Page 6 of Between Flames and Deceit (Dragon’s Heart Duology #1)

Chapter Five

Nienna

W hen Edith arrived in the morning, I was already awake. Scythe had smuggled my robe and headscarf away for washing, and the older maid’s skeptical gaze landed on me, though she kept her questions silent.

“Lady Fyrn’sol requested your company for tea after you bid farewell to His Highness Ronan Draconis.” Edith tugged my hair free of its braid, her tone careful. “Several high ladies are expected as well.”

I rolled my shoulders and straightened my spine. It was better to deal with their whispers and accusations directly than let them fester behind closed doors.

Why couldn’t Tallon stand by me for just one evening? Next time, I’d cling to his arm and stick to his side like a sucker fish.

I swallowed, my thoughts flickering to the king’s words from last night. Bastard. Surely Scythe was right; it had to be a curse hurled in anger, nothing more.

There was so much about Radaan royalty that I now questioned. Across the seas, people knew there was no love lost between Queen Eldeiade and King Kallias. She’d died nearly two years ago, a victim of the same plague that had swept the palace. Yet after last night’s talk of banishment, I wondered if there’d been more to their rift than mere estrangement. No king would idly threaten to exile his queen; it would tarnish not only his family but the kingdom’s honor.

Radaan thrived on principles of honor and respect. Elohios, the god they worshiped, demanded no less from the royal line. I knew the basics of Radaanian beliefs, though religion held little place in Tallon’s life—or so I’d been told—and so I hadn’t prioritized it myself.

Scythe had slipped away that morning, intent on finding anything she could about the late queen. If there was truth in the king’s capacity for violence, I needed to know if it extended to those in his path—particularly those close to his son.

I frowned at myself in the mirror. On the dance floor, Kallias behaved with an almost surprising warmth, the hint of a friendlier man beneath the iron mask. Cold, yes, and remote, but he didn’t strike me as someone who would murder a wife. Or his son’s future bride.

“A little longer, and you’ll have permanent lines from that frown,” Edith hummed, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, loosening the tension in my brow. “I’m just… concerned about the tea,” I admitted, smoothing my hands over my dress.

“Princess, you were raised among dragons. A few high ladies with too much lace and perfume are hardly worth fretting over.”

I scoffed and grinned, though a pang pulsed through me at her words. The beasts held more honesty than these courtiers, I was certain. At least a dragon wouldn’t hesitate to show its teeth before going for the kill.

A hollowness settled in my chest. Soon I’d be saying goodbye to Ronan, to Gyrak, to the only pieces of home I had left.

“I still can’t fathom why Prince Tallon abandoned me,” I muttered, eyes drifting to the emeralds Edith pinned in my hair—reminding me of the green of Kallias’ coat from last night.

“Perhaps he had other matters to attend to.” Her lips thinned, though she didn’t seem convinced by her own words.

The exchange I’d overheard told me otherwise. He had no affairs that mattered—at least, not according to his father.

“I’m sure it was important.”

I forced the lie to sound easy, then rose as Edith helped me into a gown that shimmered like liquid sunlight. Golden fabric poured in graceful cascades with a slit on one side to keep it as functional as it was formal. Beneath, gold-toned breeches and leather boots kept me grounded in practicality. Thankfully, the hem hid them from view, allowing me to blend in with Radaan’s style without losing myself.

Edith clicked her tongue, fingers tugging at the snug fabric that clung to my arms. Her pursed lips spoke volumes about her disapproval of my refusal to embrace the kingdom’s bulbous-sleeved fashion.

But I was Draconis. No ridiculous, puffed-up sleeves would cover my shoulders.

Once she declared me presentable, I stepped out, my frustration flaring as guards fell into place beside me .

“The courtyard,” I ordered, eyeing their steel-plated bodies. No amount of ornamental sunshine and forest-green paint could soften their rigid stances. Their heavy footfalls herded me forward like livestock.

I clenched my jaw, resolved to memorize the castle’s winding corridors. The faster I learned, the sooner I could navigate on my own, free of the clamor and presence of armored shadows.

As I padded down the hall, thoughts of King Kallias crept back. He didn’t travel with a pack of guards—only one. Maybe I could make the same request. A single guard I could get to know in this unfamiliar place, who might feel like a friend rather than a jailor.

The hallways unfurled in quiet beauty around me, each turn revealing lush greenery that softened the marble walls and polished floors. Vines had been trained to grow across the stone, their tangled paths like threads of living art. Small-leaved ivies mingled with massive fronds that stretched almost to my waist. Green tendrils, pulsing with life, reached for the sun filtering through stained glass windows, as if the plants themselves were straining against their confines. I understood that yearning too well—seeking sunlight, the freedom of open skies.

A pang of sorrow thudded through me, knowing I would likely never feel the rush of dragonflight again. I buried that ache, pushing it down with all the others. This was my place now, my duty. Whatever Tallon did or didn’t do, I was still a princess, bound by everything I’d been trained to uphold.

Relief washed over me when I recognized the paintings at the end of the corridor. The guards hauled open the towering doors to reveal the courtyard—grand enough to receive a dragon.

Gyrak’s massive maw filled my vision as I stepped forward, his teeth glinting as he lowered his head. I stopped short, grinning at the guards’ startled mutters.

“I missed you, too.” My hand rested on his warm, smooth scales.

He gave a contented rumble, one gleaming yellow eye turning to study my face, his gaze piercing yet comforting.

Ronan’s voice cut through, laced with amusement. “I’d take a few steps back,” he warned. “He sneezes—you’re all kindling.”

I scoffed, but the guards gave us some distance, shuffling for space.

Ronan adjusted his flight goggles, ruffling his light hair with a casual swipe. “You danced with the king.”

Not a question. His steady gaze found mine, his usual irritation giving way to open concern. My little brother—ever watchful, ever loyal—was worried about me.

“Tallon was indisposed,” I muttered, keeping my voice low .

Ronan’s mouth twisted, and a muscle in his jaw feathered as his annoyance deepened. “Seems he’s always missing when it matters,” he growled. “I looked for him when the dance began—he was nowhere.”

No, Kallias had to send his guard to drag his son from the shadows.

I forced a bright, practiced smile. “The treaty’s between Radaan and Draconia. Trust me to do my duty, Ronan.”

“You deserve better,” he grumbled, pulling me into a fierce hug. “If it weren’t for the whirlstorms–”

“I know. You’d stick around until I grew so sick of you I’d have to banish,” my tongue slipped over the word, “banish you home.”

He pulled back, eyes narrowed, but I cleared my throat and turned my attention to Gyrak, burying any stray emotion in the dragon’s warm gaze.

“I will do this, Ronan. Father signed the treaty. Radaan and Draconia will be joined. A tardy prince won’t stop it.”

“Father would have the fleets brave the whirlstorms for you. Never forget that, Nienna.”

A bittersweet smile tugged at my lips as I pushed a stray lock of his sand-colored hair from his brow. Always my protective little brother. “Go on, then. You’re wasting daylight.”

He snorted at my attempt to get rid of him, then wrapped me in another rib-crushing hug. I wheezed, sure he’d cracked something. When he pulled away, he flashed a bright smile, one that wiped the frown that had marred his handsome features.

“It’s a good day to fly,” he said, throwing his hand to the skies before sauntering over to his dragon’s shoulder. “A kiss for luck?”

I chuckled as Gyrak brought his fangs within a hand’s breadth of my face and waited. Shaking my head, I settled my palms on his scaled lips and gave him a quick peck on the nose. “Ride the winds. Fly fast. Take him home.”

He trilled, lifting with a powerful stretch. Ronan barely had time to settle before the dragon launched, propelling skyward with a force that sent a string of curses from my brother—words more suited to a sailor than a prince.

A crack split through my heart, and tears pricked my eyes. I didn’t know when I’d see him again. Next season—or years from now?

Straightening, I blinked all emotions back. When I faced the guards, my smile felt bright and proper, though I caught one still staring after Gyrak—likely in awe.

“Take me to Fyrn’sol.”

They led me through the winding corridors, their armor clanking in a steady rhythm. It was unseemly, perhaps, to walk without a noble’s escort, but I wanted to learn these halls. Idle chatter would only slow that goal.

Around a bend, they stopped short, stiffening in salute. I hesitated, stepping forward to peer past them.

King Kallias stood before me, his head inclined in a curt nod. “Princess.”

I dipped into a curtsy, rising with a practiced smile. His gaze lingered, cool and discerning. Where he walked with a single guard—Greaves—I was trailed by four.

How unfair.

“Your Majesty,” I replied.

His brows knit together, lending him an air of perpetual contemplation. The sparse stubble on his jaw seemed almost subversive, as if daring the court to follow his lead and leave their chins unshaven. The golden mantle gleamed in the bright light shining through the windows, its weight pressing against the deep green of his tailored jacket. He wasn’t soft like the ambassadors who had frequented Draconia. He carried the stance of a soldier—coming off the heels of a war.

“You have no escort.” Not a question—a flat statement, delivered in that low voice of his.

“I just came from seeing Prince Ronan off. Now I’m on my way to join Fyrn’sol for tea,” I said in explanation.

The corner of his eye twitched, and he took a deep breath before extending his arm. “I will see you to her.”

My heart sank.

Why did he keep offering to help me if I was nothing more than an inconvenience to him? Why did he treat me this way?

“Begging your pardon, Your Majesty, but I wouldn’t want to steal you away from whatever pressing matters you’re attending to.” I forced the grin to stay on my lips, the curve never faltering.

His gaze flicked over the guards flanking me. “I have time.”

Time enough to be encumbered by my presence.

I tried again, softening my smile and dipping my head. Perhaps if I played coy, he would leave me be. “I wouldn’t want to be a burden.”

“It is my duty to see to your needs.”

It was Tallon’s duty—not his.

And yet, he kept stepping in.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, placing my hand on his arm. “Thank you. ”

As he shifted, his fingers brushed the buckle at his belt. I resisted the urge to pull away. The subtle strength of his muscles moving under my grasp was far too familiar, too unnerving.

“Dismissed.”

I glanced back as the guards dispersed, retreating down the corridor we had just crossed. Only Greaves trailed behind. I offered him a smile—which he staunchly ignored.

Kallias kept a steady pace, mindful of my shorter strides. My shoulder brushed his biceps—this close, I had to tilt my head to glimpse his frown-ridden face.

“Thank you for sparing my ears,” I said. “Their armor is quite loud.”

The furrow in his brow eased a fraction, and he nodded in understanding. “A necessary evil. Vellos signed a treaty, but precautions must remain to uphold it.”

“Do you fear they’ll withdraw?”

We turned down another passage. I was already lost.

“If I did, you would not be here.” His lips pressed into a thin line, gaze averted from mine. “Still, I’ll be relieved when you’re wed. Dragons are a better deterrent than the clang of swords and armor.”

I ducked my head, my fake smile faltering. His honesty surprised me. It was blunt—a far cry from what I expected from another kingdom’s high court. Yet, it underscored my role. I wasn’t a person to him—I was a tool of security.

“Three seasons, and dragons will patrol the Craggs,” I said, forcing brightness into my tone.

Nine months. That was all the time I had to decipher Tallon’s heart before our union sealed the treaty.

And still, he ran from me at every turn.

“The days should pass quickly,” he replied.

I fought to keep my face neutral, stifling the disgust that rebelled in my mind. I didn’t want hollow reassurances that we’d somehow get on. If anything, I appreciated his bluntness, and preferred if he’d admit to being eager for an heir.

Which reminded me of the conversation I had overheard, his words lingering. If Tallon was a true bastard, my child—and I—would have no claim to Radaan. It would be worse than being a spinster princess in Draconia.

We halted at a door, and Greaves darted ahead to open it, obscuring the fine details of the engraved wood. I mourned at the loss to study its beauty.

“Princess Nienna,” the guard announced.

King Kallias gave me a gentle nudge. I released his arm, offering a smile to the women lounging inside, their porcelain cups clinking as they rose in a collective gasp of recognition. The room stirred with their hurried movement .

“Peace, ladies. I’ll be on my way,” the king said, stepping back with his usual calm. He faced me, voice soft. “Good day, Princess. Enjoy your tea.”

Greaves cleared his throat, drawing Kallias’ attention before he stepped into the hall.

“Thank you!” I called after them.

His guard fell in step behind him, and I watched the gold mantle sway against his back, the sound of his departure growing fainter. Somehow, he was the one man in the palace who both terrified me—and seemed to care for my wellbeing.

What a conundrum of feelings.

I returned my focus to the room, drawing in a slow breath. Faces marked with barely concealed skepticism, and distrust met mine.

Fyrn’sol emerged from the group, setting her teacup on a small table, and beckoned me in. “Please, come in, Your Highness! I beg your pardon—we had no idea the king would be escorting you! Quite the shock!”

Her kind eyes sparkled with mischief as she extended her hand, her voice warm. Dressed in a fine blue gown, sheer fabric spilled around her feet like waves on the shore. How she managed to walk in it was beyond me. Her blonde hair was piled high on her head, clear gems woven into the curls.

She guided me inside as a servant shut the door behind us. The women swarmed me with introductions—names and titles flying fast, each one competing for my attention. I committed as many as I could to memory, though the older women’s wary glances stood out against the more eager stares of the younger nobles.

“It seems you’ve made quite the impression on the king, Princess,” May’neer said, lifting a tiny cup to her lips. Cloudy gray eyes met mine over the rim, probing for answers.

“I was returning from saying goodbye to my brother,” a dreamy sigh drew my attention to a young brunette, whose name escaped me, “and was found without escort.”

“I sent one to your rooms!” Fyrn’sol gasped, pressing a hand to her chest as she lounged on a deep couch.

The women draped over the furniture like blankets, while I sat stiffly in the high-backed chair reserved for me, rigid and proper.

“Do you know when Prince Ronan might return?” the brunette asked, her eyes filled with hope.

Curse my brother. What had he been up to when he disappeared last night?

“Alas, I do not,” I replied, shaking my head with a sympathetic smile.

“Not only did King Kallias escort you, but he danced with you,” another older woman piped up from a nearby chair. She slumped to one side, as if sitting upright was too taxing for her plump frame. Gray hair curled around her face, attempting to be tamed in some sort of style, though I couldn’t place how .

“And he received you at your first dinner.”

“And she kissed him!” The last comment came from a younger woman, no older than her teens.

I shot her a sharp look of disapproval. “It was the Dragon’s Kiss, a symbol of the alliance between our families.” I kept my tone firm. “It was not an embrace of passion, but one of familial ties.”

Though it should have been.

The girl faltered, her shoulders sagging under my pointed rebuke.

“Truth be told,” an elderly woman said, “it seems Prince Tallon has been absent from a great many duties.”

I bit my cheek, watching her pour steaming tea into a gold-rimmed cup, dropping two sugar cubes into the mix with deliberate care.

“King Kallias is filling in where the heir apparent avoids his responsibilities,” she continued, then brought me the drink, her eyes warm and open.

I searched her gaze, trying to detect any malice, but she wore a bright grin, her expression more critical of the prince than of me.

“His Highness has a great many responsibilities to see to.” Fyrn’sol threw a heated glance at the older woman, then reached over to place a pale hand over my own—her expression empathetic. “He was indisposed.”

Indisposed in his cups. I held in my sigh.

“We will have plenty of time to get to know each other,” I said, offering a nod that was more for show than belief. I took a sip of the tea, savoring the heat that spread through me.

I stayed with the women for several chimes while they discussed the intricacies of high court politics, absorbing names, places, and details that flitted through their conversation. No amount of royal study could prepare one for the realities of stepping into another kingdom, expected to know the subtle nuances of every discussion and gesture.

The younger noblewomen were easier to converse with—curious, eager to learn about Draconia and Ronan. The older women, however, held their judgment close. Their eyes were sharp, testing each word I spoke. I chose my replies with caution, sidestepping the unspoken jabs aimed at both me and Tallon.

Only once did I need to assert myself when a woman suggested the prince might have objected to the alliance.

“Noblewomen are not privy to the matters of kings,” I’d said, my voice steady but firm. The words held weight, even if I tempered them with a careful calm.

She blanched, then a furious crimson overtook her face before she rushed to apologize. I smiled, accepting it with grace, then shifted the conversation to the sweltering heat of summer and the vacations various nobles were planning .

After what felt like an eternity of polite discourse, I was relieved when they announced that the tea was gone.

I rose, smoothing my skirts, and offered the women a smile. “Thank you for having me, however, I must retire to prepare for the evening meal.”

Fyrn’sol nodded, offering her arm, and I linked mine with hers.

“It has been wonderful having your company! I’ll see you to your rooms.” She gave a nod of dismissal to the others. A chorus of goodbyes followed us, and two guards fell into step at our backs.

She heaved a sigh, her shoulders slumping a fraction. I couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh, then tilt my head, curious.

“I daresay, some of those women have fangs instead of teeth,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.

The gesture reminded me so much of Scythe that I had to swallow another laugh. “Older nobility always struggles with the next generation.”

“They could lift others up instead of judging so harshly,” she said with a half-grin, patting my hand again. “Call me Fyrn.”

The Sol family had been the most welcoming of all the nobles, even if her parents could talk about nothing but goats.

“I wanted to tell you,” she began, her voice softening as she glanced at me. “If you’d like to spend time with Tallon…”

I raised an eyebrow, prompting her to continue.

“He attends the midday council. King Kallias has ordered that he attend for the next week.”

Ordered. Not requested.

I tucked that piece of information away to ponder later. “I would love to sit in.”

“Allow me to escort you tomorrow. It would at least give you time to sit beside him,” she offered, her voice dropping a notch. “He can’t run from you there.”

I laughed, my lips curving into a wide smile. “I like your thinking. Besides, It will be a welcome opportunity to learn more about Radaan.”

“It’s quite boring—a bunch of old men talking about trade and boundaries,” Fyrn droned. “The perfect place for a nap.”

A picture hanging on the wall snagged my notice, and I slowed—the scene so vivid it seemed to come alive. A warrior clad in gold plate fought a massive… hog for lack of a better word. Dead men littered the ground, their bodies forming gruesome piles. The golden warrior braced a spear against the earth, staring down the beast, nearly three times his height.

“Ah, the Great Hunt,” Fyrn murmured, stopping with me to admire it.

“I’ve never heard of it,” I breathed, drawn into the vibrant colors .

The white sun behind the beast cast a halo of light off the warrior’s glowing armor. Upon closer inspection, I realized that the golden sheen wasn’t just a reflection—it glowed, as if alive.

“Mammoths are rare these days, but when they wander into our borders, the king is summoned to deal with them,” she explained.

I couldn’t help but stifle a scoff. Kallias was called upon to handle a pest? She was quick to notice my shock.

“It’s a rite of his title,” she explained, her tone almost teasing, “his obligation to protect his people, and all that.”

I shot her a look, caught off by her informal language, and she winked.

“There’s far more exciting things than slaying a mammoth during a Great Hunt.” Mischief sparked in her eyes again, that familiar glint that reminded me so much of Scythe. “Come, come!” She tugged on my arm, restless to move forward.

I hurried to match her pace, eager not to be left behind. I didn’t want to curb her infectious energy. She was proving to be an ally here, and I needed all the friends I could get in this strange new kingdom.

Spinning down another hall, Fyrn pushed open a door and tugged me inside, slamming it shut on the guard’s faces—or rather their helms.

Glee took years off her face as she snatched my hand and pulled me deeper into the room. It was a small library—or perhaps more of a study. Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, each one crammed with books of every size. A massive desk sat in the center, sunlight pouring in from the window behind it, dust motes floating in the air like drifting leaves in an unseen breeze.

Fyrn dragged me further into the room, then waved toward a large painting that dominated one of the walls. It took me a moment to understand what I was looking at, and when it hit me, my cheeks burned with sudden heat.

“See?” A giggle escaped her lips as she noticed my blush. “Much more exciting!”

“I daresay. Is he wearing the mantle?” I asked, doing my best to keep my voice steady despite the flush that spread across my face. I wondered how long the couple had been in that position on the canopy bed for the artist to capture such an intimate moment.

“The Great Hunt is a test of Elohios. The celebration after is blessed by Veridis. After the death, it’s required that life be celebrated.” Fyrn’s tone dripped with mischievous delight as she took too much pleasure in my discomfort. “One day, it may fall upon you to complete this task.” She spoke as if informing me of an inevitable future duty.

“The queen is to wash the blood from the king’s body.” She paused dramatically, and I raised an eyebrow, urging her to continue. “All of it. Everywhere. ”

“And the likelihood that mammoths have been eradicated?” I squeaked, the very thought of such a task making my stomach churn.

“Unlikely.” Fyrn grinned wide, her teeth flashing. She took my hand, and together we gazed at the painting. “It’s so romantic.”

A small sound of acknowledgment was all I could muster.

The king was smeared with blood, and a cloth dangled uselessly from the queen’s fingers as she lay beneath him, her back arched, caught in a moment of passion. The furs wrapped around his hips alluded to some sense of modesty.

Paltry as it was.

“The late Queen Eldeiade demanded it be removed from the halls,” Fyrn said.

I could imagine why—a matter of decency.

“She never completed the rite, leaving King Kallias to perform it alone.”

A faint sorrow lingered in her voice, and I caught the sadness in her eyes as they flickered across the painting.

“It’s an important tradition,” she continued, then pinned her eyes on me. “I won’t speak ill of the dead, but it didn’t endear her to the people. King Kallias never had the love of his queen. He only had Radaan. Tallon will have more with you. He will learn to love you if you just give him a chance.”

How many chances did he need?