Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Nienna
“You’re not leaving me behind.”
Kallias froze, fingers stiff at his sides. Even his breath stalled. He would try to reason with me. List every way I could be harmed. Paint the plains in blood and shadow until I surrendered.
“I’m not just a Radaanian queen meant to glitter beneath a mantle, Kallias. I am Draconis—made of claws and teeth. Let me come with you.” I softened the demand with a hand on his arm, feeling the heat of him through his tunic.
From the corner, leather creaked. Disapproval radiated from Greaves like hot iron.
My husband met my gaze, hard and guarded. Another might mistake it for anger. I knew better. His wall was rising, stone by stone, sealing him in as it always did.
Sometimes I feared he hid behind it.
“I am not wearing the mantle.” His voice stayed level, threaded with command. A king’s cadence. “We ride under darkness into enemy territory with no certainty of what awaits.”
“I will be between you and Greaves.” Steel and muscle on either side. I would be safe.
His nostrils flared before he turned fully toward me, offering his complete attention while his height cast a long shadow over mine.
“Your dragons cannot breach the mountain. If something happens, they cannot save you.”
The urge to promise safety rose to my tongue, foolish and fragile.
I swallowed it. No one knew what waited at the foot of the Andeluith.
He trusted the Harvesters as I trusted the Riders of Draconia, yet they had not earned my faith.
Why had this Harvester not brought back the person they claimed so vital? Why summon a king instead?
“You carry a single blade. If I fall, if Greaves falls, so do you. You hold Radaan’s future.” His jaw tightened. “No. I will return before sunrise.”
No.
Simple. Absolute. A king’s decree. All because I carried our child.
“Where is the man who loved me for my fire?” I kept my voice low, though my chest burned with his refusal. I never tried to change him, yet he seemed to forget who I was.
Canvas rustled as Greaves slipped from the tent, granting us thin privacy.
“He is the same man who watched you wield a blade.” The words scraped from him. “Nienna, you belong to court. To politics. You were bred and trained for that, not battle.”
“So were you.” Heat surged up my spine. “Your parents did not raise a warrior. You were meant to rule in peace. Yet here stands the Golden Warrior of Elohios, ready to risk Radaan for a fool’s errand.”
He scoffed and leaned back, whether to give me space or claim it for himself.
“A sword was placed in my hand before I could walk. I trained with Greaves when we were boys, learning from the finest swordsmen on the continent. I might have been raised to be a peaceful king, but my father knew peace is only gained by your enemies’ fear.
Without dragons, you have no weapon. Nothing to defend yourself. ”
“I have you!”
“Have you considered what a liability that is?”
A bitter laugh left him. I clung to the knowledge that the sound was not aimed at me. He carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“I dragged you into this. A queen who refuses the safety of the army. Tallon needs only to capture you and I would surrender everything. Everything I am. Egath knows it. The gods know it. All of Radaan knows what a fool I become where you are concerned.”
“Are you blaming me?” I recoiled. Thin canvas walls offered little shield for our first true argument, yet I would not let that stand.
“I blame myself!” His fist crashed onto the washstand. Wood split. Ceramic shattered across furs, water spreading in a dark bloom. He threw his hands up and stepped back.
My pulse pounded as he struggled to force his turmoil behind that familiar barrier.
“Kallias.” I took a step toward him, closing the distance he created.
His knees hit the small cot, and he sank onto it, elbows braced on thighs, fingers digging into his hair. “I do not blame you.”
I knelt between his boots and nudged his legs apart, settling close enough to feel his warmth. Stubble rasped against my palms as I cupped his face, the coarse texture betraying sleepless nights and endless strain. “You are not foolish.”
“I am in love.” He chuckled, the sound dark and haunted. “A far worse fate. I would burn the world for you. Gods, I would sacrifice every soul in Radaan, slaughter every Velli on this continent. I would do all of that and so much more just to keep you breathing.”
He would surrender his goodness. The core of him. Deep down, perhaps that’s what scared him the most. His love for me demanded selfishness, lust, desire. He had spent a lifetime fighting for others, and now he would risk the reputation he built—all for me.
I had no doubt that if something happened to me, he would snap. Vellos would tremble beneath his wrath. There would be a reckoning that would shake the very foundation of the world.
But it wasn’t anger or fury in his eyes.
It was terror.
He was afraid of losing me.
“Kallias, I am Queen of Radaan.” My thumb traced the shape of his mouth. “I carry the heir to the mantle. You insist I was born for this—then let me prove it. If something happens to you, trust that I won’t lose my head. Someone must rule Radaan. And by the gods and dragons, it will not be Tallon.”
His hand closed around my wrist, pressing my palm to his cheek. Pain carved lines beside his eyes. Uncertainty lay bare between us. This balance was new—his love that wanted me close by his side, but also far enough away to be safe.
It was messy.
But it was ours.
“At my word, you run for the plains and call your dragons.” The command tore from his throat. “Whatever unfolds, if I say go, you go.”
The image struck like ice. Could I leave him in an ambush? If he fell? I carried Radaan’s future. Our child. A secret woven between us. Protection had to outweigh desire.
“You have my word.” My lips curled into a faltering smile as the gravity of the statement weighed on my soul.
His shoulders dropped. A long breath escaped him as he closed his eyes, absorbing the oath.
“It will be–”
He surged forward and captured my mouth before I finished, as though my unfinished sentence might curse him. His hands slid to cradle my head, fingers threading into my hair, gripping tight enough to sting.
I yielded, letting him claim me, use me. He drew me closer until I pressed against his chest. One hand fell to the chains of my mantle, giving it a soft tug as he deepened the kiss. A reminder of my station. I wasn’t just a woman. I was a queen.
It was almost like warning and devotion intertwined: Remember who you are. Remember what rests on your shoulders.
His palm traveled up the column of my throat, guiding my head as his tongue claimed my mouth.
Heat flooded me, and I moaned into his embrace.
My pulse beat against his touch. Firm, controlled, yet offering choice.
I could follow him—or resist. He would give me space to pull away if I wanted, or let me guide this…
Instead, my fingers dug into his thighs, sliding over the taut fabric of his trousers.
His grip tightened.
A plea.
Let him lead.
He had bent for me, compromised with my request despite everything within him screaming not to. Now, he needed to give the orders.
My quiet breath escaped against his lips, surrender woven into it. Approval rumbled from his chest as he drew me fully into him.
Need consumed us. Urgent. Raw. Not only flesh seeking flesh but something deeper, older. On that narrow cot, at the heart of our camp, we joined more than bodies—our souls became one. Each touch asked a question, and every hushed gasp answered.
I’d always been a woman. Now? A queen.
Kallias had always been a king. But in my arms, he was a man.
That night, we learned each other without words.
There was no solitude to be found in each other’s arms. No lingering embrace.
No murmured vows of undying love. We dressed in haste, pulling on rough linens and worn trousers that smelled of horse and smoke.
My shoulders felt strangely bare without the mantle’s weight as we stepped from the tent into the chill.
My hair hung loose down my back, hidden beneath the hood of my oiled cloak.
We moved through camp with lowered heads, shadows among shadows, boots crunching over stiff grass.
The air tasted of ash and iron. At the corrals, a woman waited.
A long black braid lay over one shoulder.
She was plain—but pleasant in a natural beauty way.
Easy to forget—as most spies preferred.
She met my gaze and dipped her chin in a show of respect. “The night is young. We will return by sunrise.”
“I expect nothing less.” Kallias ducked beneath the rope fence and claimed the reins of a bay; the animal tossed its head as if sensing his tension.
Greaves steadied a small, dark mare for me. I mounted and watched the Harvester swing into her saddle with fluid ease. She guided her horse closer to mine.
“Seliora, at your service.” She kept my title unspoken, a quiet courtesy. She didn’t strike me as the type to speak without prompting. This was her way of apologizing for the lack of formality.
We had no true privacy. Soldiers milled about, drifting between fires.
Some stared openly, watching with curious expressions.
Others paid us no mind, too tired or distracted or enveloped in their own conversations.
Scouts often came and went at night, so our departure raised little suspicion.
Still, I tugged my cloak lower, uneasy at how the hem of my tattered dress snagged against the saddle leather.
“Harvester,” I replied. “I hope this proves worthwhile.”
And worth the compromise Kallias and I struck.