Chapter Seven
Nienna
Exhaustion had taken its toll. My body demanded rest, and I slept fitfully for a few hours, tossing and turning in the stifling darkness.
Nerves gnawed at my sanity. It was one thing to show up in a kingdom knowing I would be welcomed. Another entirely to arrive without any sense of how the people might react.
Would they welcome me as before? Would I need Gyrak?
Uncertainty settled like a stone in my gut, heavy and unyielding. Kallias’ arm around me offered the only reassurance I had. I borrowed from his confidence. His plan would work, and we would test Mon’s loyalty.
“It’s time.” My husband’s breath tickled my ear.
My eyes flew open, fixed on the darkness. The first calls of wild birds echoed across the plains, thin and sharp against the silence. He hadn’t slept much either, if those cries marked the hour to rise.
Raul and Cain stepped out with Claus and Ronan. Greaves stayed behind with us, and we readied in steady quiet. While I fixed my dress, as best I could without a handmaid, Kallias helped his guard into formal armor.
A noise of disapproval left him as he tightened the straps along Greaves’ back. His friend shot him a dark look, a silent warning.
The exchange warmed something within me. Kallias had me and Greaves. Greaves had me and Kallias. I had them both.
As if sensing my thoughts, the guard’s gaze slid to me. Anyone else would read his stoic stare as anger. I knew better. He would die to protect me, if only for his friend’s sake.
My husband’s signet ring flashed in the hearth’s glow as he slapped a hand on his guard’s shoulder. “I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”
Greaves frowned at Kallias’ pile of armor. A muscle ticked in his jaw before he cracked his neck and stepped outside.
When my husband turned to me, his face had hardened. Eyes dark, brows drawn low. The righteous fury of a wronged king simmered just beneath the surface. He would not wear Radaan’s mantle when we greeted Mon. Armor would serve instead. He would arrive as the Golden Warrior of Elohios.
I moved without waiting for instruction, the gold chestplate oddly warm in my hands. He allowed me to strap it on. The metal conformed to every line of him, settling like a second skin. Beneath the heavy gold lay a thick green padded shirt, meant to shield his body from the armor’s crushing weight.
The act felt intimate, fastening his protection piece by piece, knowing he trusted me with it. Only twice did he correct me on what came next. Plate armor was foreign to me. I knew riders and their leathers, not the unforgiving metal of a soldier’s gear.
His body held rigid beneath my touch, expression locked away. Still, something burned between us, his strength feeding my own.
I was a queen now, not a princess meant for bargaining. He crossed a sea, dueled a king, faced dragonfire for me.
I was worthy of him.
And of Radaan.
Pulling the last buckle on his gauntlet, I held it there, studying his face. “We will take Mon.”
“And march east to take Lon.” His voice thickened with emotion.
The hardness of his gauntlet clicked against my mantle’s chains as his hand rose, guiding my chin until my lips met his. The kiss was chaste, holding a thousand unspoken things: anger at circumstance, rage at Tallon; distance—the careful wall of a king’s restless mind. Cold and measured.
It was what he needed.
When he pulled back, his hand lingered on my cheek. Cornflower-blue eyes searched mine, clouded with a silent question. He wasn’t alone now. This path existed partly because of me, and I wouldn’t leave him to walk it unaided.
“Mon is waiting,” I said. My chin lifted as I locked my nerves behind a wall, like he did so well.
Approval flickered through the depths of his gaze, and his arm fell away.
He led me out into the darkness. I followed the pale gleam of his armor as it caught the faint glow of dawn’s birth.
Horses pranced nearby, eyes rolling at Gyrak’s looming presence.
Two white mounts stood beside a darker one, black or deep brown in the poor light.
Claus and Fallione were already mounted, working to keep the animals turned away from the dragon’s rigid form.
Kallias knelt by a white horse, hands ready to give me a leg up. My stomach tightened at the thought of riding alone across such a wide plain. Nothing to slow the animal. Nothing to guide it.
I rode dragons. This beast would not undo me.
I drew a breath and let my husband launch me into the saddle. Moments later he was mounted, Greaves falling into place at our flank.
“Raul and Cain of Wellmoor, you have my eternal thanks.” Kallias’ words carried to the two figures huddled near their hut. “When I reach Reem, I will send for you. Radaan’s king does not forget kindness shown to him and his queen.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty!” Raul’s dry voice cracked in reply.
Then we were moving.
My horse’s muscles bunched beneath me, ready to spook or bolt. For such a beautiful creature, it lacked sense. If Gyrak had wanted to eat them, he would have done so the night before.
Once we put distance between us and the huts, Ronan launched skyward. The horses sidestepped and tossed their heads, and Kallias hauled on his reins, murmuring low to his mount, though his gaze stayed fixed on me, tight with concern.
I gave him a brief smile and held my seat.
We urged our mounts faster as the sky shifted to a pale gray. Hoofbeats scattered rodents from the road and sent birds bursting into flight. Damp morning chill clung to my skin.
The pace broke into a canter as I rode beside Kallias, circling the city. We stayed far enough out not to rouse the guards, yet still close to ensure that when the clouds thinned, we stood ready.
At the eastern road, we pivoted, turning our horses to face Mon and drawing them to a halt. Fallione came to my side while Greaves flanked Kallias. I swallowed past the tightness in my throat and lifted my chin.
Metal whispered as my husband gripped his spear. The tip angled toward the brightening sky, resting in the saddle holster. Quiet snorts from the horses filled the stillness.
Not for long.
As the sun crested the hills, its rays igniting the golden armor of the Chosen of Elohios, Ronan swept low over Mon.
And Gyrak shook the earth with an enraged roar.
My horse whinnied, tossing her head. Fallione caught her bridle as I pulled hard on the reins, forcing her back under control. Gyrak’s second bellow sent a tremor through her frame, but Kallias’ glare spared me. It fixed instead on his city.
A dragon’s shadow slid over us, sending a shiver down my spine. Not fear. Anticipation.
Gyrak slammed into the ground at our backs, the sound like a forest falling. My mouth curved despite myself. That was simply his size. Radaan would soon house six dragons before this was done—until Ronan returned home.
This felt right, a proper arrival. Not slipping ashore with doubt knotted in my chest. Not approaching a city uncertain of my welcome. I arrived with a dragon and demanded respect.
That was my place.
Queen of Radaan.
Across the empty plain, distant shouts drifted on the wind. Gyrak’s roar carried over the distance, a warning sharp enough to wake the slumbering streets.
Our shadows stretched before us, the sun warming our backs, as the gates groaned open, revealing a small band of horsemen.
Kallias and I advanced, Fallione and Greaves following. While the riders from Mon charged in a reckless gallop, we kept our mounts restrained in a collected walk. Royalty did not rush.
The emerald banner of Radaan snapped above them, slapping in the wind kicked up by their frenzy. Dust swirled from the road as Kallias slowed, lowering his spear. Its tip caught the sunlight, glinting with a fiery edge, aimed at the foremost rider.
A balding man in purple finery led the group. The six figures behind him—a mix of guards and perhaps servants—halted, watching.
He dismounted with haste, dropping to his knees in the dirt.
“King Kallias of Radaan!” His voice rang across the plain before his forehead touched the earth.
“Baldur of Mon. I have returned to a nation questioning her king. By Elohios’ light, where do your loyalties lie?” His spear followed the man’s bent figure, poised but steady.
“On my life and the lives of our people, Mon answers only to Kallias Sunspear, King of the Plentiful Plains!”
The men behind him mirrored his motion, dropping to their knees in unison, heads bowed.
“And Nienna Draconis, The Dragon’s Heart?” My husband’s voice cut cold and detached. Gyrak’s shadow stretched over us, chilling the air. “Do you serve the Queen of Radaan?”
Baldur’s attention snapped to me. His eyes flicked to the delicate chains along my shoulders, then widened at the dragon looming behind.
His composure faltered, shrinking a fraction before he steadied himself.
“I, Baldur’mon, and those of my city, serve those chosen by the gods, yoked by Radaan’s mantle.
” His voice wavered, but as his gaze shifted back to Kallias, his confidence returned.
He straightened, kneeling firmly. “Mon opens her gates to receive the true King of Radaan.”
The golden spear hovered near his neck, testing the value of the man’s claim. With a swift motion, he raised it skyward, releasing the tension, allowing Mon to live.
“We will retire to your estate,” Kallias commanded. “Lock down the city. Anyone who leaves shall be at the mercy of Queen Nienna’s dragon.”
Pride bloomed in my chest, warmth spreading through chilled limbs. He acknowledged me. My name, my title, had become a weapon in his hand. A small smile tugged at my lips, but I straightened in the saddle.
“As you wish, Your Majesty!” Baldur scrambled to mount, brushing the dirt from his trousers without delay. “This way.”
Relief washed over me. We were halfway through the first phase. Now, we would ride through the city, under the eyes of its people.