Between Love and Ruin (Dragon’s Heart Duology #2)

Prologue

Kallias

There’s nothing quite as degrading as tucking in a tunic and buttoning trousers in front of a crowd. Especially after being caught with my son’s promised splayed over my desk, hips bucking between her legs like a rutting dog.

My glare locked on Egath. The ambassador hadn’t turned for the hall as a proper man would. No—he lingered, watched my disgrace with a flicker of amusement.

“Out!” I snarled.

The Velli at least retained enough self-preservation to flee.

Tallon had no such instinct.

He dropped into a chair, legs crossing at the knees, polished boot bobbing with smug ease. A smirk clung to his face like oil. I turned to Greaves and flicked my chin toward the door.

My best friend gripped his dagger, second-hand shame blooming over his cheeks. He was only a guard. The fault sat square on my shoulders—heavy as the mantle of Radaan. It bore down on me while Tallon watched, eager to witness me crack and break.

“Go.” My tone was cold. Even. Measured.

All the things my heart was not.

Greaves left in silence.

My chest ached, hollow where Nienna’s presence had been. She was gone. Out of reach. No undoing it now. Rage simmered in my veins, licking hot along my skin. Guilt curled in my gut, disgust tinting my features—an audience beheld my lowest fall, my greatest mistake.

I rounded my desk, avoiding the shards of broken lantern glass and spilled ink pots, trodding on reports scattered in the heat of passion.

Fury clawed at my throat, squeezing, threatening to garble what I needed to say. I bottled my rage, preserved it. My hands formed fists at my sides as I leaned against the desk’s edge, hooded eyes narrowed on Tallon.

“You planned this.” Not a question. This was no coincidence. Not when Nienna had just caught him with Fyrn, and somehow, Ronan and Egath stood at his side. This reeked of cold calculation—too much like his mother.

“Planned on you taking my betrothed over your desk?” He let out a breathy, mocking laugh. “No, I can’t say I ever thought you would be so foolish. But when I realized you were trying to replace me, I saw an opportunity. You taught me well.”

“Your mother taught you.” The words tore out, thick and sharp with past mistakes. I’d allowed Eldeiade to dig her claws into him for far too long.

“Like it or not, I’m your only heir.” His voice dipped, poison threading each word. He wouldn’t let me take another woman. He’d drag Radaan back to war if it meant his position remained secure.

“Tell me, Father.” He leaned in, a gleam of vile curiosity in his eyes. “How was she? We heard her through the door. Tell me, did she spread her legs without–”

I lunged. Fingers snared in his tunic, I yanked him forward and slammed him onto the desk. My fist met his jaw with a crunch.

“I’m done with you!” My snarl ripped free as I dodged his wild kicks. I struck again. Satisfaction sparked through my limbs with every blow. “You never deserved her. I never deserved her! And yet she came. She was willing to marry you!”

He cried out, snatching the mantle’s chains, jerking me closer.

“You ruined everything, boy!” Pain burst through my hand as his nose gave beneath another strike, but the satisfying bloom of crimson made up for the discomfort.

“I bled for peace! You’ve destroyed it!”

“You did that!” he spat, swinging at my face.

I dodged the blow, then picked him up, only to slam him down again.

“I never lifted her skirts. You defiled her!” He snapped his legs up, kicking me hard in the chest.

I staggered back, trembling with fury.

“I’ve never touched her, Father! You ruined her, not me!

” His hair fell into his eyes as he scrambled off the desk.

He shoved it off his face before jabbing an accusing finger my way.

“You broke Radaan’s peace! You crushed the people’s faith!

If this brings war, it was you who lit the fuse—and now I’ll have to pick up the pieces! ”

Each statement was a strike to my heart, cleaving it to shreds. I messed up, crossed too many lines. I brought her here. Kissed her. I didn’t stop her, didn’t push her away.

He was right.

“You will pick up nothing.” I bit down against the words I wanted to spew. He would never rule Radaan. I’d sooner crown a commoner before placing the kingdom in his hands. “I’m not dying anytime soon, Tallon. My death is the only way you will ever gain this mantle.”

He screamed—a raw, feral thing—and lunged. “That can be arranged!”

I caught his blow and slammed him against the wall, fingers locked around his throat. The rush of it—pleasure and rage, melded together. He bled where I had once held Nienna with tenderness.

“Try, boy. Just try.” I pressed close, breath hot at his ear. “I dare you.”

His skin felt too soft. Thin and warm and vulnerable. Snapping his neck would take nothing. No one else would have to suffer under his torment. Crimson spilled over my knuckles, and my gaze fixed on the drip. The urge to finish him tightened around my lungs like a noose.

A knock came seconds before the door burst open. Greaves strode in. Darius and Fallione loomed behind him, flanked by Threshers.

Tallon clawed at my sleeve, straining for breath. His gasp was a wet, gurgled sound as his throat worked beneath my palm.

“Your Majesty.” Fallione’s gaze swept the room, then landed on me. “Shall we call a private council?”

“No need.”

I dropped the prince, letting him crumple. Discussions couldn’t fix this. An act of war cannot be taken back after it’s committed. Nienna was gone. My people had seen too much. No decree could erase the images scorched into their minds. No gesture would restore their shattered trust.

“I would have a word then.” Darius’ lips curled with disgust. “In private.”

I stepped forward with a snarl. “No.”

Tallon scrambled. Greaves moved fast, pinning him to the floor.

I glanced over my shoulder, sneering as Greaves ground Tallon’s hand into the carpet.

A shard of glass fell from his grasp. Once disarmed, he adjusted his position, ramming his knee into his throat. The prince wheezed through bared teeth.

“Threats are one thing, boy,” I said. “But an attempt on my life? That’s treason.” I shook my head and pushed past the others, taking my leave. “Lock him away.”

In the hall, nobles loitered at junctions, gazes averted, though they snuck glances my way—at the king who ruined his kingdom.

Bile scorched my throat.

Blood glistened along my knuckles. With a grimace, I inhaled and exhaled, attempting to quiet my fury. Lashing out wasn’t how a king should act. That was the man in me. But how long had I ruled as one and acted like the other?

When had I set aside the mantle? I wore it daily, yet it hadn’t anchored my thoughts in weeks.

I was a fool. Tallon’s head belonged on a pike. Every part of me screamed to secure a ship, to chase Nienna across the sea.

But my wants meant nothing.

Radaan didn’t need another man. She needed a king. And kings listened to their advisors. Kings endured.

“Your Majesty.” Fallione fell in step beside me, his strides matching mine down the corridor. “Perhaps confinement to his rooms would be more fitting.”

“Treason, Fallione,” I growled, lifting my chin with a glare as a noble dared meet my eye. He ducked behind a plant, hiding as I passed.

“Considering the circumstances…” Fallione trailed off, unwilling to voice my shame.

I damned myself enough.

“To his rooms.” I raked a hand through my hair when Greaves joined us. “He doesn’t step foot outside them without my express permission.”

“It shall be done.” Fallione bowed and veered off down a hall, damage control already underway.

The walk to my chambers passed in a haze, my fury and grief bleeding into one indistinct throb. I shoved the door open and went straight to the bathing room. My hands plunged into the frigid basin, scrubbing Tallon’s blood until the water turned pink.

I gripped the edge of the counter, staring at my reflection.

The man in the glass seemed older than I remembered. Dark hair still clung to middle age, but my eyes had dulled, my brow lined deep. Not regal. Not wise. Just spent.

When we were discovered, Nienna looked up at me, panic bright in her gaze. She trusted me, expected me to have an answer. She believed I’d protect her.

But I couldn’t even protect myself from my son. I couldn’t save her.

Hatred ignited in my veins. I roared and hurled the basin. It struck the floor and shattered—like the fragile peace I carved for Radaan. Gone in one reckless moment of passion.

Each breath scraped my throat as pink water crept across the wooden planks.

Thoughts swarmed, unrelenting and vicious: her brother snatching her away; her dress—torn by my hands as if I were some unchained beast; the shame as she was forced to strip tangled trousers from her feet after she tripped.

Guilt boiled, blistering my chest, searing my soul.

I ruined her.

Furious tears scorched my eyes. Tallon was right. I hadn’t just ravaged Radaan—I wrecked her. What prince would marry a princess so disgraced? Who would see past the ruin to the woman spun from sunshine and dragonfire?

I whirled, driving my fist through the mirror. Silvered glass cracked in spiderweb rings, warping my reflection. Blood seeped from my knuckles.

I had destroyed everything.

The scent of roasted meat turned my stomach. Empty chairs hemmed me in, carving the hole in my heart wider. Stares pressed down, thick and heavy, adding to my mantle’s weight.

Fallione was absent. Only Darius took up a seat at my table. Threshers loomed in the shadows while those present carried out hushed conversations through muted, forced smiles. No doubt every topic focused on a princess and their king. Forbidden lovers—a scandal dressed in silk and secrets.

Traces of their hushed questions flitted through the dining hall. How long had the affair gone on? Did Tallon know? Could the Chosen of Elohios truly be so deceitful?

I shoved my chair back. The court rose. Not for respect—never for the man beneath the mantle—but out of hollow tradition. The honor I earned through battles, through blood, now ash in their mouths.

Greaves shadowed me as I swept past the high table. Silence trailed me like a ghost of my own making. Every stare clung to me. My chin lifted, though shame burned hot along my throat. Guilt and loathing coursed through me, a toxic poison.

Beyond the hall, I tugged at my tunic’s laces. I needed kahve. And air.

My chest locked. Nienna’s face blinked into memory—perched against the balustrade, arms folded, wind tugging her hair.

I clawed the thought away and stormed the corridors. Servants scattered. Staff turned to shadows, vanishing from sight.

The kitchen, once alive with clangs and chatter, sat still. No spice in the air. No cider. Only kahve’s bitter, earthy musk drifted through the space. It beckoned me.

Igor knew I needed something stronger tonight. Of course he did. Rumors spread like mold in the palace—quiet and all-consuming. A disease.

The short man bowed low as I reached the doorway, then met my stare with a flick of sorrow in his gaze. His mouth dipped.

Disappointment.

Wordless, he ladled dark liquid into a gilded cup, then passed it to me with a crumbling attempt at a smile.

“Thank you.” My voice didn’t shake, though something inside me did. I turned away.

Steam rose in curls. The black surface rippled, reflecting my fractured thoughts. Greaves reached for the drink, and I handed it off, a wince catching as my bandages bit into my raw skin.

He sipped, grimaced, then returned it. He never developed a taste for the stuff. Hated it nearly as much as Nienna.

When she tried it, her face conveyed everything. She never admitted her repulsion—the furrow between her brows and tight, forced grin had given her away. She drank it only because I did.

A sharp breath filled my chest as I climbed the iron staircase. She once asked about it—the intricate design etched into each step. Her curiosity was a muse for my soul. I told her stories I’d never breathed a word of before. Tales of my mother, my past, parts of myself I held close. She listened.

She cared.

My fingers brushed the giant bug engraved on the post, wings fanned in delicate, impossible lines. Fragile, minute details.

She asked questions no one else bothered to.

I closed my eyes, mouth pressed into a line, then climbed higher.

Outside, sunlight flooded the balcony, gold and cruel, a mockery of my retreat from the dining hall. Sandstone shimmered beneath the fierce rays as if bathed in flames.

How long until she reached Draconia’s shores? She wasn’t dressed for dragonflight. With no land between her homeland and mine, there would be no place to rest. Just endless sky and sea.

I set my cup aside and braced my palms against the smooth stone, my head bowing low.

“How do I fix this?” The words rasped out, hoarse and thin. Strangled.

I had to find a way to appease Draconia. Ronan threatened war if we tried to stop them. Gods knew I’d already given them plenty of cause. Violence was well within their rights.

And Nereus, Dragon King of Draconia, Lord of the Wild Shores, never left a vow unfulfilled.

Purged in dragonfire.

That was it, the only thing capable of eradicating a Draconis Blood Oath. Vengeance would be his to claim.

I had to prepare my land, my people. Dragons would fly to Radaan.

And still—my thoughts chased Nienna.

She had her brother, his dragon. Surely she was safe.

She would arrive in her homeland broken, exhausted. Her father would rage. And all of it—every bruise, every tear—would be mine to answer for.

I pictured her descent: Gyrak’s wings folding; Ronan helping her down; the sunshine hue of her golden hair dulled; skin smeared with dirt; garments torn; eyes wet with unshed tears.

Elohios, spare me.

Nereus would raze Radaan to the ground.

I hurled my kahve, watching it crash far below, lost somewhere in the tangled ruins of the queen’s abandoned gardens. The act did nothing to calm my rage. This torment had nowhere to go but inward.

Radaan would burn.

And I would watch it.