Chapter Three
Nienna
“Was it the dress?”
Greaves wiped his mouth, watery eyes tracking me as he grunted. “Eldeiade fancied the colors of blood and death.”
I huffed a sigh, stilted and helpless. I upset Kallias—chose the wrong dress, spoke the wrong words. Confidence as a queen meant nothing if it wounded the man I loved. But if he never spoke of his pain, how was I to avoid hurting him?
I was Draconis. An entire fleet, a generation of warriors and their king, lay at the bottom of the sea because they threatened my people. I would not stand idle while Tallon crippled the Radaan Kallias had given half his life to.
“I shall never wear red again,” I muttered, tugging at the thick velvet. The slit fell open, revealing the dark breeches beneath.
“Talk to him,” Greaves said.
He swayed on the bed, and I pressed my advantage, aware that his openness stemmed only from weakness.
“And if he refuses?”
“You have his ear and his heart. Give him time to give you his mouth.”
My mind drifted to the nights he’d used that mouth on my skin. I drew a steadying breath, incredulous that he could shatter me with his silence yet manage such feats of pleasure without hesitation.
“We will land tomorrow morning,” I said, pivoting the subject away from my gnawing insecurities. “I’ll make sure you’re among the first ashore.”
“Thank you.” His eyes glimmered with gratitude, or perhaps nausea, as he nudged his bucket closer.
It was his constant companion on this journey, though I could only imagine his eagerness to be rid of it.
I murmured a quiet goodbye and searched the ship for Freya. She took up a cramped room with Edith, both perched on crates, needles in hand as they mended clothing.
“Please tell me I’m needed above deck,” Freya blurted when I entered.
I bit back a smile while Edith scowled at her younger companion.
“We’re only in the sailors’ way above deck,” she muttered, leaning closer to the swaying lantern to examine her stitching. “Here, we can prove useful. There’s no shortage of mending on a ship full of men, after all.”
“Edith, I have need of your services,” I said, offering Freya an apologetic smile.
My friend groaned, then stabbed her needle into the jacket, hissing as it pricked her finger.
“Of course, Your Majesty.” Edith set the garment aside, brushing her skirts with quiet precision. “Freya, try not to bleed on the good men’s livery.”
Freya waited until the older woman strode past before waving the needle with a mock threat.
I led the way back to my room, Edith the picture of a perfect handmaid, trailing silently behind. She said nothing when I turned to her, simply shutting the door and regarding me with a guarded expression.
“I need to wear Radaanian green.”
It was nearing evening, and I marveled at how scarce one could make themselves on a ship.
Kallias had avoided me all day. Ronan had taken Gyrak above the clouds, no doubt stoking his irritation further, though at least they were out of sight.
They would return under cover of darkness, and no alarm would rouse Radaan.
I had taken my midday meal with Fallione, who assured me the ship could be hidden at Wellmoor. How one hid a Dragon Ship, I had no clue.
The sun began to sink, a deep orange orb, nearly red, dragging shadows across the deck. A harbinger, it seemed, of what was to come.
My search for Kallias ended only when he wanted me to find him. I approached the prow, which I’d already inspected twice, moving on soft steps.
Sunlight struck the intricate gold details of his mantle, igniting them.
The green of his jacket shimmered against tanned skin, vibrant and full of life.
The gale tugged his hair free of its precise formation, and creases at the corners of his eyes deepened as he glared into the distance, etched lines of vigilance and fatigue.
I took my place beside him, hand resting on the splintered wood of the ship. He shifted, a fraction closer, glancing down.
“You changed.” Not a question, but a statement, opening the door for conversation.
“It was a poor choice.” I twisted to peer up at him, noting the set of his jaw. He remained closed off, guarded. Not letting me in.
“You may wear whatever you wish.” His gaze returned to the horizon, hands clasped behind his back, spine straightening.
“Just because I can, doesn’t mean I should.” My lips pressed together when he stayed silent. “I’m sorry for earlier.”
He was a statue, unmoving, unblinking. Blue eyes glimmered like cornflowers in the dying sun.
Stubble bristled along his jaw, unable to hide his fierce frown.
Dark brows cut a sharp V above. Light caught the silver threading his beard, pooling near his temple—a reminder of the years between us, and that I married a made man.
We had to learn this together: how to be partners when he’d spent his whole life alone.
“Let me in,” I whispered, letting the wind steal the words from prying ears.
Heavy lids veiled those irises, and with a slow sigh, he cupped my face. The warmth of his rough skin felt like sunlight to a basking dragon. Relief bloomed, a simple touch undoing knots I hadn’t realized I carried.
“I would be a pitiful king if the color my wife wore swayed my actions.” His thumb traced my cheekbone. “But, for love of the sun, Nienna, do not push back at me in public.”
“Fallione is–”
“My advisor,” he interrupted, “and friend. One who witnessed my last failed marriage and the chaos that followed. I do not wish for him to see a pattern.”
I snapped my mouth shut.
“In Draconia, there was too much that I didn’t understand,” he continued. “But when it comes to my people, my kingdom, let me guide our path.”
Trust. He wanted me to trust him.
“You are my queen.” His gaze softened, reading the frustration and words I left unsaid. “I will hear you. You are welcome to speak freely to any audience, but take care not to undermine me.”
My heart twisted, desperate to pull back and scream that I hadn’t pushed too hard. But this was not some average man. He had suffered too much already. Distance would only carve the wound deeper between us.
“I will be more careful,” I said, covering his hand with mine. “But remember, I am not her. I am your wife. Your partner. I only want to aid you.”
“My equal.” The corner of his mouth lifted, faint but real, the most I would draw from him so close to Radaan. “My queen.”
My lips curved as I stepped closer, pressing my side against his. His hand settled at my waist, anchoring me there as we searched the horizon together.
Morning felt distant, yet not near enough. Nerves chewed at my resolve, questions spiraling over what awaited beyond the waves.
Sleep never came. We withdrew to our chambers for a handful of hours, silence thick between us as we lay on the narrow bed, each trapped inside thoughts of what dawn might bring.
The ship would dock before sunrise, giving us time to hide Gyrak. As if a dragon of his size could truly be hidden.
Kallias spoke of cliffside caves in Wellmoor, tall and deep enough to shield the beast from sight.
“Where are we going once we reach shore?” I asked. “A city? Or is it a smaller town?”
“We?” Kallias echoed, his voice thin, stretched taut.
My throat tightened. In the dim light, my eyes snapped open as his arm drew closer around my waist, the smallest tightening betraying him.
“I assume we’ll bring Greaves and Fallione. My brother–”
“You will stay with the ship.”
Breath caught hard in my chest. I pushed myself upright. There were many things I would yield to him, many places I would let him lead, but I would not be left behind like fragile cargo.
“I will not.” My nose scrunched as I frowned at him.
Soft light revealed the worry etched into his expression. Anger did not live there. Resignation did. He had known this moment would come.
“I am Draconis. We do not hide,” I murmured, resting my palm against his thigh.
“You will be safe aboard the ship. Gyrak can carry you back if it comes to that.”
“Do you think I left Draconia knowing the state of your nation only to sit and watch while Tallon tears everything from you?” I shook my head once, firm.
On this, I would not budge. “I sailed with you toward a kingdom on the brink of war, and you believe I would drop my mantle and scurry home like some reprimanded hatchling?”
He drew in a long breath, holding my gaze. Watching. Waiting for a fracture, a sign my resolve might bend. “And if we are attacked? If our lives are threatened?”
“I have a dragon, dear husband. My concern lies with anyone foolish enough to try to harm me.”
His mouth flattened. “You keep to the shore.”
“Will you?” I asked.
“Fallione and I are to venture to the city to test the people’s temperament.
” His eye twitched. “Wellmoor sits too far west of Reem and the Craggs. The locals already regard me with suspicion. Add Tallon and whatever lies he’s spun, and–” He paused, taking a breath to slow his words.
“I refuse to have you among them without the strength of my nation behind you.”
“The mantle won’t protect me,” I said, clarifying his point.
“It makes you a target. They know my face. If I am seen beside you, it invites trouble before we are prepared.”
He didn’t want to bring me because I’d be a liability. Yet the thought of him walking into danger without an army or a dragon at his back tightened something fierce in my chest.
“Take Ronan.” My shoulders stiffened, my body rebelling against the suggestion. “Gyrak can stay with me on the shore, and my brother may remain with you. If they choose violence, his dragon will fly to your aid.”
His eyelids lowered in a slow blink. “You wish me to take your hot-blooded sibling on a stealth mission?”
I cringed, shrugging one shoulder. “If he understands the stakes, I trust him enough to keep his magic locked down.”
It was true. My brother was an arse, too quick to react for my liking, but he would be an asset to Kallias. If danger found him, Ronan would be the only thing capable of shielding him from an irate mob.
“He cannot wear his leathers.”
They bore no resemblance to Radaan’s linen and loose cuts. My brother would stand out the moment he stepped into the city, drawing unnecessary attention.
But convincing him to remove them would be another matter entirely.
“He’ll don a cloak.”
“I’ll take him if he changes,” Kallias said. “I’ll not risk it falling open and igniting trouble I could have prevented.”
My lip caught between my teeth. I worried it, weighing the cost of forcing the issue.
“Then he’ll change.” I rose from the bed, already surrendering the hope of sleep.
When would rest come again? This was only the beginning of the strains we would face.
Kallias hummed his agreement as we set our mantles across our shoulders. He would wear his, keeping it ready should it be needed. Perhaps a show of the rightful mantle, and the intimidating presence of a king, might prevent a fight before it began.
His hands moved with care as he fastened the final chain at my collar. Precision guided each touch. His gaze stayed lowered, distant, consumed by thought.
These moments mattered. Quiet. Hushed. Allowing him space to think while trusting me enough to let his guard slip. That was intimacy.
Without speaking, we stepped onto the darkened deck.
Soft cries from seabirds cut through the black hush of early morning.
Gyrak crouched along the ship, attempting to make himself small.
The effort bordered on absurd for a creature of his size.
Ronan stood at his shoulder, one hip braced against midnight scales.
His pale face stark against the dragon’s hide, mouth drawn into a sharp line.
“You’re going ashore?” he asked, voice kept low.
At times, he managed tact.
“With Gyrak. You’ll go with Kallias.” My hand slid along the beast’s snout. He purred, the sound like stones grinding together.
“Sh,” I hissed, and Ronan snapped his head around, leveling a glare at his dragon.
Gyrak flared his nostrils and huffed, displeased with the correction.
“Kallias has clothes for you,” I said.
Ronan grimaced. “Clothes?” His gaze dropped to his leathers as he adjusted the flight goggles tangled in his hair.
“You can’t enter the city looking like a Dragon Rider.”
“Then I’ll wear a cloak.”
“And when it falls open?” I asked, borrowing Kallias’ reasoning.
“Then I’ll close it.”
“Ronan.” My voice stretched his name thin.
He stared, gaze flat, already predicting my next words.
“I need you with him.”
“You want me guarding your husband,” he shot back, “the man who swore to protect you.”
“Please.” I hated that word, at least when it was being used for him.
He grunted, jaw thrust forward. “For you, big sister.”