Chapter Fifteen #2
“She’s my sister, you eel!”
“That makes me your future family,” I said, voice a growl. “So, let’s play nice, shall we?”
He squirmed against my hold, but it was his penance to pay. The boy had to learn when to bridle his tongue, and if no one else would teach him, I would. I’d bent too long beneath the burden of duty—to Radaan, to my son. At some point, a man had to serve himself.
“Fine!” he choked.
I let go and stepped back. “What happens between me and her is none of your business, understand?”
“You’re condemning yourself,” he muttered, rubbing his neck. He snapped his fingers; flames sputtered in his palm. He stared at them like they’d betrayed him.
“I’m teaching you respect.” I shook my head. “Now get the clothes.”
He bared his teeth, but stalked into the dressing room.
That marked the difference between him and my son.
Draconia’s prince would learn from the correction.
Tallon would let it rot inside him like a disease, plotting his retaliation.
Ronan would still mouth off—probably about me and Nienna—but if he breathed a word about our relationship, I’d teach the lesson again.
He left me with a basin of water and his father’s old riding leathers.
I eyed them with unease. Donning them felt wrong—almost sacrilegious. But it was what he gave me.
I peeled away the scorched rags, ash falling in soft plumes onto the stone. The mess made me grimace, but there was no help for it. Perhaps they had magic to sweep it away.
The slash across my chest was gnarly. Shallow, but blood oozed in branching trails down to my pelvis.
I sighed and scrubbed it clean, wincing as I tugged away fabric clinging to the torn flesh.
No sign of cloth melted into the skin where the dragonfire had sealed part of it—but I needed a healer to be certain.
Nothing festered like buried grit in an open wound.
Once finished, I pressed a cloth against the cut and pulled the tunic over it. The jacket followed, buckled tight to keep the bandage in place. I smirked at the memory of Nienna offering to help—gods, she was bold. Especially with her parents near.
In public, she played the part—measured, calm. Around her family, she burned like a forge.
I pulled on the trousers. They hugged my hips too tight, but I fastened them. In the mirror, I studied the fit.
There was power in riding leathers. They wrapped close, fitted for movement and protection. The collar brushed the knot of my throat, and buckles climbed one side of my chest. Small loops lined the waist—likely for knives or rope.
Would a rider need knives? What threat hunted them in the sky?
The black leather threw my silver hair into sharp relief. I shifted closer, frowning at the pale strands. Would she mind that? That I wasn’t young like Tallon or some smooth-jawed noble?
I leaned back, palm brushing the tender wound. This was as ready as I’d get. Now came the real trial—convincing her parents to let me marry their daughter.
Draconia unnerved me. The Spire’s window sat impossibly high—hundreds of paces in the air, maybe thousands. The city sprawled beneath, its rooftops laid out like Radaan’s patchwork fields. Tiny flecks shifted across them, Draconis moving about on their roofs, wringing use from every scrap of space.
My stomach knotted when I got too close to the glass. No human had business being this far above solid ground. I stepped back, gaze drifting to the wild seas. They spread in all directions, boundless. How did anyone live here long enough to settle?
Nienna once said Draconia wasn’t small, but beside Radaan, it felt like a splinter. My homeland stretched on forever. From the top of the Spire, I’d probably see water framing every edge of the island.
A knock broke my study.
“Ready?” Ronan poked his head in. His face was clean, but a bruise bloomed under one eye.
It would be interesting to explain that to his parents.
I drew a deep breath, shoulders tight. Sparring Greaves came easy—no stakes, no blood. But wielding Elohios’ blessing in a true battle? That demanded more than technique.
I grunted and stepped through the doorway beside him. As we walked, I mapped the Spire—each turn, every stair. I doubted they’d strike inside their own palace. Still, I was determined to know my way around.
In case Nienna ever needed me.
The walk wasn’t long before Ronan opened a familiar door. My eyes swept the room, caught on the seating. My jaw ticked when I saw where I’d been placed.
Across from Nereus.
At the far end of the table.
He sat at the head, Nienna nestled to his left between him and his wife. Another setting waited on his right. Ronan didn’t pause, sliding into the chair without glancing my direction. I hesitated a moment as all eyes landed on me.
Nyxaria’s brows arched. Nereus choked.
But Nienna though, the way her gaze roamed over my body, lingering on my thighs—and the blush that heated her cheeks—had me striding for my seat.
Gods, the woman lit me up like a wildfire choking dry brush.
“Ronan, were there no other clothes?” Nyxaria’s tone made it clear Ronan was known for pulling this sort of stunt.
“He’s no rider,” Nereus snapped.
I sat, tucking my legs beneath the thick wooden table. A bowl steamed before me—soup that smelled of the sea, dotted with fish and tangled greens.
“Has Greaves returned with my clothes?” I asked. No one had greeted me, so I offered none in return.
“We ordered him to rest,” Nyxaria said. “Two levels below, on the public floor. He’ll return to your service tomorrow once we… settle affairs.”
I reached for the spoon, but glimpsed Nereus glaring.
I set it back down, leaned into my chair, and met his glower. “Shall we talk now?”
“And let good food go cold?” He spat. “No.”
Picking my utensil back up, I caught Nienna’s smirk. She bit her lip, ducking her head to hide it.
The meal was enough to fill the ache in my stomach. The soup tasted like sea brine and old nets. A slice of bread sat beside it—dry, nothing extra. I wondered if the fare was a matter of circumstance or custom. Were they scraping stores clean, or offering only what sufficed?
Nienna had told me her people needed food, but I hadn’t realized how deeply. If this was their table, what fed the slums? Malnutrition bred disease. In Radaan, a strong army ate well and moved fast.
We ate in silence. Ronan finished first, chair creaking as he leaned it back on two legs.
The room felt tight, homely. It wasn’t built for state dinners—more a place for family.
Paintings lined the walls: dragons curling above Draconis’ shoulders, riders sweeping across skies. A single window framed the night.
Above us, a chandelier flickered—small lights bobbing over carved runes.
I itched to ask Nienna what powered them, but stayed silent.
Nereus rose, crossed the room, and opened a cabinet. He poured amber liquid into a misshapen glass. Bottles clinked. No words.
He hesitated. Then prepared a second.
He’d offer it to me. My pulse jumped. Which would be worse—talking to him while alcohol burned my wits, or refusing it and angering him?
He returned, slid it across the table. I caught it, cool rim slick from sloshed liquid. He sighed and sat.
“I want the truth,” he said, voice low and hard. “From you. Nienna stays silent.”
Her lips pressed tight and her glare burned holes in the table’s surface, but she remained quiet.
“From her arrival?” My chest already ached.
“If that’s the beginning.”
I refused to rise to the bait. Instead, I settled back. “When Nienna arrived at Reem, Tallon wasn’t there.”
“Where was he?”
He wasted no time. “Out on a hunting trip I didn’t know about. I assume Ronan told you Nienna delivered her seal to me?”
“And it saved your life,” Nyxaria said, shaking her head. “Only the Dragon’s Heart can bestow the Dragon’s Kiss. We never guessed it would shield against dragonfire. There’s no record of such a thing.”
Elohios be blessed. He’d watched over me since the beginning. I made a note to thank him later.
“Please explain what happened between you two after Ronan left,” Nereus said, raising his glass for a sip.
This part twisted deeper than the rest. Speaking my failures as a father was one thing—admitting I fell for my son’s bride… Well, it painted me as a monster.
“Nienna was promised to Tallon. I honored that. A ball was held to celebrate their engagement. But over time, the prince proved… unfit to care for her as she traversed our country. I stepped in, trying to ease the burden of her transition.”
His fingers locked around his cup. A pulse flared in his temple. Fury lit his gaze. I knew what he wanted, but wasn’t ready to hand it over. The when. When desire turned to touch. When restraint burned away and lust fluttered to flame.
“If Nienna is bound to silence, perhaps the women should step out.” I held his stare. If he needed the whole truth, I’d give it. Let him swing the full weight of his fury at me. He wouldn’t break until she left the room.
“And if I want her to verify your story?”
“Have your wife interrogate her—if she hasn’t already—and compare notes later.”
He drained his glass and stood. Nyxaria narrowed her glare at his back, then leaned to whisper something in Nienna’s ear.
Those sea-deep eyes darted from mine to her father. I raised a brow. I’d faced down dragonfire for her, and she doubted I could handle this?
She pressed her lips tight, gave a sharp shake of her head, then followed her mother through the door. Nereus returned from refilling his drink, and I leaned in, arms braced on the table’s edge.
“I first touched your daughter weeks after her arrival,” I started.
His lip curled in a furious sneer.
“It wasn’t sudden. When she landed on my shores, I had no interest in her outside the alliance with my son. I fought the connection between us—she did not.”
I let that hang, then pressed forward.