Chapter 23 #2
Nobody dared to approach our table to converse with us. The court kept its distance, their hushed murmurs tucked behind ringed hands as the meal wore on.
Still, I sensed it: their tension and scrutiny, their judgment aimed squarely at me. Ronan’s presence sharpened it, their disapproval of him sitting beside me pressing close. They knew he remained only because dissent simmered. Had they accepted me in Tallon’s place, he wouldn’t need to be here.
And that’s what it came down to. That truth lingered beneath everything. They disapproved of me and how things happened.
My teeth caught my cheek as I bit into the roast. Startled, I dabbed at my lips, masking the sting.
There had to be a path forward, a way to win them to my side.
As Tallon’s bride, I would’ve had time. I could have integrated myself into their court, earned their regard before ever touching the throne.
Now all I had were the vile whispers and rumors the bastard prince spread. And their fear of my dragons. That wasn’t respect. It was begrudging obedience borrowed from Kallias.
We finished the meal in near-silence. It was stifling. And by the time my husband rose, I wanted nothing more than to escape their stares.
He guided me from the dining hall, through winding corridors, to a small kitchen. The same one he’d brought me to long ago, where I met the cook who brewed his cider and kahve.
That man was dead now.
Another stood at the stove, tending a pot. Steam filled the space, carrying the scent of warmed spices and crisp apples. He seemed to have expected us, filling two mugs, then offered them with a bow.
Greaves took Kallias’ drink, breath fogging as he blew across the steaming liquid. He stayed in step with us, warm brown eyes sweeping the corridor, alert even as he tested a sip. A low grunt followed before he returned the cup to Kallias.
Heat bled through the plain ceramic into my palms as we headed for a familiar spiral staircase. A grin crept in the moment the wrought-iron came into view.
I hurried ahead, crouching to brush my fingers over the small cluster of frog eggs tucked against the first step. Joy surged, bright and nostalgic, while the chill of iron under my touch grounded me with the sense of coming home.
With the hall vacant, there was no one to witness my breach of decorum. I turned a radiant smile up at Kallias.
Lines creased at the corners of his eyes as he grinned back, then he lifted his cider for a sip with a tilt of his head. “Did you miss it?”
“I did.” I straightened, fingers skimming the thin vines climbing the rail before I drifted up a few steps to graze the enormous carved bug his mother had insisted on adding. “It’s strange, but this feels like home.”
A low sound left him as he followed, tracing a flower that spiraled up the center pole. “This is where you first sought sanctuary.”
“Where I first felt safe.” I nodded. The only place in Radaan that had ever given me that sense of security.
Aside from Kallias’ bed.
Greaves cleared his throat, his stare locking onto his king. The impatient look urged us to move, and I laughed under my breath as I climbed to the landing.
My husband opened the door, though his guard slipped past me first. I lifted a brow and took a drink while he circled the balcony, checking every shadow.
When a dragon passed overhead, his hand snapped to the sword at his hip before he caught himself.
With a glare sharp enough to draw blood, he gave us a curt nod and retreated inside, no doubt sparing himself our declarations of eternal devotion.
Darkness had settled; the sun long gone. A rough chirp sounded, followed by a croon, the rush of a passing dragon tugging at my hair. I leaned against the railing, squinting into the dark. Dragon-shaped shadows blotted out the stars, the beasts too distant for me to name.
Kallias slid his arm around my waist, following my gaze. “He’s just doing his duty.”
“As are my dragons.” I nodded toward the two shapes circling overhead.
“It will make the people nervous,” he said, breath easing out as he cradled his cider. “This isn’t how I wanted them to grow accustomed to the beasts.”
My attention dropped to the cup in my hands, thumb tracing the rim. “They’ll settle in the Craggs soon enough. Distance will dull the fear if they aren’t a constant presence.”
“They were meant to be a symbol of hope and protection.” His jaw tightened. “Instead, they’ve set our cities aflame. Radaan knows them only as destroyers.”
“And they only know me as a conniving princess.”
He went still, brows drawing together as he searched my face. “They know you as their queen.”
A short, bitter scoff escaped me as I tipped my head back toward the sky.
“I was promised to a prince, tangled in scandal with his father, then sent home in disgrace. I tore you from your throne and left your people at Tallon’s mercy. And when I returned, I brought death. You felt it. When Ronan sat beside me tonight, it sealed the coffin. They loathe Draconia.”
He lifted his mug, silence stretching between us. He knew it rang true, just as I realized the words came from exhaustion more than despair. It would pass—I simply didn’t want to endure it.
“Fallione has proposed a Radaanian wedding.”
The shift caught me off guard. I turned back to him, head tilting. “So soon?”
“Yes.” He rotated his drink, eyes fixed on the dark surface.
“You’re not pursuing Tallon?”
“Not yet.” He met my gaze, a flicker crossing his eye. “I won’t allow him free rein or let my kingdom suffer his spite. But right now, Radaan needs us more than it needs his reckoning.”
“And you believe a wedding will earn me your people’s favor?”
“Our people,” he said softly. “They need to see us both as god-blessed. Proof that Elohios has chosen you alongside me.”
“How does a Radaanian ceremony differ from Draconis?” I asked. “Do you truly think a handfasting will sway them?”
“No. There are older ways.” He set his cup on the stone and took mine from my hands. Guiding my palms to his waist, he leaned in, bracing me against the wall. “Traditions far more ancient.”
“Oh?” My pulse leapt, neck arching as he loomed close. “That seems… ominous.”
“It’s entrenched in legend, steeped in religion. If not for the sake of our people, I wouldn’t ask it of you.”
“My, it sounds dangerous.” A curious smile curved my mouth. When my hands slid up his chest, catching in the chains of his mantle, warm metal slipped between my fingers. “And what does it require?”
He swallowed, gaze dropping to my lips before lifting again. “A public display.”
“A kiss?”
“More.”
“An embrace?”
“In essence.”
“Kallias, are you asking to take me in front of all of Radaan?” A strangled laugh slipped free.
His expression stayed hard.
Disbelief morphed into utter shock. “You are!” And here I thought him a little prudish after the mating goats incident.
His composure cracked, and he laughed, teeth catching his lower lip. “On a balcony—out of direct view—but they’ll still know what’s happening. The rite requires me to pray to Elohios and complete the act with his blessing.”
“You’ll be glowing?” I fought another burst of laughter. My gaze dipped as I nudged him back, eyes flicking to the front of his trousers. “All of you?”
“Would you like to find out?” His voice slid into that familiar husky rasp, heat threading every word.
A thoughtful sound left me as I braced my elbows on the wall, arching beneath him. “So you wed me by ancient Radaanian law. Elohios blesses you, and you take me before god and kingdom as proof I’m accepted.”
“Paired with the celebrations and festivities a wedding brings, Fallione is confident it will unite them.”
“And you?”
“I think it’s worth a try.”
“And yet you blushed at goats mating.”
He frowned before a scoff broke free. “You were too interested in it, and I was interested in you.”
“And afterward? What then?”
“I hunt Tallon.”
“Then I agree. On one condition—”
His brow jumped as he tilted his head, tongue sweeping his lip.
“—Ronan is banned from the sky that day.”
Laughter burst from him, the sound rolling through his chest. I joined in, helpless against it. The pure, unrestrained humor felt rare and unexpected.
I’d never heard him laugh like that.
When his gaze returned to me, a broad smile split his face. “On our wedding day,” he said, “I think all riders will stay grounded.”
The following afternoon, I summoned the noblewomen to join me in painting my dragons. My request carried the veiled weight of command; no one dared refuse.
A rainbow of gowns fanned the field, and I lingered for a moment, noting the slimmer sleeves—gone were the absurdly poofy fashions of old. Their dresses shimmered and sparkled, while the servants trailed behind in muted colors, carrying easels, paints, and palettes.
Dyre’s sapphire scales caught the sun, neck arched as though aware of the attention. His silver eyes flared with pride, and a gust of warm breath escaped in a soft snort.
A noblewoman—dark hair streaked with gray—clamped a palm to her chest with a gasp. She stumbled back, colliding with a younger woman, who glared, wrinkling her nose with disgust, then lifted her skirts high above her dainty shoes to step aside.
“Thank you for coming, ladies,” I greeted, hand resting on Dyre’s warm scales.
A low purr rumbled from him, approval vibrating under my palm. The women gathered at his side, keeping a careful distance from his teeth.
“I thought perhaps we would take this opportunity to capture the magnificence of the dragons before they leave for the Craggs,” I continued.
Across the field, I caught Sean speaking with Ronan as soldiers guided nervous horses in circles around Gyrak.
“When will they be leaving, Your Majesty?” a voice called, a hint of eagerness in its tone.
“Oh, not for a while yet.” I turned on them with a bright smile. “You’ll have plenty of time to perfect your technique.”