Page 4 of Between Flames and Deceit (Dragon’s Heart Duology #1)

Chapter Three

Nienna

“ P lease remain still, Your Highness.” Edith’s voice held calm patience as she wove my long blonde tresses into an intricate braid, the sunlight casting a warm glow over us.

I closed my eyes, drawing in a slow breath to settle my racing thoughts. Last night, I managed to evade most conversation, and King Kallias, for his part, seemed all too eager to ignore me. The nobleman beside me, however, had been a fountain of knowledge, a relentless source of information, regaling me with far more than I ever imagined about the mountain goats of the northern region.

Goats.

I squashed the irritation that bubbled up at the thought of the evening’s bizarre discussion. Goats were important to Claydon’sol—it was vital to remember what each noble valued. If ever the topic turned to the uses or breeding of mountain goats, I knew exactly who to call upon. He would be more than happy to lecture anyone within earshot for hours on end.

“You’re certain he’s here?” I asked, doubt threading my words. I had reason to question Scythe’s information.

“Aye.”

Edith stiffened, her head snapping toward Scythe with a sharp glare.

“Err, yes, Your Highness.” Scythe offered her an apologetic smile, then turned back to me with a genuine grin. “I overheard it in the kitchens while fetching your morning tea. Prince Tallon arrived last night. Caused quite a stir, or so the staff says.”

“Gossipmongers,” Edith muttered under her breath.

“And you’re sure he was just in his cups? Not injured?” I asked, ignoring the older maid’s exasperated sigh.

“I’d say there’d be a lot more commotion if he were. As it is, Rosalie mentioned he often gets lost in his spirits. Nothing to worry over.”

Yes, a drunkard for a betrothed. Nothing to worry over at all.

Teeth gritted, I studied the princess in the mirror. She sat tall and composed, her hair neat and combed. Her pale face was scrubbed clean, and sea-colored irises gleamed, sharp and watchful.

My father wouldn’t saddle me with a marriage to a drunken sot. I feared a husband who overindulged in wine far more than one who might be mortally wounded. To be fair, if he were injured, perhaps I’d find it easier to forgive his absence at my receiving.

“I’m sure you are eager to see him tonight,” Scythe added. She paused, her fingers stilling as she laced my boot, a distant smile tugging at her lips. “You’ll finally meet the man you’re promised to.”

“Scythe. Boots!” Edith hissed.

The young maid snapped to attention, resuming her task. Edith’s sharp gaze caught mine in the mirror as if she understood my pain.

“I hope he won’t wait until tonight to see me.” I forced a chuckle, the sound hollow. The notion of him missing my arrival, only to delay our meeting until the ball, felt absurd.

Surely, he’d call for me before the evening’s festivities.

He did not, in fact, call for me before the ball.

I bounced between irritation and hurt. The sting of his public disregard twisted into something sharper—annoyance at the slight, but deeper still, an ache of rejection. I had accepted my role. As a princess, forming alliances was my birthright. Tallon, a prince, was bound to the same fate. His duty was clear—to forge connections with other kingdoms, securing his rule over Radaan.

The alliance between Draconia and his kingdom was vital. We needed each other. Food was scarce. Our grain supply was unreliable, and though the waters offered fish, it could not sustain us forever. And the dragons required a tithe, one that increased with each passing year.

Radaan needed the protection our dragons provided—their ability to mobilize over sea and mountain, their firestorms capable of razing entire armies. Kallias and Tallon needed respite from the endless war, a decisive move to secure their fragile peace .

And yet the prince continued to disgrace me.

Edith sat on a stool, her knitting needles clicking, her attention absorbed in the work. Scythe had made herself scarce, sensing the thickening tension. I kept my temper in check, watching the hours stretch, morning slipping into high noon, then fading to evening.

And still, he never summoned me.

I sat on the chaise, bedecked in the vibrant blues and muted greens of Draconia. A necklace of mother-of-pearl rested against my skin, a perfect match to the finery that adorned my wrists and ears. The sea-green gown, one of my finest, flowed in waves, cascading along my frame with effortless grace. Black boots laced tightly over my knees offered a nice contrast to the delicate tiara nestled in my hair—a silver band adorned with pearls, diamonds, and sapphires that caught the light with every movement, drawing attention to my face.

A knock echoed through the room, and I raised my chin, casting a sharp, deliberate glare. “Come in.”

The door swung open with surprising silence, its weight a testament to its craftsmanship. Ronan entered, leaving his guards in the corridor behind him.

He wore his finest garb. Traces of silver and pearls glinted along the dark leather, sculpting his muscular chest. Unlike the rough uniform worn by most riders, his was lined with smooth silk. His black goggles sat cocked atop his head in a roguish way, as if anyone could miss that he was a rider.

“Father would be beside himself,” I sighed, giving his goggles a pointed look as I stood.

“He should have come.”

“You know as well as I, he would if he could.”

Edith set her knitting aside and leaned in to smooth the folds of my dress, ensuring every line fell without a crease.

“Pah! Old man.” Ronan scoffed, though his lopsided grin softened the jab.

Argos took a battering in his last flight—a whirlstorm hurled him into the jagged crags that surrounded Draconia. His wing, broken and scarred, marked the end of his flights across the sea.

Still a fearsome beast to behold. But, for a grounded dragon, its rider remains earthbound as well—king or not.

Edith tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear, scrutinizing my reflection before stepping back—satisfied. Ronan extended his arm, and I steadied myself with a breath before resting my hand on the crook of his elbow.

“Tallon visit you?” he asked, tone casual as we passed the guards posted in the hall.

When the door thudded shut behind us, it echoed the hollow ache within, a weight pressing down as my heart sank. “No. ”

His muscles tensed beneath my grip, his steps faltering. With a clenched jaw, my fingers tightened, urging him to keep moving. His anger matched my own, but we couldn’t change the situation.

The first time I’d see Tallon would be under the watchful stares of hundreds of nobles.

“That flaming son of–”

“Of King Kallias,” I finished, casting a sidelong glance at the guards flanking us in the corridor. Any slip could be overlooked, but I dared not let my brother’s words spark gossip that might reach the prince’s ears.

“He arrived last night!” he hissed.

Barely standing, by all accounts.

“Yes, and I’m sure the journey left him… exhausted,” I said, forcing a cordial tone.

The strangled sound in the back of his throat caught somewhere between a scoff and a growl. He strode beside me in silence, no doubt concocting some clever slight to avenge Tallon’s absence. I’d need to steer the prince well clear of him this evening.

“Is Gyrak eager for tomorrow morning?” I asked, guiding the conversation to a safer topic. A couple bowed in tandem as we passed. I returned the gesture with a nod and polite smile, trying to orient myself with the bright halls twisting ahead.

“More than I am,” he answered. “I’ll be on dragonback for far too long.”

“And here you are, a seasoned Dragon Rider, grumbling about your backside’s saddle sores.”

“You got a ship, Princess . Try riding dragonback for days on end with no breaks to take a–”

“Ronan!” I hissed, cutting him off. I forced a grin at the guards, who pretended not to listen, grateful no nobles lingered within earshot.

“You romanticize it, sister,” he teased, stretching arms wide. “Oh yes, soaring through the skies, high above all troubles— free as the wind!”

His mocking theatrics drew a giggle I couldn’t contain. I knew too well the grueling reality of dragon riding—the strength demanded to handle a creature’s every surge and dive, the endless drills to build up endurance, and the discipline to avoid blacking out mid-flight. Young dragons could soar for days and their riders required discipline.

After all, crossing a vast sea with nowhere to land brought its own indignities—things better left undiscussed in polite company.

As we approached the private entrance to the ballroom, a lightness eased into my chest. No matter the hardships, Ronan always found a way to lift my spirits. He’d get into trouble—I’d pull him out. And I’d never regretted a moment of it .

A bittersweet smile ghosted over my lips at the thought of him leaving. With whirlstorms approaching, we wouldn’t dare risk Gyrak in the skies. Once he departed, I would truly be alone—left with only my ladies’ maids. Edith, my steadfast nursemaid since childhood, and Scythe, my handmaid and closest friend. But neither could replace my brother.

I straightened my spine, sealing away the ache. This was my life, my duty. I would take it as it came.

We moved through corridors unfamiliar to me—not that many weren’t—and stopped before a towering set of doors. A squire worked through the line of assembled nobles, scratching notes onto a long parchment. His sleeves bore a modest puff, a mark of his position within the royal staff. Beside him stood a man with a hawkish nose and bushy white brows that cried out for a trim, his sleeves billowing in an exaggerated display of rank.

They glanced up as we neared, and the squire hurried forward, cuffing a small boy at his side, who scurried down the hall like a startled mouse.

“Your Highnesses! Welcome! Right this way, if you please!” He gestured for us to bypass the line.

I maintained an amicable grin, eyes straight ahead. Even so, the vivid pinks and purples adorning the women caught my attention. My preference leaned toward muted shades, deep tones. Yet as this kingdom’s future princess, I needed to embody its elegance, to appear as though I belonged. One day, as queen, I would set the fashion standard.

A nervous thrill wound tight as Ronan guided me closer to those giant doors. White as bone, they stood engraved with delicate, gilded trees that stretched upward, reaching for the vaulted ceiling. I marveled at the workmanship—a forest inviting me to step forward, to lose myself in its gleaming depths of ivory and gold. I imagined brushing my fingers over the smooth curves and carved hollows, as though a single touch might pull me into that shimmering world.

No art within this palace would escape my prying eyes. I wanted to explore each carved panel, study every painted ceiling and century-old vase. These halls would become mine to know and cherish, and one day, I would leave my own touch in its decor, something worthy of these storied walls.

“His Highness, Prince Tallon of Radaan, will descend the opposite staircase and–”

“Take my sister, yes,” Ronan interrupted with a low growl, silencing the page.

I pinched his forearm, a warning hidden in the pressure. Manners, brother .

“Yes, Your Highness.” The page nodded, stiff and curt. “Once they reach the landing, you may descend in turn.”

A mischievous smirk pulled at the corner of Ronan’s lip. “Right behind you, Princess. ”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at his antics. Mother would have set propriety aside and smacked him without a second thought.

A boy, no older than seven, scurried over, breathless, as he tugged at the man’s overcoat.

The squire scribbled a quick note on his parchment before signaling to the guards with a brisk wave. “Yes, yes. This way, Your Highnesses!”

I drew in a slow breath, careful to keep it hidden from watchful eyes, and steadied myself as the massive doors pulled open.

A tide of cheerful conversation rolled over me like a fog, thick and hazy, while the dense, cloying smell of perfume and flowers crowded my senses. I gripped Ronan’s arm, and he flexed beneath my grasp—a silent promise. He wouldn’t leave me. Not yet.

For one last evening, he stood beside me.

Light from mirrored chandeliers and wall-mounted lanterns cascaded over the stairs, the plush red carpet running down to a matching set of doors on the opposite side. My stare locked onto them as they cracked open, my heart thrumming with the anticipation of finally laying eyes on Prince Tallon.

A man stood silhouetted there, his piercing green gaze catching mine across the expanse. Nervous butterflies swarmed in my belly as his mouth curved into a crooked smirk. The crown resting in his raven-dark hair gleamed, its embedded diamonds and emeralds sparkling against the backdrop of his regal bearing. There was no mantle for the prince then.

“His Royal Highness, Prince Tallon of Radaan!”

A faint dizziness swept over me as I took in his form. Tall and lean, he carried a hint of lingering boyhood awkwardness, though at nineteen, he was on the cusp of something more formidable. He would stand just above my height. Still, even from this distance, his face seemed kind—and sober.

“Heir of King Kallias Sunspear! Son of the late Queen Eldeiade!”

Did he get those intense green eyes from his mother? Would his frame one day rise to match that of his father’s imposing breadth and stature?

With a twist of his body, he swept into a bow, his gaze still locked on mine. A flicker of insolence lurked in that look, as if he were mocking us. My grin wavered, unsteady with a pulse of nerves.

This was the man destined to be by my side for a lifetime.

“Presenting His Royal Highness, Prince Ronan Draconis, rider of Gyrak the Black; and Her Royal Highness, Princess Nienna Draconis, the Dragon’s Heart!”

My brother bowed, and I sank into a curtsy, rising with Prince Tallon. I kept an iron grip on my brother’s arm as we moved, step by deliberate step, down the stairs, each footfall reminding me to breathe .

His boots, polished obsidian with silver buckles, gleamed under the lights as he took the opposite staircase. His attire—a black tunic and trousers paired with a deep red overcoat—clung to his frame. Rings sparkled on his fingers, but I refused to look away from his glittering gaze.

That crooked smile, a slant of mischief or perhaps defiance, seemed etched as a permanent stain on his features. I hoped it hinted at a jestful nature, like my brother, and not the hardened cruelty I’d glimpsed in the sneers of others. Surely Prince Tallon was no bully.

One wouldn’t direct such harshness toward his future wife and queen.

My boots struck the landing, high above the crowd, on equal footing with my betrothed. As we closed the distance, I tipped my chin, meeting his intense gaze. His eyes roamed over my features, drifting to my neckline.

Heat crept into my cheeks under his bold, open appraisal. But he was to be my husband, after all.

I could only hope he liked what he saw.

“Prince Tallon.” My voice pitched higher than I intended, but I resisted clearing my throat.

As he offered me his arm, his green stare cut to my brother.

“My sister, Princess Nienna Draconis,” Ronan’s friendly tone carried a subtle warning—a reminder, “the Dragon’s Heart.”

“Your Highness.” Tallon dipped his head, and a stray lock of dark hair fell across his brow in a boyish way. A stirring instinct to tuck it back tugged at me. Instead, I eased my hand from Ronan’s arm.

This was it—my presentation to the masses as the future bride of Radaan’s heir.

My fingers rested on Tallon’s forearm, and the light connection brought on a spark of nerves, prickling and hazy. Such a simple, innocent touch, yet it meant so much, bound me to him in more ways than one. Did he care that I’d given my pact to his father? That he missed the Dragon’s Kiss? If he did, he didn’t show it.

We turned to the crowd as one. My practiced smile set in place. Still, I cursed the way the corner of my lips twitched downward. Masses of nobles, ambassadors, and foreign dignitaries spread out before us, watching for any crack in my composure.

“Behold! Your future King and Queen of Radaan!”

The herald’s voice rang out, and my grin faltered, tension tightening my throat. Polite applause rippled through the audience, along with cordial nods and shallow bows.

But my gaze sought the king.

He watched us, his piercing eyes narrowed beneath dark brows drawn low to match his frown. Though he stood hundreds of paces away near the dais, his displeasure reached me as clearly as if he’d spoken. A flush of heat crept over my cheeks. Had I not been under every eye in this hall, I might have folded under the weight of his scrutiny.

Who could be so foolish, careless even, to make such an announcement? To proclaim a future king or queen—not heir apparent—while the current ruler still reigned?

“Let’s not keep them in suspense.”

Warning bells echoed in my mind as my gaze tugged back to Tallon. Weren’t those his father’s words when we met? He flashed me a predatory smile and took the first step to the ballroom. I swallowed my nerves and followed, avoiding the angry glare from across the room.

As soon as our boots hit the polished floor, the nobles closed in. I kept up my amicable countenance, struggling to remember names, territories, and allegiances. While I recognized most of the names, matching faces to their titles and recalling their interests felt like an impossible task.

“Ah, my lady—you’ll have to excuse me.” Tallon’s eyes glinted with amusement as he smirked down at me, lowering his arm—and my hand along with it. “I have business to attend to.”

Without me? At a ball announcing our betrothal?

With no more than a one-armed shrug, he plunged into the crowd. I stared after him, stunned.

He left me? Alone? Among a sea of nobles and dignitaries? A cold, sharp edge flooded my veins with an icy chill. I might have been raised for this, but all I knew was Draconia’s high court. Radaan was another world entirely.

A nobleman with bushy white hair tied back into a puff at the nape of his neck caught my eye. His grip on the elderly woman at his side tightened as they started my way.

No. No more goats.

I lifted onto my toes, scanning the crowd as though searching for someone. With a nod to myself, I pressed forward, people parting as they realized who I was. My steps carried me toward the only fixed point in the room—the dais.

And also, quite effectively, took me further from Claydon’sol and his tedious conversation of mountain goat breeding.

My boots halted on the carpet as realization struck—I was moving closer to King Kallias. His furious gaze flashed in my mind, and I stepped back. He had to know I had no part in the announcement, but seeing me without his son after such a claim to the throne was something I wanted nothing to do with.

“Ah, Your Highness!”

A royal did not display irritation.

“Princess Nienna! I forgot to mention goat hair!”

A princess loved all her people—and the quirks that came with them .

With yet another wide grin pasted to my cheeks, I turned to greet the Sols. It seemed fate had decided I needed to learn more about goats and their… hair.

It could have been a worse evening.

The palace could have caught fire, the ceiling collapsing to bury us all. Alas, I spent hours with Claydon’sol and Gayle’sol, listening to endless talk about Kuh’lir—goats that dwelled in their mountainous region. The debate of sheep versus goats stretched into the night.

One glass of wine was my sole companion.

Prince Tallon moved through the crowd, flanked by a group of young nobles. I caught his gaze once, and he smirked, as if he found my conversation with Claydon’sol amusing. I threw a smile right back at him, all teeth, making sure he knew I noticed him.

He disappeared after that.

Asking questions kept the Sols talking. I had to mind my words, careful not to provoke my father’s temper—one of the many traits of his I inherited. It was safer to listen than trust my tongue and lips to remain polite. My brother was lost in the throng, and Tallon abandoned me. I nodded in encouragement as Gayle’sol, a short, frail woman, rambled on about a buck that they captured for breeding.

“And he is quite content!” She beamed, pausing to sip her wine.

A wild buck, penned with hundreds of does. Hardly a life to protest.

“They usually fight a bit,” she drawled, “try to escape. But this one, he’s–”

“Claydon’sol.”

The king’s interruption sent a tremor through me. I would have been content to let these two go on about their goats rather than confront King Kallias.

“Your Majesty!” The Sols bowed and curtsied as I faced him, dropping into my own curtsy.

The music that flowed over the happy din shifted, fading to a tense note, signaling the start of the main event.

“I beg your leave. Princess Nienna is needed,” he said.

I lifted my stare from his polished boots, tracing the sharp lines of his snug dress clothes. His plush green velvet overcoat clung to his broad shoulders, lined with accents of gold. His mantle’s glare challenged the sharpness of his gaze. He watched me with an intensity that felt as if he could peer straight through my soul, all while offering a courteous smile to the nobles .

“Of course! Come, dear,” Claydon called, his voice light with excitement. “Let’s find a good place to watch the dance!”

I kept my expression poised and content, ignoring the guard that trailed the king. Bystanders gave us marginal space, none daring to approach as he stepped closer.

“Where is Tallon?” His voice pitched low, lips barely moving as he offered his arm.

Dread hit me like a physical blow, but I stifled the flinch building beneath my skin. I wouldn’t offer excuses for someone who abandoned me in his own court.

“I haven’t the slightest, Your Majesty. Last I saw, he was making for the doors to the hall.”

His hand rested over his belt, a subtle gesture that barely concealed the tension in his posture. I stole a glance at his face. The slight pinch of his brow made it clear—he was far from pleased that the prince had run off.

Perhaps he should have taught him better manners.

“Greaves.” The name sent the guard shadowing him off in another direction. I tried to mask my intrigue. Kallias would send a mere bodyguard after his son?

As the king guided me toward the ballroom’s center, I set my wineglass on a passing servant’s tray. He was leading me to the dance floor—where I’d wait for my betrothed to join me, if he managed to return in time. With jaw clenched, I flexed my free hand, struggling to steady my nerves.

The crowd parted before us, a hush falling over them. My pulse quickened, blood roaring in my ears, drowning out the music as the dancefloor cleared.

The notes blared, almost deafening against the nobles’ murmurs. They watched with eager grins and bright eyes. One misstep now, and my reputation would plunge further into the mire.

Kallias pressed forward without hesitation, heading straight for the cleared floor. My heart slammed into my throat.

“Your Majesty,” I croaked, ashamed of the way my voice faltered.

He dipped his chin, but kept his gaze fixed ahead, as though he were a bull set on the task at hand, intent on charging.

“Am I to share a dance with Prince Tallon?” I whispered. Uncertainty slithered beneath my skin. I despised it—not knowing how to carry myself, or what to expect. The first dance was meant to celebrate our engagement, the highlight of the evening. Surely, he wouldn’t leave me alone on the floor.

Kallias’ cheek twitched—a sharp, subtle movement that revealed his mounting frustration. I sincerely hoped it was not aimed at me.

“I will escort you in his stead.”

A cry of dismay rose in my throat, but I swallowed it back, keeping my expression composed. Once more, the king had to take his son’s place. Was this treaty truly between me and Tallon ?

No, it was between Draconia and Radaan. I was Draconis, and Kallias was Radaanian. It was the same.

Except it didn’t feel that way.

“It will be my first Radaanian dance.” I lifted my chin, forcing another smile to mask the ache gnawing at me. “It’s regrettable that you’ve not shod your boots in steel,” I muttered, hoping he was more forgiving than his rough exterior portrayed.

“I fear you’ll not fare any better.” His lips twisted into a slight grimace. “It’s been years since I last danced with a woman.”

The agony in my heart softened a fraction. He wasn’t angry about my bluntness. He understood my discomfort, related to my pain.

I relaxed, the tension in my shoulders easing as he spun me into position. His grip firmed around my hand, holding me at arm’s length. My polite expression trembled and faltered, unable to hold against his severe frown.

He wore the look of a man resigned to his torturous fate.

Poor soul. Cursed to dance with his future daughter-in-law while his bodyguard tracked down his son.

His hair, streaked with silver, framed a jaw set with quiet resolve. Short stubble, gleaming with flecks of gray, dotted his chin. Dark brows dipped over troubled cornflower blue eyes.

I gripped his hand delicately, then lowered myself into a deep curtsy—deeper than I would for Tallon. Kallias demanded more honor from his station. And deserved more respect for attempting to set me at ease.

With a gentle tug, he pulled me closer as the harmony swelled, its rhythm in sync with my thudding pulse. His warm hand rested on my waist, and I shivered at the slight pressure.

His touch felt wrong—searing through the layers of my dress. Another man’s hands on me. Heat flushed my cheeks. I’d danced with other nobles, but always under my father’s watchful eye. Surely, my brother lingered in the crowd somewhere, but I had no idea where. I was on display, the center of attention at high court—dancing with a man who wasn’t my betrothed.

I peeked up at him and tried another shot at humor. “Have you danced with many men in recent years?” My hand settled on his shoulder, searching his gaze for some sign that he understood my good natured intent—that he wouldn’t dismiss me as a foolish girl.

“Who do you think I practice with?”

His grunted response clashed with his frown, and I smothered a genuine grin. He seemed far more unnerved than I. Strange, since I’d only been taught this dance in the privacy of my home, never before in public. Perhaps it was the fact that he wasn’t dancing with me by choice, but out of obligation .

Music cascaded over the room, stringed instruments singing sweet notes that mingled with the soft rustle of silken dresses and the rhythmic tap of polished shoes. The rich, melodic hum seemed to settle deep within, vibrating through the floor as if the very air were alive with the sound.

“Well, I’ll be living at the palace, in case you haven’t heard,” I murmured. “I’ve been bound to my room all day. Perhaps the next time you need a partner, I can assist you.”

His jaw twitched, teeth grinding as his gaze fixed on my ear. He guided me through the steps in silence, his movements sure but tense. I dropped my focus to the mantle on his overcoat, the golden chains swishing with each step. I matched their rhythm, letting the music wash over me.

Despite his evident unease and my inexperience with Radaanian dances, we flowed seamlessly. He led, and I followed, the steps becoming as effortless as breathing. A quiet reassurance settled in my chest—I was made for this. This alliance was no mistake.

My thoughts drifted, the music’s crescendo stirring emotions I hadn’t expected. His hand at my waist remained firm, unyielding, while the other clasped mine with steady strength. His scent, a mix of sunshine and cinnamon, clung to me, drawing me closer as if to anchor me to the moment.

I wondered what scent Tallon carried.

As if he could read my thoughts, Kallias’ hand twitched at my waist. My eyes snapped to his, and I saw the shift in his expression before he slowed our movements. His glare cut through the crowd, and the music responded in kind, fading to a soft interlude, as if the very room bent to his mood. He stilled, and despite the smooth flow of the dance, my breath quickened, as if he’d stolen it from my lungs.

Without a word, he dropped my hand and pulled away from my waist, storming off the floor with a furious stride. I froze, watching him go, heart pounding.

Tallon swaggered over, a smirk twisting his features, Greaves trailing behind. My fingers twitched with the urge to slap it off his face.

Kallias stalked past a servant with a tray of wine glasses, snatching one without breaking stride. In a fluid motion, he tipped it back, draining the glass before lowering his chin to meet his son’s gaze. As they passed, Tallon’s smirk evaporated, his brows drawing down in a sharp, heated glare.

They exchanged no words, yet the weight of their silence rippled through the room, thick with tension. Greaves pivoted on his heel, falling in line behind King Kallias. Meanwhile, Tallon sucked in a breath large enough to puff up his chest, his forest-green eyes locking with mine. Again, he gave me a half-hearted shrug, as if offering an apology .

I reined in my irritation, forcing my expression into neutrality as he stopped before me. With a flourish, he stooped into a bow so exaggerated it almost bordered on mockery. My jaw clenched tight to keep from snapping at him, demanding where he disappeared to. Instead, I dipped into a respectable, measured curtsy. I wouldn’t give him as much respect as his father received. He hadn’t earned it.

His grin was boyish as he extended his hand. When I placed mine in his, his touch landed on my waist, but it felt lacking—fragile, almost as though it were an act, a thin veneer of sincerity.

I pushed the thought aside, shaking off the discomfort as the music enveloped us. The melody wrapped itself around me, coaxing my body into the rhythm, pulling me into a trance of familiarity—one I knew better than the man I was bound to marry.