Page 3 of Between Flames and Deceit (Dragon’s Heart Duology #1)

Chapter Two

Nienna

“ T hat flaming prick!” Ronan seethed. “When he gets here, I’m going to skewer him!”

Gyrak rumbled in agreement, a low vibration that seemed to resonate through the courtyard. His ember-bright eyes drifted shut as my fingers stroked his scaled muzzle. I’d miss the dragon—far more than my brother—though I’d never tell him as much.

“He’s expected tonight, then?” I asked, pressing my temple to the dragon’s heated jaw. For a beast larger than any house, he handled me with care, each touch soft as a wingtip. The dragons all treated me as if I were one of their own—a delicate hatchling, fragile yet beloved.

“Kallias only said ‘soon.’ Blast it! What does ‘soon’ mean? I know Tallon detests court, but sea beneath, you’d think he’d possess enough sense to receive his betrothed!”

He resumed his pacing, boots scuffing the courtyard’s sun-warmed stone. This was the one place big enough for Gyrak, allowing me to bask in his comforting presence. The dragon’s slow breath, steady as a heartbeat, grounded me in a way no words could.

“If this marriage matters so much to Kallias, he should keep a tighter rein on his son!”

“The prince is nineteen.” I laughed, casting a bewildered look over my shoulder. “If Father demanded something you didn’t want, would you follow his orders?”

“I’m a Dragon Rider—it’s different. ”

The title gave my brother too much freedom. Not only would he inherit Draconia’s crown, but his bond with a dragon granted him a commanding presence few dared to question.

“He’s still a prince.” I stepped away from Gyrak, who chuffed at the break in contact, lifting his head. “Perhaps he doesn’t wish to be tied down.”

My brother shoved his blond hair off his eyes, the sharp blue orbs sparking with irritation. “See? You can’t compare me,” he snapped. “If it were for Draconia, I would do anything!”

I scoffed, crossing my arms. “Eighteen and willing to marry yourself off?”

Ronan’s temper flared, then fizzled, as always. In a debate with me, he never stood a chance. Not because of my age—two years gave me a little more wisdom—but because he wielded his dragon’s strength as much as his own. With Gyrak at his side, he never had to rely on words when he could simply call on fire and fury to incinerate anyone in his way.

“For king and kingdom!” He laughed, raising a hand in a mock salute, his grin as fierce as ever.

No, I couldn’t imagine my bold, headstrong brother tying himself down anytime soon.

I saw the same flash of surprise in the eyes of every ambassador who came to Draconia’s shores. Ronan and I were our parents’ only children, yet to most, my worth lay solely in my womb. Which kingdom would my father trade me to? Whose heir would I be expected to bring into the world? Even at the tender age of twenty, nobles made it clear they saw my childbearing years slipping away.

“You’ll do well here, sister.”

Ronan’s sigh carried a hint of pride as he stepped forward and clapped a hand on my shoulder. I laughed, shrugging him off as my brave smile faltered, if only for a moment. These times with him would be confined to his visits from our distant island. I’d miss him. The thought left a dull ache.

“I intend to.” I flashed him my brightest grin. “This is home now.”

After bidding Gyrak farewell, we entered the palace, flanked by guards and led by a noblewoman named Fyrn’sol. She had been assigned as my guide and guardian, though something in her watchful hovering chafed at my spirit. King Kallias himself had escorted me into the foyer, then left me in her care, mentioning he would see me at the evening meal.

Despite all this talk of alliance and duty, a lingering sensation gnawed at me—that here in Radaan, I was little more than a piece on their board. A pawn in their game. For all the titles and courtesy, I felt less like a princess and more like a tool—to be taken out, displayed, or set aside when convenient.

“Fyrn’sol, might I ask when Prince Tallon is expected to return?” I inquired, following her through corridors flooded with light. The high ceilings seemed to banish all shadows, while rich paintings lined the walls, echoing the vibrant colors woven into the thick carpet beneath our feet. Vines crept into every corner and cranny, lending life to the grandeur.

“The prince is… indisposed.” She brushed a strand of hair from her face and offered an apologetic smile, almost as if his absence troubled her, too. “But he’s expected soon.”

That single word was all they’d told me. Where was he? Indisposed. When would he return? Soon. How could a prince just… vanish? Couldn’t the king summon him? If Ronan or I ever wandered off against Father’s orders, we’d be hauled back in Argos’ claws.

Kallias, with his rigid disposition, didn’t seem like a man to tolerate disobedience, yet he allowed his son to flout tradition. All I knew was courtly customs, the expectations as familiar to me as the pulse in my veins. I enjoyed a measure of freedom, but I’d always known my fate—to be promised to a prince, to become queen, and to master the art of royal conduct.

But if Tallon avoided court and palace life, what would that mean for me? Would he leave me behind, appearing only to sire an heir? Or would he drag me along, expecting me to play the part of an ordinary noblewoman at his side?

“Are you well, Your Highness?”

Fyrn’sol’s concerned tone snapped me from my thoughts, and I offered her a faint smile, shoving my worries aside to untangle later.

“It’s been a long journey,” I said, hoping it would excuse my distant mood.

“I can imagine! They say the dragon pulled the ship to speed you along—is that true?”

“Yes.” I laughed, a sound softer than I intended. “Prince Ronan’s dragon wore the harness.”

“To think how swiftly our ships might sail if we had such beasts!”

My smile stayed in place, though my heart clenched. Gyrak had worn that harness only because of my royal blood. The idea of dragons pulling common merchant vessels struck as near sacrilege.

“Those beasts belong to the Wild Shores and Draconia,” Ronan snapped, words clipped and curt.

I frowned at his sharp tone. He held no regard for his tongue.

“Oh, yes–of course.” Fyrn’sol pressed her lips together, as if there was more she wanted to say, but my brother had crushed her confidence.

The walk to my rooms stretched into uncomfortable silence. I tracked the halls we passed and the sun’s shifting angle through the windows. The faster I could navigate this palace on my own, the better. The sun sank toward the horizon, casting everything in a fierce, golden glow. Radaan was a warm land—beautiful, vibrant, and full of life.

Draconia, too, was warm—but storm-tossed. My island home endured the great whirlstorms for two seasons each year. Those same tempests brought the first dragons to our shores, yet it was these relentless tempests that forced us to seek Radaan’s help.

The breeze that drifted through the windows was nothing like the violent gales that tore across our island. Those winds ravaged crops and slowed the construction of our stone houses to a crawl. With this new alliance, however, we would finally gain the food we so desperately needed to sustain our growing population, along with the materials to build homes for our people aiding our expansion.

Fyrn’sol halted and announced, “Princess Nienna of Draconia.”

Before us stood an ornate door, towering and intricately carved. Fresh designs adorned the wood, and a smile tugged at my lips as I fought the impulse to reach out and trace the dragons depicted in mid-flight.

A wave of sadness washed over me. I would likely never set foot on Draconia’s shores again. The only dragons I would see now would be the ones that belong to riders—or Gyrak on my brother’s rare visits.

“You are the Dragon’s Heart.” Ronan’s voice softened—he always seemed to know my thoughts. “You are part of them, and they are part of you.” He gave my shoulder a reassuring pat before stepping back.

Guards stood at attention along the corridor, two at each door—including mine. Radaan still clung to the echoes of war, its people and king adjusting to the fragile peace. The soldiers wore full plate armor, painted in green and gold, their visors flipped up to reveal youthful faces. They bowed deeply, eyes respectful.

I couldn’t help but wonder how many of them had missed the carefree youth Ronan had enjoyed, instead thrust into the brutal war with Vellos. The guard to my right could not have been older than my brother.

The guard to my left stepped forward, his broad shoulders bracing against the massive door, shoving it open.

Any lingering unease about my rooms vanished in an instant.

Golden sunlight bathed me in its rays, casting the space in a blinding glow. My heart unfurled like a leaf basking in the summer heat, eager to absorb the warmth.

“Scythe, the curtains.”

“No.” I dismissed Edith with a wave, stepping further inside, my gaze fixed on the golden light. A window, unclouded by imperfection, faced the setting sun. Its radiance was fierce and powerful, yet held a strange comfort.

Like my dragons.

“Is there anything you need, Your Highness?” Fyrn’sol’s voice reached me from a distance, as though she were far off, a dragon’s flight away.

“No, that will be all. Thank you.” I closed my eyes, letting the warmth of the sun’s rays wash over me .

“I’ll fetch you for the evening meal, sister,” Ronan called from the doorway, then the latch clicked shut.

“‘Tis a blinding light, Your Highness.” Edith’s tone, though firm, held a hint of complaint—the closest she’d come to one.

“Yes, but it is beautiful.” I sighed, opening my eyes against the onslaught. “Are there shades to dull it?”

Scythe pulled a thin fabric across the window’s length. It softened the light, turning it from blinding to welcoming.

These rich accommodations were a temporary place during my engagement to the prince. Once the ceremony was over, we would share a wing together.

A union I already botched.

I forced the memory of kissing King Kallias from my mind. My hands twitched, recalling the roughness of his stubble beneath my palms, the warmth of his skin against my lips. The fire’s heat pressing in on us, the scent of warm spices lingering in his hair.

He was the father of my betrothed.

And I kissed him.

The tips of my ears burned. I would not–

“A bath is ready for you, Your Highness.”

I could always rely on Edith to pull me from my daydreams.

Heavy blue fabric brushed against my ankles as I made my way to the dining hall. I fought the urge to fidget, my hands betraying my unease. Guards flanked me, trailing behind Ronan as he navigated the corridors ahead.

These endless halls would take time to master. The Spire in Draconia, with its towering height, had been my childhood playground. I climbed its vertical expanse when I wasn’t in the Nest. Radaan’s palace, by contrast, sprawled outward in winding corridors, each branching in different directions, unlike the steep, unyielding stairwells of home.

“They told me Kallias sent a captain after him,” Ronan said.

“How can he loathe me without even meeting me?” I muttered, the words slipping past my lips before I could stop them. The realization that my betrothed fled the palace at the news of my arrival was a cruel blow, enough to shatter some confidence.

“Tallon doesn’t like the high court. ”

“I am the high court, Ronan.” I spoke through clenched teeth, forcing a smile as we passed a nobleman who bowed in respect, his gaze flicking to mine with a touch of unease.

“Aye, but he hasn’t met you yet.”

I shot him a glare, annoyed by his use of the common tongue. Mother would’ve slapped him for that ‘aye.’

He chuckled, knowing full well what caused my ire. “You’ll change his mind, I’d wager.”

I only hoped so.

To have a betrothed who ran from me, as if I were some kind of monster…

“Chin up.” My brother’s tone softened, kindness beneath his jest.

I drew in a deep breath, straightening my back as though I could shake off the weight of my frustration. My shoulders were tight, and the impulse to snap at him nearly overwhelmed me, but I held it in check, lifting my chin instead.

Ronan’s laughter bubbled up again, the sound light but somehow knowing. He flashed a grin at me with a mischievous wink.

The corridor opened into the dining hall, and my feet moved on instinct, driven by discipline rather than desire. War or not, Kallias had earned the title ‘King of the Plentiful Plains’ for good reason.

The rich scents of roasted meats, spices, and fresh-baked bread flooded my senses, more overwhelming than welcoming. Darkness may have fallen outside, but inside, the hall gleamed with lanterns and candles, their flickering light casting long shadows across the crowded room. The tables were buried under heaps of food, enough to feed an army. My people were starving, yet here, excess spilled over every surface.

Where, in such abundance, could one find a place to sit?

“Her Highness, Princess Nienna of Draconia. And Heir Apparent, Prince Ronan. The Dragon’s Heart and Second Rider!”

The herald’s voice echoed through the hall, and the crowd fell silent. All eyes shifted to us, sharp and heavy. My throat went dry, the ache of sandpaper scraping against bone, and I struggled to swallow past the knot that tightened with every breath.

Ronan flexed his arm under my grasp, a quiet reassurance that I could face this moment.

And here I was, the older sister—trained for this—and I faltered.

The sea of unfamiliar faces pressed in, and a tremor stirred within me. I managed a smile, but my gaze swept beyond them, searching for something to steady my nerves.

Across the room, eyes the color of a summer sky locked with mine. From a table elevated on a platform, King Kallias rose and dipped into a slow bow, his stare never wavering .

My heart pounded, as nervous as a stag sighted by a dragon. I trained for this—was born for this. My brother released my arm and bowed, and I sank into a low curtsy worthy of a king.

“Welcome, Princess Nienna and Ronan Draconis.”

His voice sent a jolt down my spine, igniting a swirl of curses in my mind. Was it fear? Fear of him? Or of the weight in his tone?

I straightened, the murmurs of the crowd buzzing around me—whispers about the foreign princess now in their midst. One misstep tonight, and it would be my only legacy. Ronan guided me down the aisle, and I held my head high, forcing my gaze forward, ignoring the temptation to glance at my feet. There was no obstacle in my path to trip on, to slow my advance to the dais.

The vast dining hall could easily swallow my entire set of rooms. Each step toward the platform stretched into what felt like an eternity. King Kallias’ gaze did nothing to calm the trembling in my hand or the frantic rhythm of my heart.

We halted before the stairs, and I fought to keep my composure as he looked down at us. A red mark marred his forehead—a faint burn from the Dragon’s Kiss. Heat crept up my neck, shame curling in my stomach. I hadn’t controlled the magic as I should have.

This would be where Ronan left me. Where the prince would retrieve me.

Kallias offered a tight smile, gesturing toward the seat beside him. “Princess.”

Tallon was meant to sit between us. I was to remain with my betrothed during our engagement. Yet, not only had I given my seal to the king, but now I was seated at his right hand—reserved for family.

I’d be family soon.

My gaze flicked across the platform, pausing on the few nobles and ambassadors fortunate enough to dine with royalty.

I couldn’t climb the stairs alone. It would be too independent, too bold. To approach the king’s table without an escort was a breach of my status as a princess.

The room fell silent, tension pressing down as murmurs faded to whispers. My finger tapped against my thigh, a minor act of control amid the uncertainty. A man shifted, his gaze drifting toward the king at his side. Kallias turned, a crease forming between his brows. Confusion—or perhaps irritation?

Surely, he knew that without Prince Tallon, I dared not approach.

The nobleman spoke to him in hushed tones, and Kallias’ summer-sky eyes flicked back to me, scrutinizing. A muscle pulsed in his clenched jaw—a sure sign of his annoyance. Ignoring decorum, he rose from his seat.

No. Not him. Anyone else—a noble, a servant!

But my silent pleas went unanswered as he descended the twelve stairs—I counted—each step slow and deliberate .

The golden yoke draped over his viridian overcoat caught the lantern light, mocking my unease with its quiet, polished gleam. Brown boots wrapped his muscular calves, grounding his presence in shades of earth. A flicker of excitement sparked as I noticed them—practical, sturdy things. Not the sandals worn by his people.

My gaze drifted to the broadsword at his hip, swaying in tandem with his stride. This was no ornamental blade, but the weapon of the man they called the Warrior of Sun and Flame, a title earned by skill, not ceremony.

He raised his chin and extended his hand, palms rough with calluses—shaped by labor rather than privilege. What work had he done that resulted in a commoner’s hands?

With lips pressed in a firm line, I bit down against the urge to hesitate. I placed my clammy hand on his, heat rising to my cheeks as I cursed the tangible evidence of my nerves. I kept my fidgeting under control and held my expression steady, but the betraying sweat on my palm was a stark reminder of my humanity, as undeniable as it was inconvenient. Some bodily functions I had no choice but to fall victim to.

King Kallias’ grip felt cool and constant—firm without crushing—as he inclined his head, guiding me up the stairs.

“Dine with me.” His words, pitched just above a murmur, sent a ripple of relief through the nobles, followed by whispers of approval rustling through the hall.

Though the tension eased, a fresh wave of shame twisted in my chest as I gathered my dress to ascend the steps. I had made no mistake. No, this error belonged to Radaan’s court—but I would be the one bearing the brunt of palace gossip.

The princess, shunned by her betrothed, fetched by his father.

Dinner was only the beginning of my problems.