war general likely deployed them already, sweeping the palace in disciplined silence.

Nienna’s sobs softened. She sniffed, swiping at her nose as she straightened. My hand slid from her waist to her back, reluctant to let her go. Her blond hair fell forward like a curtain, hiding her face as her fingers fumbled with her nightgown, tugging at the torn fabric that bared her skin from hip to hem.

The impulse to have her strip the ruined gown and offer a tunic of mine struck hard and fast. I would see for myself that she wasn’t hurt. No one would get close to her tucked away in my rooms. She would be safe.

A sharp knock shattered my foolish haze. My hand fell away as Greaves slipped inside, his face grim. His eyes danced between us, frown deepening as if he could see where my thoughts had been.

Blood streaked his bare chest, smearing across the lines of muscle. He’d found trousers, though they hung loose and unfastened at his waist. His disheveled state mirrored my own, and I clenched my jaw, rising to grab tunics for us both.

“I—I should go,” Nienna whispered, rising to stand.

“Stay.” My voice was firm as I tossed a tunic at Greaves and pulled one over my head. I gripped my sword, heart thrashing at the idea of putting it down while she might still be in danger. “You’re safest here.”

Her gaze darted to me, cheeks flushing crimson as she skimmed my torso. Her scrutiny burned into my skin. For a split second, I saw myself through her eyes—bare, disheveled, dangerous. Her lips pressed into a firm line as her focus settled on the bed, where I tossed my sword.

It felt as though she was committing the scene to memory, stealing a final glance, as if she might not get another.

“Where is he?” I demanded, fastening my belt and re-sheathing my weapon.

“Dead.”

I sucked in a breath through my teeth, biting down on choice curses. “How?”

Surely not by his hand.

“I chased them to the wall,” he said, his tone measured.

His gaze flicked to Nienna, who stood motionless, her head bowed, the edge of a grimy cloth slipping through her fingers. He hesitated, a silent question if she should stay for his report.

“The princess remains at my side until Reem is cleared,” I said.

His expression tightened, though he gave a curt nod. We both knew she should have been secured in another room. Too many lines had been blurred tonight—by the assassin, by me. There was no undoing it .

“What happened, Greaves?” I shifted, rolling my shoulders to loosen the tension creeping into my stance. Nienna had to see him as more than a guard. She needed to understand that if I faltered, he could be trusted to protect her.

His jaw worked before he moved to his bed. The wary set of his eyes didn’t waver as he retrieved blades scattered under the mattress and pillow, securing them with practiced efficiency.

“They fell from the wall,” he said, fastening a strap around his arm. “Broke their back against a wagon’s side. Dead by the time I got there.”

“I want to see the body.” My words cut through the stillness, leaving no room for discussion.

“In the medical wing, untouched for your inspection.”

“And the palace?”

“All clear, save for the ambassadors’ quarters,” he replied, adjusting a belt of throwing knives strapped across his chest.

“Egath?”

“Already searched. His rooms were dismantled. He’s furious, but servants are making repairs.”

“I don’t care about how he feels,” I snapped, shoving my feet into boots. “When the palace is secured, call the council. I want everyone accounted for.”

Greaves nodded, but I barely noticed. My focus lingered on Nienna, her fingers curled against her sides, her nightgown so sheer I could see the pink of her skin beneath it. The night’s events had shaken her, and her quiet presence cut through my fury like a jagged edge. She had no one—no kin, no safety beyond what I could provide.

Her gaze stayed fixed on the floor, a tear slipping from the tip of her nose. Shoulders hunched, she looked adrift, her vulnerability stark against the chaos of the night. She stood in a room with me half-dressed and Greaves fastening an arsenal of blades to his chest, both of us hardened by battles she had only just begun to glimpse. She faced death tonight, crawled through ancient passages like some animal, and was now alone.

“Shall I call for Fyrn’sol?” I asked, tightening the straps of my boots.

Her head dipped in a silent no.

“I’ll summon your maids,” I offered.

Her control snapped, a sob ripping free as she collapsed onto the bed, trembling hands hiding her face. The sound clawed at me, hollowing out my resolve. I turned my glare to Greaves, and he froze mid-motion, boots in hand, sorrow carved into his features. He raised one finger, shaking his head in warning.

The realization hit like a hammer. Not only had Nienna endured an attack, she witnessed her maid fall. Grief knotted in my chest. I watched countless men die, but imagining Greaves’ end was a weight I couldn’t bear. For her, that loss had already come.

I raised a finger in a silent query, my brow arched.

He shrugged, the answer clear.

How many maids had she arrived with? Three? No—two handmaids. And now one was gone, leaving just a single thread tying her to her people.

I rose, the movement deliberate. Greaves shadowed me, his frustration simmering. He was but a man, caught between two tasks: keeping her alive and ensuring my safety.

He moved first, rapping on the door before opening it to address the guards outside. His body blocked mine as I leaned to see past him.

“Summon an emergency council,” I commanded, my voice sharp as a whip. “Tell Fallione to gather who we need. And find Princess Nienna’s remaining handmaiden.”

They moved, shouts echoing down the corridor as Greaves slammed the door, his jaw clenched. “She needs her own guard,” he growled.

“Right now, she has you.”

A snarl curled his lip as he kicked the passageway shut, wrestling the latch into place. “I am yours, ” he hissed.

Nienna’s sobs softened, but the iron in her stature hadn’t returned. She folded inward, shrinking into herself. The sight gnawed at me, and I bit back the urge to tell Greaves to leave so I could offer her the solace she deserved.

But she didn’t need coddling. She needed to stand, to face this, and I had to lead her through it—not walk beside her like a crutch.

Greaves leveled her with a glare. I felt his anger, though it wasn’t aimed at her. It was the situation—the chaos, the helplessness—that stoked his frustration.

Yet it stoked mine too.

Fury simmered beneath my skin—not at her, but at the night that had stolen her resolve.

Greaves was mine, but right now, so was she. And I wouldn’t fail either of them.

Edith was exactly what Nienna needed, despite the silent rebuke etched into the older woman’s gaze as she dipped into a curtsy. The sharpness in her eyes cut through me. Was it because I refused to let the princess leave my chambers, or because the attack occurred under my roof?

Both were my fault, and her wordless condemnation only deepened my guilt .

I sat in the chair by the hearth, tipping back a mug of kahve. Wine tempted me, but war taught me the folly of drinking while danger prowled nearby.

The flicker of the fire played across the walls as I waited, restless, while Nienna finished changing her clothes behind the closed door of my dressing room. I wouldn’t let her out of my sight until Reem was cleared. Even then, the thought made my stomach tighten.

The queen’s quarters crossed my mind—more secure, more fitting. And only a few steps from my own.

I rubbed my brow, shame burning hot. Across the hall, she might be safe from assassins, but not from me—a man who had already failed to keep his distance.

That temptation would be more than I could bear.

The door to my receiving room creaked open, pulling me from my thoughts. Darius entered, his broad shoulders filling the frame, followed by a massive figure who seemed more stone than flesh. The tattoo curling above his collar marked him as a Thresher, vengeance sworn into his blood.

“You need a Thresher.” His voice was as blunt as his entrance, his gaze sweeping the room with military precision.

I grunted, the mug warming my palm as I took another drink. “I have Greaves.”

The general’s sharp eyes flicked to my body guard, lingering with unspoken skepticism. His sigh echoed with the burden of a battlefield veteran watching a fledgling soldier. “Fallione has gathered the council.”

“I’ll join you shortly.”

He frowned, his jaw tightening. Even at this late hour, with exhaustion shadowing his face, he stood as if carved from the same unyielding stone as his companion.

“Why delay?”

“Princess Nienna will accompany me.”

His reaction was immediate. His brow shot up, disbelief painting his features. “The princess?”

As king, I rarely waited on anyone, much less a princess who might not have the composure to face a council after such a harrowing night.

But I knew her. She was made of dragonfire and sunshine.

“We can take her guards’ accounts,” he argued.

“They’re dead.”

“And those posted in the hall?”

“Enough, Darius.” I stood, my tone brooking no further debate. “I won’t repeat myself. You’ll hear the full report in the council chamber.”

His jaw clenched, and his glare dropped to the floor. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Though he didn’t say it, his posture spoke volumes—he despised being kept in the dark, especially when it hindered his duty to protect Reem .

The dressing room door opened before I could respond. Nienna stepped out, her presence commanding the space like a gale sweeping through a still meadow.

For a moment, I forgot myself.

Men like Darius would assume she’d retreat behind locked doors, trembling at every flicker of a shadow. She had all the reasons to do so, to surrender to fear.

But it was not a frightened girl who emerged. It was the Princess of Draconia. Her chin lifted, her steps steady, and the weight of the moment transformed into unyielding resolve. Though her cheeks still bore faint traces of tears, her eyes burned with a fierce determination that ignited something primal in me. It wasn’t just courage—it was her defiance that sent my blood roaring in my veins.

A long black gown flowed over her form, hugging her throat and waist before cascading to the floor. Slits revealed breeches beneath, tucked into polished boots.

She’d turned her grief into a shield, her fear into armor.

Greaves shifted behind me and I frowned, wondering if I had made some noise of approval.

A crown of golden braids circled her head, the handiwork of Edith’s deft fingers. The speed and precision left me marveling, though the effect wasn’t lost on me.

Nienna was no princess tonight. She was a queen forged in fire, prepared to wield her sorrow like a blade.

Beside me, Darius bowed as she halted before us. Worry pulled her lips into a frown, and she picked at the bandage wrapped around her injured hand before she caught herself and dropped her arms to her sides. The nervous gesture revealed more than her composed expression intended.

I itched to give her a blade. Even untrained, it was better than nothing.

“Princess,” I murmured, though the warmth in my tone betrayed more than I meant to.

Her ocean-deep eyes caught mine, revealing pain she tried to mask with a tight, deliberate smile. “Your Majesty. General,” she greeted, her voice steady, her demeanor poised.

“The council awaits.” I offered my arm, feigning propriety to excuse my need to keep her near.

Her fingers curled over my elbow, betraying her tension. It was only appropriate, I assured myself, though her touch sent a thrum of pleasure through my heart.

Behind us, the Thresher shadowed our steps, and Darius stationed himself at Nienna’s side as we entered the corridor.

Guards flanked the doors, their eyes alert, while staff darted like shadows in the periphery. Chaos hummed in the air, yet protocol kept everyone moving .

“Prince Tallon has requested to remain in his quarters,” the general announced with a bite of disapproval.

Refused to attend was more likely, but I wasn’t about to push for answers—not when his disdain for the prince was written in every taut muscle of his frame. It was better this way. I didn’t need him near Nienna in her fragile state. He’d only fan the flames of an already tense situation.

Let him skulk in the shadows.

My hand settled on the hilt of my sword, the leather grip grounding me. “His presence isn’t required.”

“As the foreign advisor–”

“He’s relieved of that role.” My words cut through the air, sharp and final. Nienna’s fingers twitched against my arm, her unease palpable. I drew my elbow closer, brushing her hand with a firm yet subtle squeeze meant to steady her. “Malarnath will assume the position.”

Unlike Tallon, he wanted the position and had the diplomacy to handle it.

Darius let out a low hum, the sound thoughtful but guarded. Whatever musings played in his mind stayed locked behind his stern expression as we navigated toward the heart of the palace.

Nienna’s posture remained poised, her chin high, though the subtle flicker of her eyes betrayed her wariness. Her hand clung to my arm—not in fear, but with a resolute grip that mirrored her determination. As we entered a nondescript room and headed down a spiraling stairwell, the air cooled, thick with the faint tang of stone and damp.

The lanterns, suspended at measured intervals, cast their uneven glow on sandstone walls, their light trembling with each movement. The spiral staircase wound downward until it emptied into a narrow hall. Greaves pushed ahead, taking the lead in the confined space, while Darius slipped to the rear, flanked by a Thresher.

The passage was devoid of grandeur, built for necessity, not splendor. Bare walls whispered of function over form, their starkness a reminder of their siege-born purpose. Greaves passed shadowed corridors, black pits that yawned into nothingness.

Nienna’s gaze flicked toward one, curiosity pulling her head as she glanced into the abyss.

My jaw tightened. I wanted to reassure her, to explain that these were storerooms and siege shelters—not dungeons. She would know soon enough. But curse it all, Darius didn’t need the satisfaction of seeing how attuned I was to her every worry.

Greaves slowed his pace, rounding the corner to hold open the door to the underground council room. Nienna’s grip on my arm loosened, but I pressed her hand back into place, unwilling to let her stray. She had to remain by my side. It wasn’t just for her safety—it was a statement, a clear sign that she was under my protection.

The chamber mirrored its purpose: sparse, functional, stripped of luxury. A modest bar stood in one corner, stocked with wine and mead, while an oval oak table dominated the center, ten chairs tucked around its edges. As the door clicked shut, sealing us in, the men already present rose to their feet.

“Your Majesty,” they greeted in unison, their voices blending into a formal chorus. One by one, their gazes shifted to Nienna. “Princess.”

“Councilmen. Advisor.” My tone carried a low rumble as I guided her to the seat at the head of the table, the one Tallon should have occupied. “Gentlemen.”

Their faces were familiar but I couldn’t place them. I pulled out Nienna’s chair, letting her settle before I claimed the seat beside her. Greaves positioned himself to my right, a silent sentinel, while Darius slid into a spot flanked by two unknown men.

One bore the marks of age, his graying hair and sagging jowls giving him a hound’s weary demeanor. The other, younger by decades, sat with immovable posture, his shoulders rigid, and despite the damp chill, a glint of sweat traced his temple.

I leaned back in my chair, fingers drumming the table once before stilling. The soft sound echoed in the quiet chamber, and every gaze fixed on me, expectant. The weight of their attention settled across my shoulders.

Darius gestured toward the older man, his tone clipped. “Your Majesty, this is Glendor, master of the city guard,” he said before motioning to the younger figure beside him, “and Lukas, captain of the palace guard.”

Lukas dipped into a bow, his head almost brushing the table’s edge. A tense swallow betrayed his unease. “Your Majesty,” he began, his voice tight, “I offer my deepest apologies.”

I let the silence hang, heavy and deliberate. My palm brushed the polished oak, the faint gleam of my signet ring catching the lantern’s flicker. “I do not accept apologies,” I said, my words weighted and deliberate. “What I demand are answers. How does an assassin bypass three layers of guards and find their way into Princess Nienna’s chambers?”

Glendor flushed a deep crimson and licked his lips. “They entered through the southern gate.”

“They were identified?”

I resisted the itch to go straight to the body, but with Nienna at my side, I didn’t want to take her to search and dissect a corpse.

“Recognized,” Glendor admitted, nodding. “They were seen yesterday at the Singing Oak Inn.”

“And how did they bypass palace guards?” My gaze locked on Lukas, unrelenting. My scrutiny bore down on him until his shoulders hunched, his resolve cracking under my frown. This man wasn’t fit to lead, and I made a mental note to question Darius on his appointment.

“They killed their way through, my king,” he stammered. “Seven dead. The guards at the princess’ door among them.”

A snarl twisted my lips. “Perhaps your men need more than training.”

Nienna’s knee bumped mine. My jaw clenched as I fought the pull to look at her. Was she trying to calm me? Or warn me of something I hadn’t noticed?

Darius leaned forward. “Even if the assassins were skilled, how did no one notice? Bodies should have been found during the rounds.”

Lukas winced, his face pale. “Our numbers… are thin. Too many were pulled for the northern harvests. Those on duty had been awake all night and were expected to stand the next evening. I had to lighten the shifts to ensure fresh guards.”

Could I not even protect my own palace? The thought twisted my gut. How dare he imply I lacked men?

“Then you make the rounds, Captain,” I spat. “Do I not pay you well enough? Is your bed too comfortable to rouse you?”

The man faltered. “Your Majesty, you ordered the draft–”

“Hold your tongue,” Fallione cut him short. “Guards can be reinforced. What matters now is discovering where the assassins came from.”

I inched back from the table, staring at Lukas. A bead of sweat traced his cheek, and he seemed to find every corner of the room more appealing than meeting my eyes. Good. He should be afraid.

Darius’ fingers tapped a slow rhythm against the wood. “They had nothing to identify them. Dressed in black Radaanian garb. No scars or tattoos.”

“Their teeth?” I already knew what he would say.

“Flat. Like ours,” Fallione said with a resigned sigh. “They weren’t Velli.”

He turned to Nienna. “Princess, may I be so blunt?”

“Ask, Advisor,” she replied, her voice clear and strong.

“Who would have reason to see you dead? Who stands to gain the most from such an act?”

His shrewd gaze dissected her, testing her. I didn’t like it. She wasn’t here for his prying questions.

“There are many who would benefit, as you’re aware.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to stifle the smirk threatening to form. She had claws.

“The Velli would prefer no dragons at their border,” she said. “Other nations might aim for Tallon’s hand to secure an alliance with Radaan. However, neither Draconia nor I have enemies of note.”

“They fought like northern Radaanians. ”

Greaves’ words hit like a mountain storm, cold and unyielding, filling me with dread.

Darius’ chair scraped against the stone as he sat forward, disbelief flickering in his voice. “They faced you? I heard they fled.”

“I cornered them in the western hall. They used the passages to the queen’s rooms, then slipped into the servant corridors and an empty noble suite to reach the main corridor.”

“Pity you didn’t keep them alive,” Glendor muttered, barely audible.

“Pity you didn’t keep them out,” I snapped, my tone as cold as the frost on the highest peaks.

“If they were Radaanian…” Darius trailed off, casting a wary glance at the captain seated beside him. He didn’t dare voice his thoughts.

But I knew. If the assassins were Radaanian, then treachery ran deep within my own borders. There was a Harvester among us—a traitor hidden in plain sight.

The revelation clamped against my chest like an iron vise. It would be a long night.