Page 25 of Between Flames and Deceit (Dragon’s Heart Duology #1)

Chapter Twenty-Four

Nienna

I recall the captain and master of the guards leaving, Darius following with his Thresher. I remember Kallias’ hand on my knee beneath the table as he spoke to Fallione.

What I don’t remember is how I fell asleep.

Strong arms roused me, pulling me against something warm, solid. Cold metal bit into my skin. For a fleeting moment, panic seized me—someone held me. A corded arm slid under my knees, another along my back.

Then his scent reached me.

I relaxed, curling into his embrace, the familiar essence of cinnamon and cloves grounding me. Kallias. I blinked, taking in the shadowed contours of the underground chamber.

“Easy,” he murmured, his voice a steady hum against my cheek.

We were alone—save for Greaves. He cast a sardonic frown before turning to lead the way out.

“I can walk,” I whispered, but I hesitated. Part of me longed for this, for someone to hold me and promise everything would be fine. I knew I’d manage on my own, but that didn’t erase the desire to be cared for. To be protected.

And Kallias would do that.

“I can carry you,” he murmured as I leaned my head against his gold mantle. The hard, cold surface was nothing like the softness of his shoulder when I had cried in his rooms.

I sighed, trying to memorize the feel of his hands around me. “Fallione must think little of me. ”

“I assure you, he’s quite understanding.”

“He’s had many attempts on his life?”

He grunted as he turned up the stairs. “More than one.”

He didn’t set me down, and I allowed a fraction of a smile to form. Just a little longer. It was only me and Kallias the man, not the king of Radaan.

“And you?” I slid my hand between his neck and mantle, my thumb brushing his throat.

He stiffened, swallowing hard, his pulse thumping beneath my touch. “Too many.”

My chest tightened at the idea of someone trying to kill him. That terror—the helplessness of knowing I was outmatched—flared again. At least he knew how to wield a blade. I never thought I’d need that kind of skill—and neither had Scythe.

I rested my cheek against the chilled gold on his shoulder, tracing the sensitive skin on his neck. His warmth seeped through the layers of clothing. He was alive. He was here. And he would keep me safe.

At the top of the stairs, he paused. Shadows clung to the walls, and only a single lantern cast flickering light. His hands tightened around me as his attention shifted to Greaves.

“Go.”

“Kal–”

When the king said nothing more, his bodyguard loosed a breath, his shoulders sagging with resignation. He hesitated, then stepped out, closing the door behind him.

The silence stretched, broken by the flickering light against the bare walls. Kallias stood still, his breaths even and measured. I forced myself not to hold my own breath, waiting for something—anything—from him. His bright gaze gleamed, fixed on the door as if it held all the answers.

I reached up, my hand cupping his jaw, feeling the coarse scruff beneath my palm.

“Gods, Nienna,” he groaned, his eyes drifting shut. “I’m trying to do the right thing.”

The night’s oppressive toll settled over me, dragging down every guard I’d built. With him, I couldn’t pretend. Scythe’s death shattered that illusion—it showed me that life could end in an instant. Tomorrow was never promised, not to him, not to me.

“Don’t take me to my rooms.” The thought of returning—no matter how many times it had been cleaned, how thoroughly the reek of death had been erased—was unbearable.

“I want to bring you to my bedchamber. ”

Heat flared inside, shame and desire coiling together. My heart raced as my thumb brushed over his lips. In his arms, with his scent surrounding me, I would forfeit my crown. I would sacrifice everything for him to turn his head and kiss me senseless.

“I’d give you the queen’s rooms,” he murmured, then snatched my finger between his teeth, running his tongue along it.

My breath quickened, my body trembling. Butterflies stirred low in my belly, and sanity abandoned me with a quiet whimper.

With a tortured groan, he set me on my feet. One hand pressed against my back, pulling me closer, while the other tangled in my hair. I gasped, meeting the fire in his gaze, my body responding to the heat of his proximity as he leaned down.

“You did beautifully,” he whispered, voice thick with longing. “Gods, you’re already a queen.” His fingers curled into the fabric of my dress, as if fighting to keep his composure.

I didn’t want his control.

“Kiss me.”

The words barely escaped in a whisper, but they shattered his restraint. In an instant, he was on me, his body pinning me with urgency.

The embrace in the library was a distant memory, a mere shadow of this. No hesitation. No seduction. This was raw, a desperate reminder that we were alive. His mouth slammed into mine, and I moaned, ravenous, opening to him without thought.

His tongue plunged between my lips, stroking, teasing. The faint taste of kahve mixed with the warmth of him. I whimpered, fingers clutching his shoulders as I matched him, stroke for stroke. Our tongues met with a fierceness that our bodies never could—his taking, demanding. And mine—pleading, encouraging.

His hands tore from my waist and gripped my thighs, lifting me. I gasped, wrapping my legs around him as he spun, slamming me against the rough wall. His lips burned a trail down my throat, biting through the delicate fabric grazing my collarbone.

“You dress like you can conquer kingdoms.”

I threaded my fingers into the short hair at the nape of his neck, tugging him closer. “And all I want to conquer is you.” I hissed, pulling him back to me.

He growled, taking control with a fierceness that made my breathless laugh slip against his lips. His hands slid higher, gripping me tighter.

With a curse, his fingers dug into me before ripping away, slamming his palms against the wall. His hips held me in place as his gaze locked on mine. “Nienna, we can’t.”

“Don’t stop.” I snarled, scoring my nails down his neck .

He shuddered beneath me, his eyes fluttering closed. “Elohios, help me.”

A powerful grin lifted my lips as I leaned in, kissing the red welts I’d left on his skin. “Praying for aid?” I whispered in his ear, nipping at it.

“For sense. It has abandoned me.” His voice cracked, tremors running through his body, veins standing out in his neck as he struggled for control.

I refused to admit that my sanity already fled, left behind in that council room. My fingers slipped down the chains of his mantle, moving toward his trousers.

He grabbed my wrist, pinning it against the wall. “There’s a point of no return, Nienna,” he warned, his eyes flashing.

“Then I’ll find it.” I promised, pulling him back into the kiss.

He slammed into me, his mouth claiming with a force that stole my breath. His hips ground against me, sending a moan spilling from my lips. His tongue slid over mine in slow, deliberate strokes, and I twisted against him, matching his rhythm.

A sharp rap on the door broke the moment, pulling us apart.

I gasped for air, the heat of him still pulsing beneath my skin. My body hummed with need, aching for him, more desperate than I’d ever been. I wanted him—needed him more than breath itself.

His gaze bore into me, not with regret, but with a silent promise—this wasn’t over. His teeth clenched, breaths rough and uneven. “I can’t move you to my hall.”

Desperation tightened its hold as I searched his eyes, willing him to retract the words. The prospect of returning to my quarters was unbearable.

“I wouldn’t stay away,” he said. “I’d ruin you.”

“Then ruin me,” I whispered, clutching at him as he lowered my legs, his hands firm on my waist. “Ruin me, Kallias.”

His eyes closed as he drew in a long breath, a tremor passing through him. When he looked at me again, his gaze was heavy with something darker. I smiled, a quiet challenge.

He stepped back. “I just might.”

I blushed, stealing a glance at his trousers, then bit my lip, smoothing my skirts in a vain effort to compose myself.

He adjusted his belt, and ran a hand through his hair, the slight tug he gave it made my insides melt. As he patted down his chains, he glanced up at me before a pained groan escaped him. He closed the distance between us, his thumb skimming the collar of my dress. “It’s torn.”

A wicked grin spread over my face. I traced the claw marks I’d left on his neck, feeling the muscle in his jaw flutter at my touch. He swallowed hard, pulling away, his gaze flickering with restraint.

“I can make up something,” I assured him .

His brows dipped in a disapproving frown, and he shook his head, as if my attempt to lie would be offensive. Then he offered his arm and nodded toward the door. “I’ll see you to your quarters for the night.”

“Not my rooms,” I reminded him, taking the crook of his elbow.

“No. The guest suite in the southern hall, near Fyrn. Just for tonight.” He reassured, opening the door to the small room.

In the corridor, the light from a thousand mirrored lanterns stung my eyes. I flinched and lowered my head, trying to shield myself from its sharp glare.

“Oh, there he is.”

My heart plunged at the sound of Tallon’s voice. I peered up, recoiling at the sight. Dark bruises marred the skin beneath his eye, and his nose was swollen, bruised, and angry. Had he crossed paths with an assassin, too?

“Tallon,” Kallias rumbled, his tone as controlled as ever.

A wave of guilt surged within me—nearly caught with the king, and worse, by his son.

By my betrothed.

The prince didn’t speak. Tension thickened, suffocating the air. Greaves stood aside, eyes darting between us. His gaze flicked over our necks, then scanned our bodies.

“What is it?” Kallias bit out.

“I was looking for you.”

“You’ve found me.” The creak of his grip on his sword was unmistakable. His irritation was palpable. “Now, what is it?”

“You’re removing me as foreign advisor.”

Tallon’s gaze trailed downward, fixing on my belly before drifting lower.

I shifted my weight, wishing to hide behind Kallias, but that wasn’t who I was. I didn’t cower. “It’s rude to ogle a woman’s body, Prince.”

His eyes snapped back to mine, disgust boiling beneath the surface. His lip curled into a sneer before he masked it with a scowl.

“Princess Nienna survived an assassination attempt while you slept.” Kallias dismissed him with a gesture, taking a step to lead me away. “Maybe you should have addressed your concerns at the council meeting you missed. I’d think my heir would care more about what happens during an emergency.”

Tallon’s hand brushed the dagger at his hip, and Greaves moved between us, a quiet but firm presence. Kallias turned and led me down the hall, his silence heavy.

“He hates me,” I whispered.

He sighed. “You’re not the only one.”

The moment I sat down, everything came crashing back.

Scythe’s scream. The sickening squelch of the blade sinking into her flesh. The strangled catch of her breath.

At the time, those details seemed small, fleeting. Now, they were seared into my memory, impossible to erase.

Blood had poured over my hands, hot and sticky. The assassin’s neck had been difficult to puncture with the pencil, resisting even the sharpest point. Again and again, I stabbed. Were they dead before they hit the floor?

I glanced at the small cut on my hand, no larger than a finger.

That was all I had to show for surviving the assassination attempt.

But Scythe was gone.

The morning was waning, blending into midday, but rest eluded me. My mind took a break during the council meeting, and now it refused to let me relax.

“Sleep, Princess.” Edith hadn’t asked questions, nor had she pushed for answers.

She sat in the thin slant of light fighting through the heavy curtains. These new rooms were cramped—just a bed chamber and a small dressing room that doubled as a washing area—but they felt safer than my own.

I watched her hands move, steady and practiced as she knitted. Each stitch a quiet rhythm. Would she be next? Or would they succeed and kill me instead?

Edith set her knitting in her lap and the light caught the wet trail down her cheek. “Princess.”

I wasn’t the only one lost without Scythe. She had been her friend too, a bright spark in our small circle. Her laughter, her energy—she was the joy of our little group.

“Regrets won’t bring her back, Nienna.” Edith’s blue eyes met mine, cloudy with age, steady as they had been countless times before. “She would want you to sleep.”

No. Scythe would have climbed into bed with me, holding me until I drifted off. Or she’d have insisted on crawling through tunnels, dragging me along with her.

I sank into the mattress, drawing the thin sheet over my body. The fabric clung to me as I kept it taut, careful not to obscure the view of the room.

Scythe’s discovery of those passages saved me. If we hadn’t explored them—I’d be dead.

Grief clawed at my heart, and tears fell. It was just me and Edith now.

Waking to a world without Scythe was so much harder than slipping into sleep. Reality pressed down as I surfaced from restless dreams, the palace’s quiet bustle threading through thin walls. The scrape of a hearth being cleaned reached my ears, followed by muffled voices filtering through cracks in the stone. Life went on, indifferent to the void she’d left behind.

I had taken the silence of my old rooms for granted. Or perhaps the world simply roared louder in her absence.

A shuddering breath rattled through my chest. I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, stifling the sting. A sharp jab in my palm made me hiss.

The bed dipped under Edith’s weight as she settled beside me. Without a word, she reached for my hand, unwrapping the bandage with a practiced touch.

“It’s nearly time for dinner,” she murmured, peeling away the crimson-streaked cloth. “Shall I send for a meal?”

My stomach grumbled. A full day had passed since I’d last eaten. I dreaded facing Egath or Tallon, but staying hidden wouldn’t do. Whoever sent the assassin needed to see I was still here—stronger than them. Defiant.

They couldn’t get rid of me so easily.

Edith prodded the wound, and pain lanced, forcing a grimace. The gash was deeper than I realized.

“I should fetch a healer,” she said. Her thin lips pressed together, her wrinkles deep with worry.

“I need to dress.” After pulling my hand from hers, I sat up, bracing against the ache in my muscles. To skip dinner seemed unthinkable, and I straightened my back, determined. “I won’t miss it.”

“It’s expected.” She searched my face. The bloodstained bandage dangled in her hands as she added, “No one would blame you for retreating. A few days would be understandable.”

That was the difference between Scythe and Edith. She embodied propriety, a reflection of her upbringing as a nursemaid and later as a lady’s maid. Etiquette clung to her like a second skin.

Scythe, on the other hand, was Draconis through and through. A handmaiden only in title, she would have leapt at the chance to help me prepare for dinner. She would’ve slipped a dagger into my bodice without a second thought.

“I’ll wear red. ”

My legs protested as I pushed off the bed, muscles still stiff from the previous night’s events.

Edith, ever composed, said nothing as she retreated to the dressing room. I headed to relieve myself, moving with the sluggish determination of someone dragging their grief behind them.

At the washbasin, tears blurred my vision as I splashed cool water on my face. Crying had to wait. I wouldn’t show up to dinner with swollen, red-rimmed eyes. I braced against the vanity, studying the reflection staring back at me.

The woman in the mirror was fractured. Her features were youthful, almost soft, yet her midnight-blue gaze held the burden of someone aged by grief. Her jaw tightened, struggling to keep the burning wave of emotion at bay.

Kallias would protect me—I believed that much—but I couldn’t rely solely on him. I required more than promises; I needed a blade, and to know how to use it. No false sense of security would lull me again.

Next time, I would be ready.

Why hadn’t I thought of this before my father signed the marriage contract? I was marrying into a kingdom fresh out of war. I’d been na?ve, a fool clinging to fantasies. Now, my best friend was gone, and all I’d done was cry.

Straightening, I raised my chin, determination hardening my gaze. The woman in the mirror was a princess—one who would become a queen. No others could face this for me. No one else could bear the crown. Life would never be fair, but I had to take it as it came.

My lips curled into a sneer as I spun from the vanity, my steps sharp as I stalked toward the dressing room. Fury boiled my blood, and I wrapped it around myself like armor. Anger at my naivety. Rage at the assassin. Shame for failing to protect her.

I would carry it all, and I would not break.

Edith selected a modest deep red gown, simple and unassuming. Its practicality grated against the sharp edge of my mood. With a shake of my head, I brushed past her and made my way to the small rack of garments delivered to my room, then reached for the one Scythe would’ve picked.

“I’ll dress, but I need you to fetch something first.” As I laid the gown across the bed, the crimson hem trailed behind me, and I smoothed the fabric with deliberate care.

“Yes, Princess?”

“My blade from my old room,” I said, shrugging out of my nightgown. The cool air prickled my skin as I stood bare. “The one with the green gem in the hilt.”

She hesitated, clearing her throat. Her fingers twisted the fabric of her apron before she met my gaze. “As you wish,” she murmured at last, dipping her head.

“Thank you,” I said, waving her off .

She left without another word, leaving me to dress in solitude. The silence that followed stung. Scythe would have been the one lacing my gown and fussing over details.

I wasn’t ready to replace her.

After some rummaging, I found black breeches and tugged them on. The gown’s blood-red fabric draped in soft, elegant waves, the slit climbing high along my thigh. Scythe had always loved this style—bold enough to scandalize Radaanian women, though the legs remained covered.

The dress left my arms bare, the neckline dipping low before curving around my shoulders. Without Edith to lace the back, the fit hung loose. I tugged on tall, black-heeled boots—impractical for a fight but perfect for staring down anyone complicit in last night’s chaos.

At the jewelry case, I chose rubies and onyx. The scarlet necklace fastened at my throat like a bloody slash, the gemstones catching the light with every breath. I wanted everyone to see what was attempted. Let them choke on their failure.

I combed through my hair, each stroke unraveling a thought I couldn’t ignore. At some point, I’d need to write to my father, to tell him what happened. Kallias would send his own missive. Still, Father’s reaction loomed over me like a gathering storm.

My hand froze mid-air, brush caught between locks. His rage would come swift and unrelenting. His love burned, protective to the point of destruction when someone harmed his own. He wasn’t always rational in anger, though Mother often tempered him.

His wrath turning toward the king made me uneasy. They had never met, and I cared little about Father’s opinion of Tallon—unless he decided to break the blood oath. But Kallias? I wanted him to earn my father’s favor.

The message would take weeks to reach Draconia, assuming the whirlstorms broke long enough for safe passage. Until then, I could only wait, bracing for what might come.

Edith’s return snapped through my thoughts. In her hands, she held a cloth-wrapped object. “Princess, there’s no sheath.”

“I know.”

I rose, unwrapping the white linen to reveal the dagger’s gleaming blade. From the chest at the foot of my bed, I pulled a black scarf, knotting it around my thigh. The weapon settled against my leg, concealed beneath my skirts. Crude, perhaps, but sufficient.

Edith made a strangled noise of protest, the kind that might have once earned my attention. Now, I didn’t even glance her way.

“Lace the dress, please,” I ordered, tugging the scarf tighter. The edge in my tone left no room for argument .

She stepped behind me, her fingers quick and practiced as she pulled the laces taut. The gown molded to my frame, cinching my waist and draping in crimson waves. Though red wasn’t my favorite, tonight it suited me. The color held its own kind of power, one I intended to wield.

With the bodice secured, Edith turned her attention to my hair, arranging it in intricate, loose curls that framed my face. She crowned the style with a pearl-studded tiara, the soft shimmer of its surface at odds with the fire rising beneath my skin.

As I made to leave, Edith’s quiet voice halted me at the threshold. “Princess,” she whispered, her plea carrying a weight she dared not speak aloud. “Please be safe.”

I nodded, then took my leave. When I pulled the door open, I barely had time to react before a gasp choked off my breath. I snapped my mouth shut with a click.

The man before me filled the doorway, a towering figure draped in dark leather armor. Only his pale skin was visible at his neck and face, even his hands covered by gloves. A jagged swirl of black ink curled from his hairline, skimming the corner of his eye, and winding beneath his jaw.

Brown eyes, cold as tempered steel, locked onto mine. Despite the anxiety rippling through me, the calm demeanor of the guards flanking the doorway stayed my hand. This man wasn’t here to harm me—not right now, at least.

Metal glinted across his armor, an array of blades strapped to every surface. Some weapons I recognized, others baffled me with their odd shapes. Two short swords rested against his back, their hilts jutting over his shoulders, adding to the impression of sheer, unrelenting size.

A Thresher. Just like last night.

“You’re here to escort me?” I asked, my voice catching before I cleared my throat. Even with the added height of my boots, I hated how far I had to tilt my chin to meet his gaze.

He didn’t reply. He inclined his head and stepped aside.

Silent and deadly—just what I needed tonight.

The halls stretched long as we headed toward the dining hall. To my surprise, the six guards clad in plate armor remained behind. Only the Thresher stayed at my side.

By the time we arrived, the first course had already been served, and every gaze snapped my way as I crossed the threshold. With my chin raised and my stride unbroken, I walked toward the dais, ignoring the whispers that faded into silence behind me.

The Thresher followed, his imposing shadow drawing more attention than I cared for. Kallias sat at the head of the table, Darius beside him. Egath and Tallon were absent .

My steps faltered for the briefest moment. I would sit alone.

Loneliness dug at my chest. Fyrn and her endless questions would have been preferable to the isolation awaiting me.

When I reached the dais, Kallias’ gaze swept over my dress, approval sparking in his expression, warming the cold knot in my stomach. It was a small consolation, knowing I hadn’t chosen poorly.

I dropped into a shallow curtsy, the motion fluid despite my unease. He inclined his head in response, a faint smile playing at his lips, and gestured to his right.

After a steadying breath, I climbed the final steps. The crowd’s scrutiny weighed heavy, as though I stood alone against an encroaching storm. Each step felt deliberate, the muted rustle of my gown the only sound I allowed myself to hear.

The Thresher moved to stand beside Greaves, his presence a solid wall of tension at my back as I approached my chair.

“Princess,” Kallias said. His rise prompted the entire hall to follow suit, their movements a ripple of deference. “In light of recent events, and Tallon’s absence, I ask that you sit beside me.”

I froze, my pulse thrumming in my ears. A polite smile formed on my lips, practiced and unshakable, as I fought to steady my thoughts. That seat wasn’t mine. It belonged to Tallon—the prince.

The place of a future queen.

Horror and exhilaration clashed, twisting into a chaotic storm that left me breathless. Every eye in the hall burned into me as his offer loomed. I needed to tread with care, to find the perfect words. But how could I respond when Radaan’s king offered me his right hand?

“Thank you.” Hollow—but I said it, anyway.

A servant darted forward to pull out my chair, the scrape of wood on stone louder than I expected in the hush of the hall.

Kallias and I sat together, his presence steadying the frayed edges of my nerves. Even so, I remained quiet throughout the meal, prodding at the food on my plate. Hunger gnawed at me, but every bite turned to ash under the pressure of so many watchful stares. The thought of eating while they scrutinized me made my stomach churn.

Nobles approached one by one, their voices low and measured as they addressed the king. They avoided mention of the attack, skirting the subject as if it would contaminate the delicate civility of dinner. I forced polite smiles, though the muscles in my face ached with the effort.

When the final course arrived, a tiny apple pie glistening with golden syrup, I felt Kallias’ gaze shift to me. His scrutiny lingered as I nudged the dessert with my fork, breaking the crust but not eating. A crumb made its way to my lips, more out of habit than appetite, and his stare burned hotter.

I kept my back straight, my posture flawless—a porcelain doll playing the part of the perfect princess.

But inside, I shattered.

Everything felt wrong. Scythe was gone, a hollow ache where her presence used to be. Tallon despised me, and I couldn’t stand to draw breath in the same room as him. My betrothed’s insults echoed in my mind, layered over the memory of my near-murder. My dragons were oceans away, and my family safely tucked within the Spire.

And here I was, seated beside a man I could never have.

Each rumble of Kallias’ deep voice sent a shiver through me, an ache to edge closer, to brush against him, to feel the solid warmth of his arm beneath my touch. My hands stayed in my lap, fingers clenched to resist the pull.

The stares of the court weighed heavy on my shoulders, suffocating. I longed for his hand to rest on my thigh, grounding me in the storm of their scrutiny. More than anything, I craved his call—a whispered invitation to his chambers, where I could find sanctuary in his embrace.

But the distance between us remained, an invisible chasm that could never be crossed. A breath apart, yet untouchable. I yearned for the stolen moments we’d shared: the quiet on the balcony, the intimacy of the library, the secrecy of the underground stairwell.

Those fleeting seconds, just him and me, felt impossibly distant—another life entirely.

Doubt twisted through me, knotting every thought. How could I endure this? A palace gilded in lies, bound to a man I despised, while he prowled these same halls? How could I remain faithful to a brute like Tallon when his father, the king —intoxicating, untouchable—pierced me with a gaze that burned with desire? And if there was another attempt on my life, would the next blade find my heart, or would it be too shattered to matter?

“The hour is late.”

Kallias’ voice broke my spiral. I jolted, almost losing my grip on the fork. The pie remained untouched, mocking me with its sticky sweetness. I pasted on a smile and faced him.

His brow furrowed, his jaw tense as his gaze roamed my face. “I retire and advise the same to you.”

No request lingered in his tone. It was a command.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I replied, my voice steadier than I felt. The uneaten dessert blurred in my vision as Kallias rose, his movement signaling the hall to follow suit.

“I shall see you to your rooms.” He extended his arm .

His offer sank deep into my chest, its weight unmistakable, yet I accepted, threading my hand along the crook of his elbow. My lips pressed into a thin line. How far could he push before someone dared to question his intentions?

“She has Vyre,” Darius interjected, his voice a calculated drawl. He leaned forward, dark eyes narrowing on me. “Surely, a Thresher can offer a secure escort, Your Majesty.”

Kallias stilled, his piercing gaze locking onto mine. “I am the king. If I wish to see Princess Nienna to her rooms, I shall.”

My fingers tightened on his arm. His muscles flexed beneath my grip, steel wrapped in velvet.

“Get me answers, Darius,” he ordered, his voice sharp enough to cut.

Without waiting for a reply, he led me from the table. Every eye followed us as we descended the stairs. My stomach churned, the intensity of their frowns more suffocating than the air in the hall.

Whispers would come. One rumor could topple everything. A single word could tear the trust of his people to shreds. With a kiss, the oath binding our kingdoms could shatter, leaving the promise of dragonfire looming. An embrace could strip Radaan of the protection only dragons could provide.

But I didn’t let go.

I couldn’t. He wasn’t just the king. He was Kallias. The man who stood beside me when no one else dared, who held me as tears came unchecked, judgment absent from his eyes. The one who valued me in ways my betrothed never could.

So I remained, my grip firm, even while my resolve wavered, fragile but unbroken. For him, I stayed.

The corridor stretched ahead as Kallias guided me from the dining hall. My fingers brushed the coarse fabric of his sleeve, holding on as though it could tether me to something solid amidst the chaos of the evening. When we reached a modest kitchen tucked behind a carved archway, Igor awaited with two steaming mugs of cider. His kind eyes, weighed with understanding, flicked between us, the faint tilt of his head speaking to a silent awareness of the night’s horrors.

The mugs warmed my palms as we continued toward the balcony. At the top of the stairs, Kallias broke his silence. “Vyre, secure Princess Nienna’s rooms.”

The command released some of the weight pressing on my chest. Without hesitation, the towering guard turned and strode back down the hall, his movements as fluid as a predator’s.

“Wait here,” Kallias called to his bodyguard, stepping out onto the balcony.

A muffled curse reached my ears, drawing the faintest twitch from my lips.

As the entry closed behind us, the quiet night enveloped me. My shoulders sank, and a rush of breath left my lungs, one I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. As I let go of Kallias, I swept damp strands from my forehead, the spiced aroma of cider blending with the crisp evening air.

“You didn’t need to come.” His hand pressed against the small of my back as he guided me to the sandstone railing.

“Yes, I did.” My voice wavered as tears burned at the edges of my resolve. The unfairness of it all roared in my chest. “Whoever orchestrated last night must understand they cannot break me.”

Kallias took a measured sip from his mug, the flickering torchlight carving shadows across his features. He leaned on his elbows against the railing, gaze distant yet calculating. “They thought you’d hide. Darius said you’d stay locked in your chambers—”

I scoffed, the sound bitter.

“—I told him otherwise.”

Heart pounding, I searched his face, the sharp planes illuminated by the starlight. His eyes, cold, though softened by something unspoken, reflected the night sky. A faint smile ghosted his lips, a rare crack in his regal armor.

“I am in awe of you, Princess Nienna, the Dragon’s Heart.” His voice dropped, resonant and deliberate. “Any other woman—queen or peasant—would have crumbled after what you’ve been through. But you stood before the council with steel in your spine, and tonight, you walked into that hall like a warrior claiming victory.”

The words settled between us, heavier than the night itself. His praise wrapped around me, a balm against the relentless burden I carried. For a moment, his belief in me outweighed the doubts clawing at my heart.

“I am Draconis,” I said, lips lifting in a small smile.

“No.” He shifted his weight, leaning closer, one hand braced on the wall, his other cradling the mug. His gaze pierced mine over the rim as he sipped. “You are not just Draconis,” he said. “You are you, and that’s what makes you strong.”

My smile faltered, and my eyes dropped to his golden chains, their delicate clink a faint reproach. “Sometimes, I don’t want to be strong.”

The confession spilled out, a fragile thread of honesty breaking the silence. Strength had been my shield, tempered by years of knowing this path awaited me. Yet now that it stood before me, I craved something else entirely. Simplicity. A world where Kallias ruled nothing, and I bore no title—where we could choose each other without the crushing weight of kingdoms dictating every choice.

His hand, rough and warm, tilted my chin until his gaze held mine. A tear escaped, trailing along my cheek, and he brushed it away with his thumb. “Here, you don’t have to be strong,” he murmured. “I will carry your burdens.”

My jaw tightened, a futile attempt to dam the flood.

“Gods,” he hissed, setting his drink aside before yanking me against his chest .

The cool bite of the chains pressed into my skin, a stark contrast to the solid warmth of his embrace. He pried the mug from my hands, and I clung to his overcoat as though the fabric could anchor me.

He was steadfast, unshaken, and yet I hated how easily I crumbled in the sanctuary of his arms. In public, I stood alone, a pillar of composure. In private, I dissolved. A queen would not falter like this. She wouldn’t weep for a servant lost or doubt herself at every turn.

His broad hand settled between my shoulders, grounding me. The other slid to the nape of my neck, fingers working into the tension coiled there.

A shudder rippled through me, my cries muffled against his chest.

Draconia called to me, but I refused to go back. My people and his depended on me staying. Scythe’s steady presence, my mother’s touch—those were the things I longed for. I wanted my brother’s laugh, the comfort of familiar faces. The man holding me? I didn’t want to love him.

The word pierced me.

Love.

A sob tore through my defenses, splintering the fragile walls I’d built. I loved him—not Tallon, my betrothed, but Kallias, the king of Radaan.

With a grunt, he lifted me, settling me on the wall as though I weighed nothing. My arms wrapped around his neck, desperate, while his scent enveloped me. Spices, the tang of cider, the warmth of baked goods.

He didn’t speak, nor did he press. He held me as my tears fell, tracing paths over the gold of his mantle, pooling on the sandstone below.

Above, the stars shimmered, their light fractured and mournful, as if they mourned with me.