Chapter Two #2
In the quiet, I steadied my breath, forcing my thoughts to fall into place. I needed a logical argument, something my parents would hear.
They’d brought me back to my old rooms. Sunlight streamed through windows cut into the dark stone.
Warm tapestries hung in waves of gold and indigo, ocean sunsets locked in thread.
Intricate woven rugs adorned the floor. Shells, driftwood, and hanging abalone disks shimmered along the walls, pale rainbows swaying in the still air.
My chest ached. I never thought I’d return. I was promised to another kingdom. Meant to be a bride, not a shameful whisper. But here I was—not as a cherished princess, a daughter of honor—but as a stain on the name I carried.
Not just mine. Kallias’. My father’s.
Guilt settled across my shoulders, and I buried my face in my hands. My fingers scrubbed at the raw, chapped skin as if I could scrape away days of regret.
“I made a mistake,” I whispered, voice muffled through my palms. Fingertips pressed to my aching eyes. My body craved a bath, a meal, a tincture for the hammering in my skull.
But war would not wait.
The bed shifted beneath my mother’s weight, and her arm enveloped me, pulling me close, anchoring me to her chest.
“Tell me everything.”
So I did.
She let me bury my face, arms wrapped tight as I poured out every detail.
Dry sobs clutched my throat, choking off words as I spoke of Tallon’s cruelty—of Kallias’ quiet kindness.
I omitted the assassination attempt and Tallon’s attack.
She only needed bones—the thinnest skeleton of truth.
Shame seared my ears when I reached Kallias, and I chose each word with care.
But she was my mother. By the slow, steady inhale as I said his name, she knew who had my heart.
Explaining how I found Tallon with Fyrn was easy, but when I got to the study, my mouth seemed to forget how to speak.
“And when I ran, I… well, I thought–” I broke off, heat crawling up my neck. I was a fool. Na?ve. A pawn in Tallon’s game.
“You ran to his father.”
Mother’s words hooked into my soul, wrenching it. I hated the way she said that. Kallias was so much more than Tallon’s father. But to them, he’d be nothing except the man who tried to bed his son’s betrothed.
She sighed, arms slipping from me as she stood. My hands dropped from my face. My eyes stung with tears I hadn’t shed.
She smoothed her fine blue gown. Her expression turned unreadable. “Should we expect a babe?”
“No!” My gasp tore out of me. I yanked my neckline higher, cheeks flushed with horror.
“Don’t act so shocked. You show up near death, on dragonback, your dress in tatters, legs bare—then tell me your brother caught you in a compromising position with the King of Radaan.
” Her head tilted. Her glare cut straight through.
“Be mindful, Princess. Radaan has committed an act of war. We are a wingbeat from raining dragonfire from their sky.”
I shut my eyes. Helplessness rolled over me, pulled me under. If she couldn’t understand, who would? I only wanted to protect Kallias. But how?
“Nienna.” She stooped down to brush the matted hair from my brow. “Rest later. Save your emotions for another day. Right now, we find your father—and explain.”
I managed a fragile nod.
She offered a tight smile, the fine lines near her eyes deepening. “Wear blue, not green.” She turned on her heel, heading for the dressing rooms. “He doesn’t need reminders of Radaan.”
She helped me dress, pulled my hair back as best she could. Four days of wind and flying reduced it to a nest. As we walked, she bore most of my weight, guiding me through the corridors and into the Spire’s inner halls.
I focused on my strides—one step, then the next. The sharp-sweet burn of peppermint tea lingered on my tongue, but its strength faded fast. We moved too quickly for me to meet the staff’s stares or take comfort in the familiar corners of home.
A low hum shivered through the walls as Mother veered into a side corridor, steering us away from the Cireendium. The hum deepened into a growl, flickering the lantern flames.
“Silence, you old bat,” Mother muttered.
I smiled, lip splitting. Kalepsi likely heard her and snapped at the air in protest.
The Cireendium lay at the Spire’s hollow center—a vast cavern barely big enough for Kalepsi. But the violet dragon would climb down stone and steel to see me—her Dragon’s Heart.
“How did you get me to my room?” I asked, tripping over my feet.
Mother caught my arm, hauling me upright. “Zane flew you through the Cireendium while Argos distracted Kalepsi. You probably owe more to Tsunami—the pest nagged at them both.”
She referred to the blue-and-green dragon, who had yet to claim a rider or move on to the Wild Shores. A ship-sized dog with wings, an irritating menace—but one we all adored.
We pivoted down another corridor, and the contrast struck me like a slap.
Reem’s palace breathed warmth—lush with creeping vines, guarded at every turn.
The Spire gleamed with polished black stone and mirrored lantern light, yet it pulsed with motion.
Servants wandered, their stares blatant, their whispers trailing behind us.
One rider in full flight leathers darted past. The only sign of unrest.
A reminder that Radaan had clawed its way from war’s shadow—and I was the last thread holding it back from another.
Mother opened the door, and dread punched the air from my lungs.
A massive table took up the battle room’s center. Dragon Riders circled it, flight leathers creaking, goggles slung around necks or perched on windswept hair. Silence crashed into the space as every gaze snapped to me.
Shock. Outrage. Faces sharpened with both. A few drew in sharp breaths—but my eyes found only my father.
He leaned over the table, goggles clenched in one fist. His other hand fell from where it had gestured across the map—toward Radaan. His blue uniform stretched over corded arms and broad shoulders. He wasn’t soft. He was a warrior, poised for battle.
Jagged shells crowned his epaulets, the mark of the Dragon King—as if the circlet nestled in his white hair left any doubt. His flushed face twisted with fury, jaw twitching beneath his snowy beard as his gaze flitted between Mother and me.
I froze. Part of me longed to run to him, to bury myself in his arms and let him shield me from those gawking stares. The other half itched to flee—to escape the outrage smoldering behind them.
“Nereus. A word.” Mother’s voice held no room for refusal. Her hands dropped to her sides, chin high. Sunlight caught the gold and silver in her hair, setting her crown ablaze.
“Wait in the hall.” Father’s order cracked through the silence.
He stepped from the table as the riders murmured their respect and filed out. His hand—calloused, warm—cupped my cheek. My throat burned with the rise of familiar tears as he brushed his thumb over my skin.
“Nienna,” he said, voice cracking as he tugged me into his arms.
A sob tore free as he folded me into him. His scent wrapped around me—salt and wind and Argos’ smoky musk. Safe.
He pulled back, wiping the lone tear that slipped down my wind-chapped cheek. “I will kill him.”
No.
The warmth of his embrace turned to frost. My heart stalled.
“No, Father–”
“I told him,” Ronan’s voice slurred from the chair, drawing my attention. He looked like death. Pale skin. Dark hollows under his eyes. “Everything, Nienna.”
“You didn’t know everything!” I hissed. “Father—call off the riders.”
The tenderness in Father’s face vanished, scorched away by rage. “I’ll fly to Radaan. We have an oath to uphold.”
“This wasn’t his fault!” How much had Ronan told him?
“This time? Or the times before?” My brother’s sneer cut as if a blade plunged between my ribs.
“It happened before?” Father jerked back, hand dropping as if I’d burned him.
“No! Nothing hap–”
“Bucking between your legs like–”
“Ronan! Mind your tongue!” Mother hissed, her command a whip crack. “See yourself to bed.”
“I’m a rider first. The Dragon King rallied his riders.” My brother slumped deeper into the plush chair, eyes closing.
“You’re in no state to fly,” she said, then pressed her hand to my shoulder.
I bit my tongue against berating him further. He nearly killed Gyrak, flying off in a rage. Mother had to put him in his place. I had no authority over him beyond the dinner knife I would gladly stick him with when I got the chance.
He groaned, eyeing our father with a heavy-lidded stare.
“Bed.”
Father’s growl turned his voice to gravel. His face shut down, but his eyes speared through me, piercing mine as if he saw into my soul, laying bare all my secrets. My spine stiffened, and the room tilted beneath the weight of his glare. The hairs on my nape bristled.
“Fine!” Ronan flung his arms and dragged himself upright. He shuffled out without sparing me a glance.
As the door clicked shut, I deflated, my shoulders caving in. Mother guided me to the chair my brother abandoned, and I sank into the thick cushion, rubbing scabbed hands over my tender face.
“Nereus, hear her,” she said.
“Ronan filled me in.” His words were so cold. Detached. Wroth.
“He doesn’t know the whole story.” I wrapped my arms around myself, braving my father’s fury. “He waited all of a breath before threatening to burn Radaan.”
“That’s where we differ, Nienna.” His nostrils flared, and the leather of his goggles creaked beneath his tightening grip. “I wouldn’t have waited. I would’ve set her ablaze then and there.”
“Stop–”
“Did he rape you?”
I flinched. “No!”
“That doesn’t save him.” Teeth bared, my father scanned the window above my head as if even looking at me soured his stomach. “He swore an oath—in blood—to protect you, to wed you to his son. And instead, he attacked you!”
“That’s not what happened!” I screamed, matching his shout. “I love him!”
He froze.
Mother shut her eyes. Shame thundered in my chest. I’d said too much. But I couldn’t let him believe Kallias hurt me.
“It was my fault.” The words cracked in my throat.
A vein pulsed at Father’s temple. He didn’t move.
“I pursued him.” My voice trembled. “Please—don’t fly to Radaan. Kallias–”
“Signed a Draconis Blood Oath.” He cut me off. “His life is forfeit. And if a king’s life is forfeit—so is that of his nation.”
“We cannot sustain a war on foreign lands,” Mother snapped.
His glare sliced toward her. “You’re taking her side?”
She met his ire, unflinching. “I stand with Draconia. As you should.”
“Our daughter was,” he choked on the word, jaw working as if the words tasted foul, “violated! I won’t need to start a war. I’ll set Reem ablaze!”
What else could I say? I would’ve begged—on my knees—if it might make him reconsider. But it wouldn’t. The sight would only enrage him further. Draconis did not beg.
“Nereus,” Mother’s tone softened.
He inhaled through flared nostrils. Argos roared outside, stone quivering underfoot.
“She’s here. She’s safe,” she continued, hand pressed to his chest. “I’m not saying let it go. Retribution will have its place. Just—give her time.”
My head fell forward in shame, and my nails dug into my sides, clawing at my sanity. He hated that I was hurt, but didn’t see that he was still causing me pain.
I stood, one hand braced on the chair as I lifted my chin. “I gave my oath.”
A lie.
To my father.
Hidden under the perfect mask of a princess raised at court.
He dipped his head, gaze sharp beneath his thick brows.
I left no room for dispute, barreling on. “A Draconis Blood Oath can only be purged in dragonfire.” I struggled to keep my voice even and clear. “Are you prepared to slander the Draconis name—and burn your daughter alive?”
He shrugged off Mother’s hand, prowling closer. I held my ground as he gripped my chin, eyes boring into mine. My skin prickled, palms growing slick.
Could he see the lie?
Did he know?
Had I destroyed the final remnants of my father’s trust?
“I have not tarnished our name.” Resignation colored his tone, and I smothered my hope. “Go to bed, Nienna.”
His hand dropped, and I staggered as if it was the only thing holding me upright.
“Sea beneath,” he muttered.
Before I could blink, my feet left the floor, and he hauled me into the warmth of his chest. Medals dug into my cheek, his leathers creaking with every stride. I didn’t protest. Couldn’t. I just let myself be held.
He said nothing as he kicked the door open and carried me past the riders in the hall.
I should’ve objected. A princess would have.
But I was too tired, too hollow, my soul too broken.
He made no promises as we strode beyond Kalepsi’s wailing, or as he laid me in bed and brushed hair from my face. No comments, no accusations. My chest throbbed, tight with a plea I couldn’t voice—that he’d swear to leave Radaan alone.
But I remained silent.
And he left without a word.