Page 35 of Between Flames and Deceit (Dragon’s Heart Duology #1)

Chapter Thirty-Four

Nienna

W atching Kallias ride away, death etched across his face, was unbearable. The day I left home had been easy compared to the raw ache that tore through me when he turned his back, spurred his horse, and vanished into the distance.

My chest burned with loss, shoulders weighed down by dread. Dageel’s estate felt suffocating, a silence thick with worry as we waited—listened—for the blare of a horn. A signal that he had slain the beast—or fallen to it.

Gayle sat in the sitting room, the faint creak of the sofa barely audible as she shifted. I remained by the window, staring out at the sprawling green that had swallowed Kallias whole. The absence of my dragons gnawed at me. This was his duty, a trial of kingship, a blessing from a god—but with a dragon at my side, I could have kept him in view.

I could have known.

Whether he was hurt.

Whether he had died.

“He is blessed, Princess,” Gayle murmured, her voice heavy with worry. “More than any ruler before him. Elohios will guide him.”

“He’s still just a man.” I whispered. Radaanians had no dragons. No magic. I’d studied the paintings of the mammoths—towering behemoths that would dwarf any human. A king on horseback would barely reach their chest.

“You haven’t seen him in battle.”

“The soldiers will help him?” I asked, uneasy. Her words carried a gravity that implied everything rested on him .

“No.”

I spun toward her, disbelief striking. “You can’t be serious.”

She stood and crossed over, joining me in the silence. “Princess, your land is far from here. You worship no gods, only dragons. Magic comes from creatures you can see. Here, we have faith in the unseen. Elohios has given Kallias a sign of his blessing—a rare gift. When he fights, he… glows with light that stretches across the Veil.”

Her words sank into me like stones into a still pond, unsettling the quiet resolve I clung to. I thought of the countless battles fought without the aid of miracles—wars where strength and steel decided fate. This light, this sign of his god’s favor, felt intangible. It was hard to grasp how belief alone could triumph against tooth, claw, and mammoth-sized savagery.

“He has magic?”

“He has faith.”

“Does this glow protect him?” I demanded.

“It doesn’t offer physical protection.” Her eyes softened as she stared at the hills, peaceful on the surface. “But it gives him something greater. It lets him believe in himself.”

My hopes crumbled again. How could light defend a warrior? How could it slay a monster?

“Princess, come. Pray with me.” Gayle extended her hand. I hesitated, eyes flicking to her palm before turning back to the window. “You will do him no good by watching for his return. But if you seek the gods’ favor, they might show mercy.”

I clenched my jaw, tears threatening to spill. If Kallias fell, I would be shattered. The alliance rested on his shoulders, and if he faltered, everything would crumble. Tallon’s loyalty hung in the balance—would he uphold the union? Would he even marry me and feed my people? Would Radaan survive the reign of a selfish prince?

My heart wouldn’t survive Kallias’ death.

Her hand, warm and steady, closed around mine. “I’ll pray with you.”

Her touch anchored me, and she pulled me close. She guided me down the hall, moving with purpose. The walls, sparsely adorned with paintings, seemed cold. This was no palace or mountain manor, but it still tried to appear cultured. I barely noticed the art as we passed.

We stepped into an open space, unguarded by doors. At the far end, an altar stood waiting, the worn path of a thick carpet leading to it. Small replicas of statues from Reem’s temples rested beside candles that flickered.

The room was dim, the air heavy with the scent of burning wax. Clay and Dageel kneeled, their heads bowed in reverence. I swallowed my nerves as Gayle led me away from them. Her hand was warm in mine as she lowered herself, settling onto the rug.

I dropped to my knees beside her, my hands folding in my lap. What now? Should I speak? I craned my neck, trying to catch a glimpse of Claydon. His lips twitched, but he remained silent.

“Who do I pray to?” I whispered, my gaze scanning the small figures on the altar.

Gayle’s fingers squeezed mine, her touch grounding. “Elohios is the Great Protector. But Veridis, his mate, is the Goddess of Life.” Her eyes sparkled. “If you seek his favor, you may want to call upon her. She might soften his heart.”

“But what should I say? I haven’t memorized the prayers.” Frustration soured my stomach. I longed to be with him, not stuck here, hoping unseen powers would heed my plea.

“Speak from within.” She released my hand and bowed her head. “No prayer written by others will be as powerful as your own.”

I fixed my gaze on the statue, letting the image fill the silence. The sculptor had captured Veridis as a pregnant woman, her rounded belly full with promise. One palm cradled the earth, a sprout breaking free into bloom, while the other seemed poised to bless the unseen. Her face held a serene smile, her eyes warm with an enduring kindness that felt almost foreign.

My breath trembled as I lowered my head.

Veridis, Goddess of Life. It was some sick jest. Talking to myself while Kallias risked his life. You owe me no allegiance. I am Draconis — But my heart belongs to Radaan.

I glanced at the statue again, searching its serene expression for meaning, for answers it could not provide. The candlelight flickered against the sculpted features, making them seem alive, though they remained as silent as ever.

A knot of emotion tightened, clogging my throat. Impossible to ignore.

It belongs to Kallias .

Warmth curled around me like an embrace, loosening my shoulders as tears pricked my eyes. I lost everything: my homeland, my people, even Scythe, cut down by hands meant to end me. Draconia starved while Tallon seethed with hatred, his promises a noose ensnaring my neck. Kallias had been my last refuge, and he had pushed me away.

The ache swelled, raw and consuming.

I wiped at the tears carving paths down my cheeks, frustration blooming with each pass of my hand.

Protect him. I cannot stand without him. He shields me, grounds me, keeps the shadows at bay. He… loves me.

The truth struck hard, unraveling in scattered memories: his piercing gaze, his warmth, the unspoken confessions lingering in every touch. Though he had never spoken the words, they clung to the spaces between us.

Veridis, hear my prayer. Protect his life. Don’t let him die. Bring him back to me.

Tears fell unchecked, staining the fabric of my dress.

A faint pressure brushed my shoulders, like the touch of unseen fingers. My eyes flew open, searching the chamber.

Gayle remained kneeling, her posture unbroken. Her husband and Dageel stayed motionless, their foreheads bowed in reverence. The room held no answers, yet the sensation lingered—soft, elusive, impossible to ignore.

Goddess? The faintest breeze brushed my cheek, cool and deliberate, like a whisper against my skin.

Could the gods of Radaan hear a prayer from Draconis lips? I didn’t claim to understand their ways or believe they meddled in mortal affairs, but what harm lay in trying?

Veridis, I vow to honor you. As Radaan’s queen, I shall proclaim you my goddess and devote my life to preserving yours. I swear to seek your priestesses, follow their wisdom, and guide your people back to your light. Return Kallias to me, and I will serve you as no other queen has.

A tremor of doubt rippled through me, twisting in my gut. What if no one listened? What if the gods were myths, and I whispered into emptiness? But if they were real…

I will complete the celebration of life.

The sacred ceremony Eldeiade left unfinished—the second rite of the Great Hunt. Veridis demanded its completion.

The air shifted. A sudden gust swept through the chamber, far too forceful for a mere draft. Gayle’s breath caught as I lifted my gaze to the altar. The flame beside the statue leaped, blazing wild for an instant before softening to a steady glow.

My throat tightened as realization sank in. What had I done?

My words pressed against me, heavy and inescapable.

I had struck a bargain with a goddess.

A horn sounded, sharp and commanding, breaking through my thoughts.

My head snapped up .

A second blast followed, low and resonant. Gayle’s face remained calm, though a faint frown tugged at her brow.

The third note rang out. Her lips curved into a quiet smile. “The mammoth has been slain.”

“And Kal—the king?” I swallowed hard, forcing his name back down.

A weight settled in my chest as I searched their faces for any sign of hope, but their expressions gave nothing away.

Clay pushed to his feet, his movements slow, deliberate. He offered a hand to Dageel, helping him rise. “One summons the fighters. Two announce victory but warn of injury. Three mean the threat is gone, and the king stands unharmed.”

Relief surged through me, leaving my limbs weak. My vision blurred, though no tears fell. I turned toward Veridis’ altar and let a silent prayer escape me.

Thank you.

A strange warmth settled over me, as if unseen arms wrapped around my shoulders. The sensation startled me, but my lips lifted in a grin despite my unease. Imagined or not, I wouldn’t dismiss Radaan’s gods—not after this. Not when Kallias made it out alive.

Gayle struggled to stand. I extended my hand, steadying her as she rose. She accepted it with a motherly pat before linking her arm through mine. Her gaze sparkled with quiet pride. “We’ll be there to welcome him.”

As we approached the estate’s entrance, the energy outside swelled. What had been still and silent now buzzed with life. Voices rose in excited waves, filling the streets with chatter. Children darted between patches of wildflowers, their laughter spilling into the air as they plucked blossoms. Families clung to one another, sharing embraces filled with joy and relief.

Gayle leaned closer, her words nearly drowned by the crowd. “It has been years since the last mammoth. This is more than a victory—it’s a reminder. Our king is blessed by the gods.”

I clasped my hands, drawing them tight against my chest. My gaze swept southward, pulled by the growing cheers that rippled through the town. My thumb traced restless circles across my palm. Every nerve in me urged me to push forward, to part the crowd and find him.

I needed to see him.

Gayle threaded her arm through mine, offering a firm squeeze. “He will rest here tonight. Tradition dictates the king stays where he slew the mammoth.”

My throat tightened, an invisible hand wrapping around my heart crushing it. I struck a bargain with Veridis. There was no turning back. The celebration of life demanded the queen wash the king’s blood away. Kallias had made it clear he wanted no more from me than duty, and I would honor that boundary .

Cheers erupted, their jubilance reverberating through the streets. Hooves pounded against cobblestone, the rhythmic clatter quickening the pulse in my veins. Then he appeared.

Kallias.

A sharp inhale escaped me as Gayle clutched my arm, grounding me where I stood.

He looked like a specter from a nightmare, drenched in gore. Blood streaked his face and matted his hair, turning its golden strands into deep mahogany. His tunic stuck to him, soaked and stiff with dried carnage. The gold of his armor caught glimmers of light through streaks of crimson, a haunting contrast. His spear hung at his side, still crusted with violence, ragged bits of flesh clinging to its edge.

Our eyes met.

Cornflower blue, piercing through the horror. My breath hitched. His bloodied brow furrowed, but the intensity softened as his gaze lingered.

“Give him space,” Gayle murmured, pulling me toward the edge of the street.

“Why?” The question escaped, though I allowed her to guide me.

Even as he passed, his attention never wavered from mine.

She leaned closer, her voice low. “He’s more than a king now—a warrior bound by vengeance and death. Until it’s washed away, nothing else exists for him.” Her gaze flicked to me, a hint of sympathy in her eyes. “The man you know will return, but not before the blood is gone.”

Kallias dismounted with a warrior’s grace, his movements deliberate and heavy. The crowd parted in hushed reverence as he ascended the stairs, leaving only the smell of iron and the memory of his unwavering gaze behind.

I bit down on my lip, my eyes locked on him as he ascended the steps. His gait faltered, uneven yet somehow commanding. Each stride carried a predatory grace, marred by exhaustion.

Gayle dipped into a curtsy, tugging me down with her. Across from us, Dageel and Clay bowed low, clearing a path to the estate.

Greaves trailed behind at a measured distance. Blood flecked his face, but his dark armor concealed further gore. His gaze flicked to mine, and his frown deepened.

Kallias reached the top of the stairs and stopped before the doors. Silence swept through the crowd. I peeked up at him, catching his bare hand curled into a tight fist, knuckles white, before relaxing, as if restraining himself from hitting someone… or reaching out.

“You have our eternal gratitude, Golden Warrior of Elohios,” Dageel called out, chin still dipped in reverence .

Kallias gave a low grunt, pushing the doors open with a single, forceful motion. Their hinges groaned in protest, the sound loud enough to stir the quiet.

A heavy silence descended, like a thick blanket of fog, and every gaze turned toward the entrance in unison. When Greaves stepped inside, he pulled the doors shut with a firm motion.

“Is he angry?” I whispered, scanning the throng, now chattering with renewed fervor. Clay clapped Dageel on the shoulder, laughter rippling between them.

“Perhaps,” Gayle murmured, her sharp eyes studying me. “But not with us—at the circumstances.” She let out a shallow sigh, pressing her lips together. “Come. We’ll stay in the library until dinner.”

The estate entrance loomed ahead, plain and unassuming, yet it felt impenetrable. A pit formed in my stomach. I longed to be close to him but dreaded my possible failure to fulfill my end of the bargain—or worse, that he might mock my attempt.

Dageel swung the doors open, and Gayle led me through the dim corridors, her steps hesitant, her head low, as though treading near a volatile storm.

She paused at a doorway, her hand lingering on the frame. Her face darkened with sorrow, the corners of her mouth pulling taut. After a moment’s hesitation, she turned and opened the opposite door.

Sunlight poured into the room, illuminating its cozy interior. A soft sofa rested in the sunbeam, surrounded by bookshelves that stretched along the walls. Dust floated in the golden light, shimmering. Beneath our feet, a thick rug muffled every sound, adding a fragile stillness to the air.

I moved to the window, clasping my hands at my back, the cool glass reflecting a distorted version of the room. Behind me, she lowered herself onto the sofa without a word. My teeth caught on my lip as unease prickled along my skin. She remained here, in the same space, while Greaves, who answered only to his king, stood guard, and Gayle had made it clear she wouldn’t interfere.

But where was Kallias? Had he taken the room across the hall? The thought of slipping into his chamber churned in my mind, potential humiliation tightening my throat. Would he turn me away? Would servants whisper?

“Gayle–”

“Nienna–”

I spun, words dying on my tongue as her sharp tone cut through the silence. “Yes?”

She stood again, hands rubbing together in restless loops. Worry etched her face, her mouth tight as though struggling to shape her thoughts. “It’s not my place—not at all—and I beg your forgiveness if I overstep.” Her grimace deepened before she continued. “Something happened between you two. Anyone with half a brain can see it.”

The air hung heavy between us as I pressed my lips together, waiting.

“But he needs you.”

My breath hitched. He needed me. Not the court, not a servant—me.

“I would never ask you to do anything against your will,” she said, her gaze steady but filled with urgency. “Veridis knows I’d never force you. But if you still care for him—if he’ll allow it—Kallias needs you.”

“And if he won’t?” The question slipped out, sharp and trembling.

“Then he can take it up with his god.”

Wrapping my arms around myself, I hugged tight, indecision pressing hard against my ribs. “If someone saw me…” The words faded, too dangerous to complete.

“His guard will keep silent,” she assured me. “Greaves is closer to us than any outsider. Betrayal isn’t in his nature. I’ll make sure no one disturbs this hall tonight.”

“But if–”

“I am Gayle’sol of the Andeluith.” She dropped her hands, her posture straightening as if claiming an unseen crown. An air of nobility wrapped around her, almost regal, until she ruined the moment with a wink. “None here would dare cross me.”

A slow breath escaped me as I steadied myself. “I claimed Veridis.”

“I know.”

A faint smile tugged at my lips. Tilting my head, I studied her with mock suspicion. “You are far too clever, Gayle’sol.”

One brow arched, and she extended her hand. “Being married to Clay, I have to be.”

Her fingers felt cool, a soft contrast to the damp heat of mine. She gave a reassuring squeeze before pulling me toward the entrance. My stomach twisted at the thought of sneaking across the corridor—of finding him drenched in blood.

Of washing it away.

Gayle eased the door open and peeked down the hall. A quick nod followed, and she nudged me forward with an impatient push.

“Go. He needs you.”

My hand trembled as I raised it to knock.

“No! Inside!” She waved her hands, urging me on.

A glance down the dim corridor revealed nothing but shadows stretching along the walls. Doubt creeped in, but I shoved it down, gripped the handle, and stepped in.

—and immediately collided with Greaves .

I stumbled, gasping as he caught himself on the wood, then slammed the door behind him. His armored bulk loomed, a wall of dark steel and dried blood.

“Princess.” His voice grated low, and he lifted a hand, more gesture than apology, as he slid a dagger into its sheath. Red streaks marred his trimmed beard and face.

I pressed myself against the door, trying to shrink beneath his towering presence. Up close, he was a fortress of muscle and steel, a figure I had only seen from a safe distance. The scent of iron and sweat adhered to every inch of him, sharp and suffocating.

His expression softened, the hard angles of his face easing as he dipped his head. Dark eyes, deep and unreadable, swept over me in a slow appraisal before rising to meet mine again. He stayed rooted in place, unmoving, as if deciding what to do with me.

“Please.”

The word fell from my lips, stripped of authority. I was not a princess commanding a guard to step aside; it was a plea. I wasn’t asking for access to a throne room or a strategic council—I was asking someone to let me at their friend when they were vulnerable.

I stood there, holding my breath, hoping for something—a sign, a shift in his stance. My pulse hammered in my ears, as if the air itself was charged with the depth of my request.

Greaves watched me, his dark eyes unreadable, his posture a wall of uncertainty. Whatever Kallias had shared with him, it must have been enough to make him hesitate. If he knew we had fought, that I might have been part of Kallias’ pain, why would he trust me now?

I needed him to trust me.

A slow breath escaped Greaves before he shifted, his heavy boots scraping against the floor as he stepped aside.

My gaze landed on Kallias.

He sat behind a desk, his broad shoulders slumped, legs braced apart as though they anchored him to the earth. One bare hand cradled his bloodstained head, his fingers curling against his temple, nails caked with dried crimson.

His gaze lifted to mine, and something cold and sharp lanced through my chest. Accusation burned there, mingling with wariness. Yet the fatigue in those eyes lingered longer, heavy and haunting, like a storm that never cleared.

The exhaustion in his face carved him into a stranger. This wasn’t just a man who had fought the Great Hunt. It was someone who had endured its aftermath, over and over. How many times had he sat here alone, waiting for a reprieve that never came? How often had he scrubbed death from his skin, knowing no one would share the burden?

My feet carried me forward, drawn by an invisible pull .

“I have claimed Veridis,” I said, the words rasping through my dry throat. They lingered heavy in the air, unanswered. He didn’t flinch, did not blink. His hollow stare followed me, trailing my movements with a numb detachment.

I glanced over my shoulder. Greaves inclined his head once before slipping from the room, the door closing behind him. My chest constricted with the hope he would stand guard, giving us privacy.

Wiping my damp palms against my dress, I took in the quiet of the study. At the room’s center, a large tub sat undisturbed, its water still. Beside it, a cloth lay draped over the rim of a wooden bucket, forgotten for now. Sunlight spilled through tall stained glass windows, streaking the bookshelves with vibrant colors. The desk stood solid, its polished surface reflecting the soft light. Everything here felt suspended in time, untouched by the chaos beyond these walls.

I crossed to the tub, filled the bucket, and soaked the cloth. A trail of droplets marked my path as I carried it to Kallias. The quiet tap of water on the floor matched the rhythm of my thoughts. Stopping at his feet, I wrung the fabric, each motion slow and deliberate.

He didn’t move. His head in his hand was so unlike him it unnerved me. He was distant.

Blood clung to him like a second skin, a macabre mask. It wasn’t just the crimson streaks or the metallic scent of death that filled the room—it was the way he seemed hollow beneath it all.

Kallias, the man I loved, felt impossibly far away.

“How many have you slain?” The question left my lips in a low murmur, the words fragile. Approaching him was no different from stepping toward an angry dragon, every muscle tense with caution.

He didn’t reply. My gaze drifted upward, searching his face for an answer that wouldn’t come.

Uncertainty gnawed at me. Was his silence anger? Resignation? I hated not knowing and cursed myself for failing to press Fyrn for more details.

Wash the blood off. That was my role. The queen’s duty.

My duty.

I shuffled closer, slipping between his legs with measured steps. My focus stayed locked on his face, hunting for any flicker of emotion, any warning that he might push me away. I reached out, the damp cloth trembling in my grasp, and brushed it against his forehead.

His eyes shut, and his brow furrowed into a deep line. Panic rippled through me. I must have done something wrong. I drew back, but his hand shot up, snatching my wrist with a bloody gauntlet. The metal bit into my skin, smearing crimson along my arm.

He didn’t open his eyes. His mouth twisted into a grimace, the expression full of unspoken pain.

Then his thumb shifted, drawing slow circles, easing my tension.

Don’t stop.

When I returned the cloth to his face, his fingers released me. They fell to his thigh with a muted clink of metal against leather.

It wasn’t easy. Blood clung to his hair in matted clumps, dried to the point of near permanence. Mud filled the creases around his ears, blending into the edges of his beard. I worked slowly, each pass dissolving another layer of the grime. His face relaxed bit by bit, the harsh lines easing as the cloth moved across his skin.

A strange sensation settled within as I cleaned him. Watching him hold still, trusting me, filled an emptiness I hadn’t realized was there. Stroke by stroke, the barrier between us thinned, as though with each sweep, I was uncovering not just his features but something I’d thought lost.

When his face and hair resembled the man I knew, I stepped back. My hands found my hips as I studied him, chest rising and falling with the effort.

He looked more like Kallias now. And for the first time in what felt like hours, so did I.

“I need your help to get the armor off,” I said.

His eyes fluttered open, a twitch passing through his brow.

“Up, my king. I must attend to you—”

He blinked, his gaze heavy with disinterest.

“—It’s my duty.”

A deep shudder wracked his body, followed by a breath that hissed out through clenched teeth. The wince made my chest tighten, but he slowly rose to his feet.

“I swear, if you’re injured under all this grime…” I muttered, fingers already working at the buckles on his pauldrons. My words lacked weight. What could I do? Call a healer and stutter through an explanation of how I knew Kallias was hurt?

The pauldron slid free. I paused, realizing I should’ve removed the vambraces first. Cursing under my breath, I adjusted my grip and tackled his gauntlet.

His armor was a chore I would gladly leave to Greaves next time. So many buckles, latches, pieces—each more stubborn than the last. Kallias would not assist, no matter how spiteful my complaints were.

Apparently, this was part of the ritual.

I set the pieces aside on the desk, clearing his arms and shoulders. Beneath the armor, the hard padding was soaked with dried blood, stiff against my touch.

“And I suppose you won’t help with this, either?” I huffed.

His mouth curled in amusement, a small reward for my persistence .

I gripped the hem of his padded tunic, tugged it free of his belt, and rolled it up. The sight of his muscled abs made my stomach flutter. I squashed them, then pulled it higher. This would only be about washing.

He lifted his hands, wincing with a quiet hiss. Worry snagged at my chest as I stepped closer, ready to help. He doubled over with a low groan, and I seized the opportunity to pull the tunic off. It fell to the floor with a damp slap, blood from the beast still clinging to its fabric.

His face twisted in pain as he straightened. I slipped two fingers into his trousers, earning a startled grunt as I yanked him away from the desk. When he followed, I let go, circling around him with a deliberate step.

A streak of red marred his spine, thick as my hand. It wasn’t a cut but a bruise, as though he’d been slammed into a tree. I traced the damaged skin with my finger, my eyes following the map of scars etched across his back and shoulders. He shivered, a small tremor under my touch, and I savored the way he remained still, vulnerable.

A double-edged sword for him.

Satisfied that he wasn’t bleeding out and nothing seemed broken, I stepped around him and sank to my knees.

I noticed how his body stiffened, but didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, I bent over, reaching for the armor protecting his boots. When my hands encircled his thigh to loosen the cuisses, the room was suffocating, the heat rising with each ripple of his muscles beneath my touch.

He shifted, flexing the muscles under my palms. I paused, my glare meeting his as his darkened gaze locked with mine, crossing the expanse of his muscled stomach.

My fingers slipped on the clasp, frustration tightening my chest. I forced a calm breath. This was my choice. He came back to me, and I would honor that.

The buckle gave way. I exhaled as I set it aside, retrieving the cloth from the bucket. I ignored his unrelenting stare as I rose. Hunger smoldered in his eyes, a reflection of a man starved for something I wouldn’t give.

I couldn’t. He didn’t want that from me.

Water dripped from the scar across his chest, the same one that haunted the sketches I’d made of him. The innocence of those drawings seemed so distant, the contrast stark between then and now. Scythe had been taken. I wasn’t the same woman anymore.

I washed the blood and death from him. Each sweep of my hand, every stroke across his skin, brought him closer to me. His back was filthy, and I stroked his broad shoulders, easing the dirt away. When I reached the wound, I was gentle, cautious. He stiffened, but said nothing.

I worked my way to his chest, dragging the cloth below his navel. His stomach clenched, and he held his breath as I lingered. My finger traced the space above his belt buckle, a soft caress that made his hand snap out, closing around my wrist. His grip didn’t crush, just prevented me from going further.

The damp rag hung between us, cold against the heat of his skin. I tilted my head back to meet his gaze, inches away. My blood thrummed in my veins, pulsing with the proximity. His jaw flexed, and a smirk crept onto my lips.

There was power in taunting him. A wonderful, awful power.

His grip on my wrist pulled me closer. I stumbled, body pressing against his, hands trapped between us. His gaze never wavered, a storm of conflict swirling behind his eyes—just as fierce as the battle with the mammoth.

Fighting a beast was one thing. Confronting the monster inside was something else entirely.

His head dropped forward, inch by inch, each breath bringing him closer. My heart thundered, desperate and erratic. My breaths quickened, caught in the warmth of his, air brushing my cheek. This time, I wouldn’t beg him to kiss me. I would not plead.

But I lacked the will to push him away.

His lips grazed mine, and my legs buckled beneath me.

“Prince Tallon!”