Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Nienna
Edith braided my hair, a tidy mess of plaits crisscrossing my scalp before wrapping into a crown. Freya’s fingers skimmed my side, and I clenched my teeth against the tickle as she laced my dress.
The gown fell in deep burgundy, edged with gold, and I hoped the purplish tone sat far enough from red not to trouble Kallias.
I hadn’t worn the color since the Dragon Ship, yet I lacked the nerve to ask him.
I was a queen, and he told me he didn’t care what I wore.
We both knew that was true, but I didn’t want to be confronted with it.
The wait wasn’t long before my husband stepped through the dressing room, Fallione and Greaves close behind.
His gaze skimmed down me with the faintest pause as he shifted to block Fallione’s view.
He caught himself gawking, and in one smooth motion, he pivoted toward the vanity, checking his hair while his advisor rattled on.
“The wives shall be in attendance, along with Penelope of Gog.” Fallione offered me a slight bow before returning to his list. “I would prepare for tension from her.”
“I will handle her,” I said, lifting my chin.
Edith frowned, tightening her hold on my braids as I moved.
“She was betrothed to Verad, Your Majesty. She may be unsettled by yesterday’s news.”
“Nothing she wouldn’t expect,” I replied. “As a woman of the court, I’ll handle her.”
Kallias combed his hair, setting it in place. “Tonight marks our first official night back in court. Tensions will run high for everyone. Still, I suspect the worst of the gleaning has passed. Unless you sense more unrest?”
“Things are settling,” Fallione said, relief easing his breath. “Their presence unnerves the people, but they are well aware that the Harvesters are working hard to clear the Velli from our city. They’ll calm soon enough. For now, the nobles and common folk alike are walking on eggshells.”
A smirk touched my mouth. A common phrase, though dragon eggshells endured far more than a careless step.
Kallias straightened as he adjusted the chains of his mantle. “We will put them at ease.”
“You’ve considered what I suggested?” Fallione rolled his papers closed.
Silence answered.
I glanced over my shoulder, forcing Edith to shuffle with me. My husband’s eyes bore into mine, narrowed, distant with thought.
“What did you suggest?” I asked, curiosity pricking at whatever had stilled him.
“I’ll tell you later.” He shook his head. “Fallione, see that the room is calm before we arrive.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” He withdrew, leaving us behind.
I watched my husband as his gaze turned inward. His jaw worked from side to side as he mulled over his thoughts.
Edith finished and tucked my hair off my shoulders. I brushed at phantom strands along my neck and stood, dismissing my maids. Greaves wrestled with a silver vambrace, and I crossed the room to assist him.
He stilled when I caught his wrist, eyes snapping to mine before flicking to Kallias.
“Will a Thresher be joining you tonight?” I asked, nails picking at the knotted leather.
“Only if you separate.” His voice stayed low, indifferent.
I wanted to draw him out of his shell. He was my husband’s closest friend; we could manage cordiality.
A smile curved my mouth as I loosened the tie. “Then we shall not part.”
My husband’s hand closed over mine, lifting my fingers from the vambrace to settle them on his arm. My attention to his guard drew no reaction from him, yet he turned me toward the door all the same.
“Together, my queen.”
The halls stood clear and clean. The servants had labored endlessly to scour the bloodstains from the carpets and walls.
Vases had been replaced, torn vines trimmed and set right.
But the paintings? Still absent. Vast gaps scarred the corridors, revealing bare sandstone—a barren and solemn reminder of what had happened here.
I measured each step, mapping our path to the dining hall, heart thudding with every pace.
This marked my formal introduction to his court. Tradition called for a ball, a celebration of our kingdoms bound together. Instead, we pressed forward with a dinner, treating it as nothing more than a routine affair.
The doors were closed when we arrived, flanked by two soldiers. Kallias turned to me, his eyes dancing across my face as his mouth formed a firm line. His gaze snagged on the bandage peeking above my collar, impossible to hide. He blinked, hiding the twitch, then swallowed.
“I’m ready,” I whispered, squeezing his arm.
Gold thread rasped beneath my thumb when he shifted under my touch. His mantle chains swayed as he stepped beside me and faced the guards. At an unspoken signal, the doors swung open.
“His Majesty, King Kallias Sunspear, Chosen of the Gods! And Queen Nienna Draconis, the Dragon’s Heart!”
The silence that followed the herald’s call was deafening. Chandeliers flickered; their mirrored facets snared the light, throwing it across the room. The scent of roasted beef and earthy vegetables rolled over me, warm and rich, my stomach answering despite the knot in my chest.
A nobleman rose.
That single motion broke the spell. The crowd stood as one, greeting us.
Pulse racing, I walked beside my husband as he led me forward, past bowing nobles.
I noted who bent deep and who offered only the bare minimum.
Kallias knew his court. I did not. I hadn’t grown among them, and I remained too much a stranger to predict their intent or their reach.
When we climbed the dais, my stomach flipped.
Rising with him, my hand resting along the crook of his elbow—as his equal—seemed so strange, unreal.
This time I wasn’t a princess with Tallon standing between us.
Kallias guided me to the high-backed chair that mirrored his own.
I would sit at his right, an honored, cherished position.
Each of those truths settled as he brought me to my seat and lowered his arm.
My touch slid along his sleeve, as if reluctant to part. The nobles’ stares closed in on me, and uncertainty clawed at my resolve.
His hand caught mine.
When our fingers interlaced, I fought against the quirk threatening my lips as pleasure hummed through me.
He wasn’t leaving me, wouldn’t abandon me.
He must’ve understood how daunting this was, how the rush left me off balance.
There were traditions that stretched back centuries, rituals meant to anchor moments like this, and we were stepping past all of them.
We sat, sinking into the plush chairs. My hands came to rest on the carved armrests, a fingertip tracing a groove until I noticed the nervous gesture and stilled.
On the main floor, crisp white linen draped along each table, the room stretching far wider than I remembered.
As the seats filled, women smoothed their skirts while men flattened their overcoats.
Servants placed the first course before us, shallow bowls holding rich red soup, and Kallias pressed my hand, a quiet signal to wait. Greaves’ steady gaze scanned the room as he reached for the spoon.
“Your Majesty,” a woman murmured, bending close in greeting as she revealed her own spoon. Her long crimson curls spilled over her shoulder, forming a curtain between me and the watching court while she sampled the steaming broth.
Her hazel eyes twinkled as she met my gaze. “It’s safe.”
“Thank you.” I returned her smile.
She withdrew with Greaves, leaving us alone with our bowls. My attention lingered on the spoon in his hand as I lifted mine. That woman had used her own. Was that enough? What if poison clung to the metal?
“Elysia was chosen by Greaves,” Kallias murmured, then took his first bite.
I followed his lead. The soup proved thick and vivid, flavor blooming across my tongue. Herbs surfaced after the acidic tomato faded, leaving a deep richness behind.
“He knows her?” I asked, keeping my tone light as the nobles began to eat, our first bites granting silent permission.
“She was training to replace him,” Kallias said. “Not as Kingsguard, but as food taster. She has a background in the kitchens and studied alongside the Harvesters for the past year.”
The assassin’s guild of Radaan. The thought of having an assassin at my back sent a shiver along my spine.
“She worked with the apothecary,” his blue irises darkened as he read my face, “studying poisons and antidotes.”
Not blades or combat; only toxins—as if that distinction should assure me.
“Are the Harvesters in the palace?” My gaze swept the room, cataloging the noble’s different features, searching for someone who’d be strong enough to snap me in two or sly enough to slip death into my food.
Kallias didn’t answer right away, and his pause drew my attention. His jaw shifted before he looked at me. “Yes.”
My stomach tightened, eyes skimming the crowd again.
“They’re protecting us,” he said, voice softer than a whisper. “Their work relies on remaining unseen. You wouldn’t be able to pick them out.”
Ronan chose that moment to enter, his presence chasing away the chill of foreboding. He swaggered up the aisle, silver embroidery glinting along his riding leathers. A cocky smirk sat firm on his face, and sandy hair—free of its goggles—fell in loose waves across his brow.
Kallias greeted him and offered the seat beside mine.
“Mother would have your hide,” I murmured as he dropped into the chair.
“What did I do now?” He cast me a curious glance, eager to hear how he had wronged her, likely so he could repeat the offense.
“They make combs, you know?” I pressed my lips together as a servant set his bowl down.
He chuckled, then dragged a hand through his unruly hair, giving it a careless shake. “It’s from the wind.”
A quiet sigh escaped me, though relief warmed beneath it; I was glad to have him there. With Kallias at one side, Ronan at the other, and Greaves nearby, I felt as if I could face anything.