Chapter Two
Nienna
He returned to the makeshift shrine after shedding the yoke. Wet fabric clung to his frame. Calm and determined, he still appeared exposed—but the lack of a cloak on a storm-tossed ship was a sharp reminder of the strain on his mind.
I changed into a nightgown, moving slow and quiet, careful not to disturb his prayer.
His gods were beyond that silent wall of faith.
Mine were four days behind us.
Our departure from Draconia had been a mad rush. My farewell to my parents was hurried, a flurry of words and embraces. I didn’t allow myself tears until late that night, when the truth landed with a painful weight: I would never see them again.
Repairs to the Dragon Ship were delayed until another landing, patched only enough for an emergency voyage. The Radaanian men we left on the Wild Shores would return once we secured Radaan.
Familiar anger swelled, tight and restless. Helpless, choking rage with nowhere to go.
I nestled into our small bed, pulling the blanket up to my chin, and studied the back of Kallias’ bowed head.
He gave so much to his people. His life belonged to the mantle of Radaan, yet this one desire—still benefiting his nation—had brought him punishment.
He was being punished for my sake.
Guilt gnawed at my ribs, feeding the frustration curling in my chest. This was my fault. He came for me, voyaged across the vast sea. He faced the King of Innaku—for me.
I had proven myself nothing more than a cursed princess, a needy queen.
Kallias remained as still as stone, shoulders tight, muscles shifting with the ship’s rocking sway to keep him steady.
If it were within my power, I would lift this burden from him. Instead, I could only bear what he was willing to share.
I woke the next morning with his arms around me, the ship’s jolting roll making him tighten his hold at my waist, drawing me closer until my back fit flush to his chest.
This was where I belonged.
His touch drifted down my stomach, sliding past my navel before pausing. My lips curved, heat blooming beneath my skin. Did he know I was awake? Was he asking permission?
A low hum slipped from me as I stretched, tipping my hips back, guiding his hand lower.
A knock shattered the quiet.
Kallias sighed, his breath warm against my neck, ending in a muted sound of frustration that vibrated through his chest.
“My king?” Fallione’s words came through the thick wood, softened but insistent.
“Duty calls,” I whispered, patting his hand before sitting up.
“A moment.” Kallias’ voice rasped with sleep as he shifted behind me, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
I tilted my head, squinting at the thin wash of light at the window. The ship felt steadier beneath us, the sea less volatile.
Kallias took two steps toward his wardrobe, then stopped, gaze dropping to his feet.
“Thank Elohios,” he murmured, sensing the gentle sway instead of the violent lurch we’d grown used to.
“We’ll get a heading. Gyrak can pull us,” I said, reaching past him for his mantle.
“Fallione likely has a plan already,” he agreed, shrugging into a deep green jacket. He made quick work of the buttons, dragged a hand through his sleep-tousled hair, then turned to me.
Helping him fasten the mantle’s clasps had become my favorite part of the morning. A small act, but one heavy with meaning. I helped him shoulder his kingdom, settling the weight of the golden pauldrons in place. My fingers moved with care as I fastened the chains, linking him to his nation.
He no longer carried Radaan alone. This was my vow made in quiet gestures. At his side as his partner, his equal. His friend.
Once the final link was secured, he cupped my chin and lifted my face to his. Gratitude flickered there in his bright irises, unspoken, something too deep for words.
He lingered, stealing a thin slice of the morning to pause and study me. The corner of his mouth pulled tight, a fleeting trace of pain crossing his features, before he leaned down and kissed me, erasing it.
“Shall I have Fallione wait for you?” he asked, pulling back just enough for his gaze to dip to my lace nightdress.
“Perhaps you can update me later today. I daresay I’ll need you around midday.” I ducked my head, offering him a sly smile.
“Such a needy creature.” The tight pain fled his expression at my teasing, though even I couldn’t banish the cloud of dread that hovered over him.
With a steadying breath, he squared his shoulders and turned away. His boots went on with quick, practiced jerks before he stepped out onto the deck.
I had barely splashed water on my face when the door creaked open and Freya slipped inside.
“The storm broke!” she announced, bright and breathless, already crossing to the wardrobe.
“Is Gyrak harnessed?”
“Not yet. Your brother said the beast scented land.”
My heart stuttered, and dread crept back in, cold and unwelcome. These quiet moments with Kallias felt stolen now, almost improper, with his broken kingdom so close. Tallon had seized Radaan, murdered Darius, staged his coup. The sweetness of our kiss only moments ago soured into unease.
“We must’ve traveled far in the storm,” she said, drawing a plush green dress from the rack.
“I’d expect nothing less from a Draconis captain.” My voice stayed even as I shook my head at her choice. “Red.”
She paused, holding my gaze, then the faintest curve touched her mouth. “Like their blood,” she murmured, returning the gown and pulling free a scarlet dress.
Her words stirred doubt in my chest. We were Draconis. Tallon would answer for his crimes—but these were my people now. Just as Kallias had reminded me. Was this the right choice?
I swallowed the uncertainty and dressed without delay. Freya worked through my hair with practiced hands, braiding it into a crown. The mantle of Radaan settled across my shoulders as she took her time adjusting the dragonscale yoke.
Its weight pressed down, heavy as a collar. A burden. Our duty. Kallias carried this each day, even welcomed it.
I would learn to carry it too.
Once I was as presentable as cramped quarters and limited space allowed, I left Freya to tidy the room and went in search of Greaves.
Gyrak sat upright on the middle deck, his snout tipped toward the sky. Nostrils flared as he drew in a long breath, yet his massive body stayed rigid. Thick membranes slid over his eyes, clearing the salt spray from narrowed pupils.
The intensity of his focus drew a frown from me. I squared my shoulders and headed below, toward the sailors’ quarters.
Men called out greetings as I passed, bowing within the confines of their shared space.
Draconis filled the lower deck shoulder to shoulder.
We’d brought as many as the ship could hold, with no time to send another vessel back for the Radaanians.
Blond hair and sun-browned skin crowded the narrow passageways. It was hardly a fighting force.
But we had Gyrak.
We had nothing to fear.
Greaves sat upright on his mattress at the far end, both hands wrapped around a cup of steaming broth. Purple shadows carved the hollows beneath his eyes, and when he noticed me, he tried to stand, but managed only a perilous sway before dropping back down.
“Your Majesty.” His voice scraped, raw from the acid that had burned his throat.
“Dear Greaves, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man so thoroughly defeated by the sea.” I stepped closer, peering into the cup. “Have you managed to keep any of it down?”
A grimace pulled at his mouth as he stirred the clear liquid. “A few swallows. I hear land’s been sighted.” His gaze snapped up, hope plain in his posture.
I nodded. “Gyrak scented solid ground.” Once we made landfall, Greaves would be the first ashore.
“Where is my king?” He tried again to rise. Boots braced wide, he fought the ship’s sway and lost, pitching toward me.
My hands shot out to steady him. A groan tore free as he collapsed back onto the mattress.
“He is well,” I said, keeping my palm firm on his shoulder, as though pressure alone might hold him there. “You will be among the first to shore, where you may rest and recover.”
He frowned up at me, his scraggly beard failing to hide the disgust twisting his features. He hated this helplessness, the inability to stand at Kallias’ side. In his mind, weakness made him a burden. Before he could protect anyone, he needed strength, which meant food and rest.
I was certain both he and my dear husband would greet those orders with equal enthusiasm.
“I’ll tell him you’re improving,” I said, patting his shoulder. “The storm breaking has done you some good.”
“If I ever step onto another ship in my lifetime,” he muttered, lifting the mug for a cautious sip, “it will be too soon.”
“May this be our last voyage.” I laughed and pulled away.
Color drained from his face as he set the mug aside with haste. I strode out as he reached for his bucket, the sound of retching trailing me down the narrow hall.
Kallias stood in the small room we’d commandeered as a study. Fallione sat beside him, while Ronan leaned back in his chair, scraping beneath his nails with a short dagger.
Fallione’s hair was tied at the nape of his neck, though loose strands escaped to frame his hawkish face. He rose when he saw me, folding into a low bow.
Kallias’ gaze traveled the length of my dress, a frown tightening the corners of his mouth before he dipped his head in a restrained nod of respect.
Red was the wrong choice.
“We’ll make landfall tomorrow morning.” His voice stayed low, even, gathering thought and emotion behind the familiar wall guarding his mind.
He stepped aside and pulled out a chair, positioning it between himself and my brother.
Ronan didn’t spare me a glance as I took the seat beside him.
“I trust you slept well, Your Majesty?” Fallione asked, waiting until his king settled before reclaiming his own chair.
“As well as could be expected.” My attention stayed on the map pinned to the table. “Where will we dock?”