Chapter 29 #2
“Lynx, can you see him?” I asked, hairs prickling at the nape of my neck. “Black hair, green overcoat?”
The Thresher scanned the crowd, returning his gaze to me with a frown. “There are many who fit that description, Your Majesty.”
“Oh, don’t mind him. He’s a family friend,” Penelope hedged. “His name is Jalal, Master of Masonry in Gog. He came when King Kallias retook Reem.”
I didn’t believe her for a moment. But why lie, unless she aimed to spark another uprising—which would fail miserably after today’s display of my dragons. I would need to mention it to Alma and have her watched.
“How long has he been a master?”
“Seven years. He oversaw the peak lookout—if you ever visit Gog. It’s a glorious sight.”
“When Tallon is dealt with,” and by that, I meant ‘roasted by a dragon,’ “I would love to visit. I’ll have my advisor begin planning now.”
She smiled, nerves sharpening into something edged with danger. “I shall write to my parents and inform them of your impending arrival, Your Majesty.”
“Could they not attend our wedding?” I gestured to the crowd. “This doesn’t seem like an occasion to miss.”
Perhaps it was wrong to push her. Too much remained unknown—her loyalty, whether I could trust her—but time was short. Kallias and I had drawn the line in the sand, but some still straddled it.
“You must understand—they would have come if invited,” she said, baring her teeth in a vicious smile. “But the event was so hurried, they could not make proper arrangements.”
“And yet Jalal could.”
Oh, that angered her. Color flushed her cheeks, and hatred stirred in those crystalline eyes. She was an eel, just waiting for me to slip, ready to strike from the shadows.
“He could. I beg your pardon, Your Majesty. I am needed elsewhere.” She dipped into a hurried curtsy and spun, stepping into the crowd.
No.
“Penelope?” I called after her.
I would not let her vanish, excusing herself as if she had the right to dismiss me.
She froze, tension stiffening her spine, skirts fisted in her hands. “Yes, Your Majesty?”
“Blessed be the King and Queen.”
Not once had she named me her queen. It was always ‘Your Majesty.’ She never claimed me as her own, never showed any sign of allegiance. By initiating the statement, she had to return it—or be labeled a traitor.
I wasn’t foolish. My entire life—from birth—had trained me to rule, to sit on the throne. No lowborn noble would outmaneuver me.
“Blessed be the King and Queen,” she repeated, the words torn out of her, a single tear trailing down her cheek.
How had she grown to loathe me so quickly? What had I ever done—to her or Gog? I certainly wasn’t helping the matter, but I wouldn’t attempt to win her favor. No. Now I would show her the queen Radaan never had.
A familiar presence pressed close, cinnamon and sunlight wrapping around me.
“The feast is waiting,” Kallias said, staring after her.
His silent question hung between us—did I need him to intervene? I only had to say the word, and he would send guards.
But today was a celebration. Enough blood had been shed.
I wound my fingers through his, flashing a guarded smile. “Then we shall not keep them waiting.”
He hesitated a breath, giving me a final chance to object. But it could wait. With a nod, he guided me through the crowd to long rows of tables spread over the lawn, covered in pristine linen bleached by the sun.
While we mingled, a table had been set on the dais, where Elysia waited. Her bright smile conflicted with the frown and harsh glare of the two Threshers who stood guard at the palace doors.
We stepped before our ornate chairs, waiting for the crowd to quiet. Conversations faded, and eyes turned to us, excitement heavy in the air.
“Radaan, behold—the King of the Plentiful Plains!” a herald shouted.
The people roared, fists raised. Kallias cracked a smile. Golden Warrior of Elohios, Chosen of the Gods—he had many titles, though it was the one borne of peace that brought him joy.
My husband. Strong. Loyal. Loving. Fierce in battle, yet gentle where he could afford it. Not a warrior by choice, but because his enemies demanded it. He became the king he needed to be. Only he knew the violence required for gentleness.
“And Nienna Draconis, the Dragon’s Heart—Queen of Radaan!”
The cheers were quieter, but applause drifted through the crowd, smiles blooming across faces. They sought celebration, joy, something to grasp.
We took our seats; a silent cue for the servants. They poured from the palace, trays laden with food. Scents pressed against me, stomach tightening.
Kallias squeezed my hand.
I would not be sick at our wedding feast.
A servant placed a simple piece of bread, slathered with fragrant jam, on my plate. Bites were already missing—Greaves and Elysia sampling and approving. Warm bread mingled with sweet berries, the scent drowning the sharp herbs spicing the heavier meats along the table.
“This is your doing,” I muttered, picking up the thick slice.
He hummed. “It’s the only thing you seem to enjoy.” He chose his words with care, gaze sliding to the servants bustling around us.
It was one of the few things the babe didn’t despise. Hopefully the pregnancy would be easy, and my stomach would settle in a few weeks, allowing me to attend dinner without hiding my gags.
The cook had to know. There were only so many things you could mask. Wine swapped for grape juice, spices replaced with bland substitutes.
I would have to remind Kallias I was raised in Draconia, an island alive with spices that burned on the tongue like dragonfire. No Draconis mother ever stopped eating them while with child.
The feast wore on. Nobles made endless toasts to our health and reign. My glass was emptied and refilled. The crowd grew bolder, clearing space for dancing as the evening deepened.
Kallias reclined in his chair, nursing his cup.
His bandaged arm reminded anyone who braved a glance of what we were celebrating.
Bright blue eyes glittered with mirth, corners of his mouth lifting in an easy, genuine smile.
He was so relaxed, soaking in his people’s revelry.
For the first time in public, I saw him as he truly was, beneath the mantle of king.
His gaze flicked to me, a single brow arching in question.
I slid my calf along his in answer. The long cloth draped over the table, hiding the small, intimate motion, keeping the moment between us. I saw him—Kallias—not just the king of Radaan.
The sun lowered, casting a golden hue over the festivities. Those gathered seemed to sense what was coming; the tempo of the music quickened, wine glasses drained faster.
They were permitted to stay until morning, providing witnesses to Elohios’ blessing. My heart lurched into my throat, and I caught myself before I twisted to glance at the balcony high above.
Some cultures demanded a bedding ceremony witnessed by the court. As a princess, I’d been prepared for everything to be on display. But this? Distance would at least soften the exposure.
The setting sun flared across Radaan. Whoops and cheers followed its dip below the horizon. Faces turned toward us, many flushed from dancing or wine, all grinning. Expectant.
Kallias rose with me.
This was something special. Perhaps they would never witness it again.
Music halted abruptly, ending on harsh, jagged notes.
I refused to wipe clammy palms on my dress, lifting my chin.
“Good people of Radaan, tonight you are blessed by the gods! Keep your eyes on the sky. Elohios has chosen your king, and your queen has chosen Veridis. The sun is not the only light that shines on Radaan.” My voice rang clear above the crowd.
Their anticipation pressed in, whispers swirling through the air.
Kallias clasped my hand, leading me into the quiet of the palace. The halls were dull, a stark contrast to their usual brightness, empty except for us and Greaves trailing behind.
“They dim the lights to make your light brighter?” I whispered, pressing closer.
“It was one of the few details we found in the records.”
A reminder that the ritual had only been performed once in known history.
“And the woman—did she do anything?”
Kallias smiled, amused, as we climbed the stairwell. “You have nothing to fear.”
Doubt gnawed at me. His light had flickered around my dragons. What if it faltered with me? I was the Dragon’s Heart, connected to them in ways I didn’t fully understand. If the magic sensed I was their hatchmate and he did not glow… what then? What assurance would the people have?
Perhaps we should have tested this theory.
“Nienna.” He stopped at the top of the stairs, frowning down. “Have you changed your mind?”
“No!” I shook my head. “No, I just–”
“Have faith.”
My shoulders sagged and my lips pursed into a deadpan expression. Always ‘have faith,’ or ‘trust me.’
He chuckled, a teasing grin splitting his face. “I think more pressure is on my performance than yours.” His brows lowered, seriousness creeping in. “Unless you’re not feeling well.”
He was worried about the babe—and Rodrick’s warning.
“The little one will be fine.” I shook my head, grabbing his hand to pull him down a corridor. I was unfamiliar with this part of the palace—few sections had a second level. Radaan sprawled wide, not tall.
He lengthened his strides, herding me through a doorway engraved with a stag chased by hunters. I traced my fingers along the details, catching Greaves’ gaze before the door closed behind us.
“Oh.” The room was dark, fading sunlight painting it in muted gray tones. A large bed dominated the center, positioned just inside the balcony doors. Sheer curtains fluttered in the evening breeze.
“You thought we would perform the ritual outside.” Amusement laced his tone.
I planted my hands on my hips, glaring. “It’s what you said, dear husband.”
“I fear I could not oblige,” he murmured, stepping close. “In bed, you are mine alone. I don’t share.”