Page 9 of Between Flames and Deceit (Dragon’s Heart Duology #1)

Chapter Eight

Nienna

W e caught sight of Greaves near the temple’s entrance, hand resting on the simple dagger at his hip. Twin hilts jutted from behind his shoulders, and he nodded to us as we passed.

“The king prays at midday, every day,” Fyrn murmured.

To our right, the gardens sprawled in a riot of color—fragrance so thick it drenched the air. The fields outside the city shimmered green with new growth, but here? This place flourished in a wild display, each flower bursting in unique shades and shapes. I doubted I’d ever learn their names. Thousands of blossoms stretched toward the sky, bending to the care of servants who worked in steady rhythm, hands dark with soil, voices lifted in quiet, melodic hums as they planted, weeded, and coaxed life from the earth.

To our left, a pale wall rose, separating the palace grounds from the city of Reem. The temples sat embedded in its stone—not towering, gaudy structures, but understated and graceful.

A warrior statue loomed with sword raised where Greaves stood. The next temple’s entrance bore the figure of a woman, seated with one hand outstretched in quiet welcome.

“Every day?” I asked as she slowed. “Quite the religious man.”

“Some say he started as a reprieve,” she leaned in, her voice a near-whisper, “to escape the late queen.”

A dry chuckle escaped. The king needed an excuse to slip away? From a woman? More likely, he’d silence her with a glare if she spoke out of turn.

Or banish her .

I cleared my throat, eyes drifting over the smaller temples. “So, which god does Tallon worship?”

“The prince? He doesn’t.”

My gaze narrowed. “Yet his father prays daily?”

“He doesn’t take after the king,” Fyrn said, tugging me further from the warrior’s temple. “He stayed close to the late queen, hardly left her side. She doted on him, raised him while King Kallias fought the war.”

I glanced back over my shoulder, and Greaves caught my eye before dipping his chin. So Tallon took after his mother—a truth that explained much about his strained bond with Kallias. Would he ever mirror his father?

I could only hope.

“Men worship Elohios,” Fyrn continued, steering me toward the statue depicting the woman. “If women follow religion, they seek Veridis, the Mother of All Living.”

“And what of the others?” I asked, peering down the path to the temples fading into the distance.

She took my hand, guiding me closer to the temple’s entryway. “Vallor, Inneki, Cersi—the rest are lesser gods who serve the Mother and Father.”

When we reached the entrance, I marveled at the beauty etched into the statue’s face—her eyes bright with a fierce, playful wisdom. Though chiseled from rock, her gaze brimmed with life, and her lips held a sly, inviting smile. Wind seemed to press against her, tugging at her carved gown—one thin enough to leave little to the imagination. Every fold of fabric and strand of hair so meticulous that it stirred awe in me.

“I’d like to know the artist,” I said, dipping into a low bow before the statue, trying to mirror their reverence. If the Radaan worshiped these gods, I could at least be cordial.

“The one who carved Veridis?” Fyrn sank into a curtsy beside me. “I’m sure it’s in the records somewhere. You favor art then?”

As we approached the main doors, the guards behind us eased their pace. For a moment, I wondered if this was the single place—besides my rooms—where I might escape them.

“I do. Paintings tell entire stories. Statues like that one hold worlds. Tomes capture emotions.” I paused, catching her amused smile. “I plan to devour every piece of art Radaan offers.”

She tilted her head, an eyebrow raised with interest. “Then I’ll show you the best of them,” she said, adding a wink before guiding me inside.

Fyrn flung the door open, and my breath caught. The interior stretched out before me, soft and welcoming. The last temple I’d seen, or glimpsed, had been cold and rigid. This one, by contrast, felt warm, inviting .

Two priestesses paused, their gazes lingering on us as I took in the room. Pink, a blush as delicate as rose petals, colored the walls, laced with gilded veins. Flowers, not cut but alive, hung from the ceiling, their vines trailing down to pots suspended along the walls, their fragrance sweet and intoxicating.

At the room’s head, twin doorways, draped in sheer white tapestries, led beyond. At their center, the altar seized my focus, commanding my attention.

An undeniable pull tugged me closer. Fyrn moved ahead, eager to introduce us to the priestesses, but I stood frozen, captivated. A statue depicting a woman heavy with child, sat cross-legged, cradling a delicate seedling in her hands. Its gilded roots stretched downward, woven into the marble, which was shot through with gold veins—an artistry I’d never encountered.

Though there were many things I’d never seen before.

The woman atop the altar mirrored the same alluring, mischievous beauty of the figure beckoning at the temple’s entrance. The craftsmanship was identical—every strand of her hair brushing against her face, almost concealing her soft grin.

“Would she like a fur?”

My gaze flickered between Fyrn and the older woman. Middle-aged, with smile lines around her warm brown eyes, she stood with quiet authority. The younger priestess, still a girl, peered from behind her.

I softened my expression with a small shake of my head. “In Draconia, we worship no gods. Beyond the might of the dragons, we live and breathe by the sweat of our brow.”

“Veridis watches over all, even those of another faith,” the older priestess replied, dipping her chin. “I am Vama. Should you require assistance, do not hesitate to ask.” She stepped back, ushering the young girl away through a nearby doorway.

“The dragons are mighty in their own right,” Fyrn said, her eyes scanning the room.

“If we have gods, they are the ones we listen to,” I replied, stepping toward the wall to inspect a painting of a woman embracing a child in a sunlit field.

“Yes, listen to them,” she giggled, her tone light, “or get eaten.”

I chuckled, trailing my finger along a vibrant leaf, green streaked with pink, the blotches like splatters of paint. “True.”

“They say you were raised in the Nest, among their own babies.”

“I was,” I said with a quiet shrug. “Though it’s not nearly as exciting as it’s made out to be.”

I followed the vine’s winding path, my fingers brushing the textured painting on the wall—a seed and a child, one tethered to the earth by roots, the other connected to its mother through the cord of life.

“It must have been dangerous. ”

I nodded, more to myself than to her. “The dragon queen—she rules the Nest—allowed my mother to birth me there. Other females lay only with her permission. She oversees all broods—like an aunt or grandmother. She took me under her wing, refusing to let me leave for my first year of life.”

“Isn’t it in a high tower? I’ve seen the paintings!” Fyrn shivered, and I chuckled at her discomfort.

“It’s quite exposed to the elements, yes. But there was no safer place for me than tucked against her side.”

“Your mother’s?”

“The dragon’s.”

Her face twisted with shock and horror. I laughed, throwing my head back. She didn’t even try to hide it.

Blinking, she snapped her mouth shut, offering me a tight smile. “And your title as the Dragon’s Heart?”

“A title only. The queen welcomed me, and my father rides Argos—the largest male in Draconia. Because of that, I was accepted by all dragons. They tolerated far more than they should have when I was younger.” I sighed, glancing back at the guards in their gleaming armor. My smile wavered. “One day, I’ll tell you how I chased a full-grown Argos out of the Nest.”

She shuddered, but stepped forward, guiding me outside. Tallon might be a fool, but Fyrn? She was proving to be a worthy companion. With her and Kallias, who’d saved me from near-death, life in Radaan might be bearable.

Radaan’s court would be the end of me.

The mirrored chandeliers above burned with harsh light, sending sharp glints across the red carpet. The white dance floor shimmered, and the gold pillars, wrapped in twisting vines, did little to soften the harsh glow. Beauty surrounded me, but for all its elegance, it was a desolate place. Empty—like a gilded cage.

I escaped Claydon’sol once again—and the praises he sang about a new cord woven of goat’s hair fibers—and found myself cornered by a lesser noble. He prattled on about barley prices, a subject I knew nothing of, while I forced a smile and endured his complaints. All the while, Tallon drifted through the crowd with ease—too absorbed to acknowledge my presence.

Once, his eyes met mine—an open, mocking grin flashed on his lips—before he turned and disappeared into the sea of faces.

A princess, yes. But I was still a woman. And right now, I could hardly breathe .

I needed air. Or I might scream.

Someday, I would walk through Radaan’s court with confidence. I’d be the one others sought out, who knew how to navigate the awkward silences and strained smiles. I had imagined my betrothed would be there to guide me, his steady presence at my side. Instead, Tallon abandoned me at every turn, mocking my every attempt.

Rage soured the wine in my stomach. I was no footstool to be placed under his feet.

Proper. Cordial. Polite. All the perfect traits my mother drilled into me. I had been raised for this. That truth echoed in my mind, each repetition driving the point home.

“I shall pass your concerns to Prince Tallon, who I’m sure will be most eager to hear them.” Hardly. The man cared for nothing beyond petty games. “However, I must excuse myself, as I am needed elsewhere.”

The noble—what was his name? Raymond? Rayneer?—smiled with unearned gratitude. Curse it all. I listened to him drone on for who knows how long, and I couldn’t remember his name?

He dropped into a bow, and I walked away, forcing my steps into a slow and steady pace though every muscle screamed to flee the suffocating room. I lifted my chin, scanning the crowd. My gaze landed on Tallon—there he was, tucked in a corner with a group of young nobles. Their brows furrowed, their faces serious for once. Frowns all around.

His friends were more important than his future wife. The thought burned as I reined in my fury, smothering the sharp sting of betrayal. Striding with purpose, I crossed the ballroom, refusing to allow another nobleman to approach me with empty pleasantries. The heavy air seemed to press in as I reached the doorway and stepped into the cooler hall.

A grimace twisted my lips as two guards fell in behind me, their footsteps matching mine in mechanical rhythm. I fought the urge to lift my dress and flee—away from the incessant chatter, the hollow masks, the endless parade of smiles that held no warmth. When I rounded a corner, my frustration swelled, threatening to crash over me.

I spun on my heel, my voice sharper than intended. “You are dismissed.”

They froze, their postures stiffening like statues. One glanced at the other, his helmet hiding any trace of thought. How could they see anything?

“We may only be relieved by the royal family,” the first responded, his voice clear and unyielding despite the barrier of metal between us.

“I am soon to be a member of it. I assure you, I can handle myself tonight.” The words slipped from my lips, but the smile I forced felt as sharp as a blade. I hoped it didn’t come across as threatening.

“Be that as it may–”

“I’m sure Prince Tallon would be greatly distressed to learn of your lack of respect for his future bride’s wishes.”

His stance faltered, as if that statement carried weight. His armor creaked with the subtle shift of movement, and they exchanged a brief, uncertain glance.

“I take my leave. Goodnight.”

I spun away, my footsteps quick and deliberate as I moved down the corridor. The temptation to run clawed at me, but I resisted, keeping my pace steady. I held my breath, listening for the telltale clink of armor or a shout to stop me, but the silence remained.

A sigh of relief escaped me as I turned down another hall, the distance between us growing with every step. The thrill of escape coursed through me. At least, for now, I was free.

The corridors gleamed, their light persistent even in the stillness of night. Mirrored lanterns hung from the walls, casting sharp beams that scattered like diamonds, tracing arcs of brilliance across the ceiling and floor. The vines crept along, draping from above, softening the hard edges, lending the palace a cozy warmth.

This hall’s floor was lined with wood, its smooth surface hidden beneath a long carpet woven with intricate geometric patterns. I traced the shapes with my gaze, a small smile tugging at my lips. The design was beautiful, orderly—so unlike the untamed chaos of nature, yet it somehow belonged.

Through tall windows, I glimpsed the soft pink of the setting sky. This palace stretched on, an endless expanse of courtyards, gardens, and patios. Surely, somewhere within it all, there must be a rooftop where one could entertain.

I slowed at the junction, eyeing each hall. A slight, uncomfortable tightness gripped my chest as I realized—

I was lost.

A servant emerged from a room, the door creaking as she pulled it shut. I rushed toward her, but when her wide eyes snapped to mine, I forced myself to slow, realizing I startled the poor soul.

She dropped into a deep curtsy. “Princess!”

“Good evening. Where is the entrance to the roof?”

“The roof?” she squeaked, blinking as she rose.

Had I been wrong? Was there no rooftop space to unwind? It seemed such a waste, especially in a land where the sun reigned and plants flourished. In the Nest, I could understand, but here, with its mild breezes and warm sunlight?

“Begging your pardon, you startled me is all,” she stammered, offering a nervous smile. “Right this way.”

Relief swept through me, and I anxiously rubbed the muscle between my thumb and palm. She swept down the halls—her steps confident and purposeful. She knew where she was going.

Unlike me.

The corridors were unnervingly quiet, the faint murmurs of the ballroom fading as we ventured deeper into the palace. The nobles and guests were all in attendance, and servants were scarce—perhaps not wanting to risk crossing paths with the higher class on their way to their rooms.

Glimpses of vibrant paintings lined the walls, their rich colors striking, but I couldn’t bring myself to stop and admire them. I was beyond that now. I needed air, and this servant was my ticket.

The walk was short, but the pace she set had my heart thumping and my cheeks flushed by the time we reached a spiral staircase. I glanced up, taking in the sight of it tucked into a shadowed corner of the palace. The staircase rose toward a balcony that ran along the inside of a gathering room, overflowing with more plants. Vines curled around the railing, carefully kept away from the steps to prevent any calamities.

Unlike the stone spiral staircases in the Tower of Draconia, this one was wrought from twisted metal, its intricate ironwork both sturdy and beautiful.

“Would you like me to escort you up?” the servant asked, her voice quiet.

“Thank you, but that is all.”

She smiled and hurried off, eager to return to her duties.

My fingers brushed against the cold railing, its surface fashioned into a vine. Leaves curled underneath, creating a natural cradle for hands that brushed along the metal. As I lifted my foot to begin climbing, I froze, crouching with a breathless laugh of disbelief.

The stairs, though smooth, were carved with intricate scenes. Beneath my feet, lily pads and fish swam. I paused, watching the depiction of a frog’s life cycle unfold before me, from eggs at the lowest steps to a tadpole that grew and sprouted legs. Higher still, the tadpole became a tailed frog, and at the top, it shed its tail.

I grinned at the last step, where the frog seemed to smile back, its tiny form etched in the stone. As I shook my head, the weight of the night lifted from my shoulders. If frogs could grin like that, perhaps I could tolerate Tallon’s behavior for a while longer.

The balcony was just ahead, a doorway framed by the twilight sky. When I stepped outside, a cool breeze rushed over, tugging at my dress. Fresh air wrapped around me—a welcomed embrace.

The sandstone wall was waist-high, its surface glowing in the last rays of the sun. My hands spread over its warm edge and I leaned into the breeze, letting it pull at my hair like a banner. I laughed, breathless, the wind cutting through me, a sensation that felt as freeing as being on dragonback .

I closed my eyes and let the fading sunlight wash over me. The cool air tugged at my skin, a fleeting comfort in the stillness. The world slowed, and I stood grounded, untouched by its relentless demands.

Just one brief moment—where I could remember who I was, not the pawn I had become.

Just a moment.