Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kallias
Shame and humiliation simmered beneath my skin, damning my conscience as we strode from the queen’s rooms. Nienna’s grip on my arm was firm, a tether reminding me she was here with me.
She wasn’t disgusted.
After the meeting with the noblemen—and taking Verad’gog’s life—I’d gone searching for her. I craved her presence, her company, before I sought Elohios’ guidance. When a servant mentioned she’d been seen entering the queen’s rooms, my mind didn’t register the magnitude of that statement.
What I left there.
It was easier to leave it buried, to let the memory rot and fade behind doors I never intended to open. But with Nienna here, it was only a matter of time before she claimed those rooms. Ghosts stirred, their creeping chill piercing the guard around my mind.
Knowing why I abandoned Eldeiade’s chambers, never intending to cross that threshold again, didn’t soften the blow when I heard Nienna moving within the bowels of that darkness—aware there were things I never wanted her to see.
And yet, she saw.
A flush climbed my neck. Why had I allowed Eldeiade to commission such a painting?
Because it kept her occupied—and I was a coward.
It confined her to her chambers. As long as it remained there, it was tolerable.
Why had I permitted her any freedom at all?
To keep her from meddling in my affairs, to prevent ever being in the same room as her.
My previous marriage was messy. Brutal. I hadn’t been kind, and neither had she.
It was a union bound in hatred, each memory clawing at my gut—the years of torture now meaningless.
All the visits, all the endurance to sire an heir—only for some Velli to slip in and breed a bastard under my roof. My sacrifice meant nothing.
“Kallias.”
Nienna breathed my name, tugging me from my thoughts, her hand pressing against my arm.
I blinked, shaking off the sting of vulnerability—having her witness my flaws, settling for a broken man.
“How did the council go?” Her voice carried no hesitation, a gentle tug toward fresher topics.
“I killed Verad’gog.”
Gods, it just fell out. Where was my tact?
She pressed her lips together, nodding. “He would not bow?”
“No.” I exhaled, scanning the hall. Only Claus and Greaves trailed us. “He was destined to be a martyr for Tallon’s cause. I let him claim that honor.”
“And Bac’phares?”
I frowned. Had she known he was here? “His words are vicious, but his spine is cotton. Limp, pliant. He bent the knee.”
She hummed, thoughtful, glaring into the distance as we entered the courtyard.
“Is there something I should know?” My voice dropped, longing for the privacy of my chambers. My back stiffened as I swept the surroundings. Not the place for open talk of treason, yet these weren’t the times to dither when justice demanded swift hand.
“Oh, I’ll not burden you now. Perhaps later.” She shrugged, shifting focus to the line of temples ahead. Her fingers brushed my bicep, hesitating. “The last time I was here was with Fyrn.”
I paused, surveying the temples. This side of the city wall remained quiet, reserved for royalty and nobility.
She had never prayed alone. Fyrn accompanied her here; Gayle in Sol.
I considered how to ease her—the ritual of worshipping an unfamiliar god, the routine unknown, yoked to the mantle and the pressure to choose correctly.
“I’ll be fine.” She smiled up at me, then gave me a quick pat.
My lips twitched, but no words came. She didn’t worship Elohios, and it would not be proper for a male to enter Veridis’ temple. Without glancing back, she released my arm and slipped past the statue of the goddess. Claus posted himself at the door.
Angry at myself for failing to prepare her, I entered the temple of Elohios.
Greaves’ hands gripped the chains of my mantle, the familiar weight of it singing through me with relief. For years, this had been our ritual. My friend lifted the mantle, placing it on the altar as priests lingered just beyond the alcoves. I retrieved a red prayer rug.
Unrolling it, I knelt before the statue. With sword outstretched in one hand, a balanced scale in the other, Elohios stared down at me. His visage was sharp, unforgiving. Justice and truth.
I bowed my head. Elohios, hear me.
A chill breeze swept through the temple, tousling my hair. I smiled at the cold stone beneath my knees.
Thank you. Faith in the unseen was one thing—praying for blessing on a battlefield, hoping it might be noticed. But this, a tangible answer to my prayer, as if he’d been watching, waiting for me—that was everything.
My kingdom is divided. Guide me along the paths I should take. Let my voice and actions be bound by wisdom. Lead me toward victory.
What was victory? Tallon’s death? If I saw him again, I would kill him. Better he slip over the Craggs than face my wrath.
Greaves’ words nagged at me, urging pursuit.
Should I go after him? I prayed. Or give my people time to heal? Will you bless my patience, or does true justice demand chasing evil until it is snuffed out?
The breeze faded. I knelt, back stiff, ears straining, body alert, waiting for his answer.
Birds trilled overhead. A dragon’s roar echoed in the distance, muted. Voices drifted from Veridis’ temple, a free laugh cutting through the hum. Servants moved in the courtyard, their conversations muted under the scent of soil and flowering plants.
Home. I had to care for it first, secure it before moving forward.
The rightness settled into my chest, spreading a quiet certainty. I was right.
I will take Nienna in a marriage of the old ways. Please—bless our union. Restore the hearts of the people to me. Ease their acceptance of her.
A sudden stream of air brushed my ear, teasing before it dissipated.
His blessing had never been removed on her account.
The only sin I committed was my deceit, pushing her away.
Our love was pure; our marriage blessed.
The mammoth should have taught me that. Even though I loved her then, I’d been doubtful, insecure, fearful of what men would think when it was my god that mattered most.
I lingered, letting prayer sift and order my thoughts in the manner only it could. When peace settled, my plan aligned, I rose to my feet.
A priest emerged from the alcove, rolling my rug while Greaves draped the mantle over my shoulders.
“We are blessed by your return, Your Majesty,” he said, clutching the crimson rug to his white robes.
“It’s good to be back.”
“May the Light of Elohios illuminate your path.” He nodded his farewell as I stepped out into the sun.
Warmth struck me as I left the temple’s chilled shadows. Two sides of the god: fierce love and warmth, chilled justice and wrath.
My steps were careful, silent—not to sneak up on Nienna, but to avoid disturbing her if she still prayed to Veridis.
Inside the temple, a priestess gestured to a plant climbing the wall, a green leaf streaked with pink the size of my face, rattling off some detail.
My wife, however, did not watch the leaf.
Her gaze was fixed on a painting.
Textured, rough, alive. A seed and an infant side by side. Roots plunged into the soil, tendrils clawing toward the surface. The babe curled inward, the umbilical cord stretching across the canvas, bleeding onto the wall to intertwine with threads of gold.
Nienna’s hand. Gods, it rested on her womb, pale fingers splayed beneath her navel.
The peace I carried from the temple evaporated, thinning like fog under morning sun.
My spine stiffened, instinct snapping into place. This was who I was. There was no shame in it.
Nienna turned toward me with a radiant smile, one that chased my fears back into their corners. She whispered a farewell to the priestess and crossed the space between us.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” I said as she slipped her arm through mine.
“You’re not. Vama was showing me the temple’s art.” Her expression softened. “I missed Radaan’s collections.”
I guided her toward the palace, angling my head. “The walls of Draconia were covered in rich paintings. Bold pieces.”
“It’s different here.” She leaned on my shoulder. “Draconis’ art is powerful. Demanding. Radaan feels softer. Peaceful.” Her lips pressed together as she searched for the thought.
“Like coming home after war.”
“Yes.” She gasped, turning to me with bright intensity. The excitement dimmed when she studied my face. “It reminds me of you.”
I was a king. Calculated. Cold when I needed to be. My days were measured by schedules, councils, trials.
But I was also a man.
With a quiet breath, I changed course, steering her away from the palace doors. My stride lengthened, urgency carrying us through the gardens.
Past the flowerbeds. Beneath the Golden Palace’s shadow. Toward a willow whose branches brushed the earth. I pushed aside the trailing limbs and pulled her through, letting them fall between us and our guards.
Her laugh broke free, breathless. I dropped my arm, caught her hand, and drew her to the trunk. Birds scattered with indignant cries, and I sank to the ground, tugging her with me, mindful of our mantles.
My legs framed her as I pulled her close and kissed her. Her giggle vanished against my mouth as I chased every scrap of joy she offered. Like a leech, I wanted more. Never satisfied.
She hummed, shifting until she fit between my legs, her chest settling against mine. Our kisses slowed. Soft. Unhurried. Not the desperate hunger of the night before. This was quieter, deeper. A meeting of hearts. I needed this. Needed her. One stolen moment before the storm resumed.
“Aren’t you full of surprises, dear husband.” She pulled back, eyes bright with amusement.
“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” I said, offering a gentle lie. The King of the Plentiful Plains did not duck beneath willow branches to steal kisses. But a man facing relentless demands, offered a breath of privacy with his wife? I would choose that every time.