Chapter Seventeen
Kallias
If the trousers were a shade roomier, I’d have no complaints. Instead, I drew a breath, squared my shoulders, and forced the button into place. The leather bit into my hips, but appearances mattered. I had no clue who’d greet me today—and a little discomfort was worth the risk.
Silk lined the inside of the leathers, cool against my skin as I buckled them across my chest. I refused to touch the tunic from yesterday—soiled, bloody, and folded over a chair.
The gash along my torso pulled tight with every motion, but Nienna’s wrap held firm, clean cloth snug against the wound.
Her warning rang in my mind. Walking around soaked in blood only drew attention.
If I thought dragons might cross my path, I’d change the bandage first.
A knock echoed through the room as I fastened the last buckle at my throat.
For all Draconia’s crowded cliffs and winding towers, the rooms were wide and open.
Not as ornate as the Golden Palace in Reem, but richer in wildness.
Above the bed loomed a massive fish—sword-nosed, preserved mid-leap in a curved arch.
Paintings of dragons covered the stone walls, scattered with flat seashells that caught the light in shifting rainbows. Chains of giant scales hung across from the window, swaying gently with the breeze.
It was all sea and sky—Draconia, bottled in a single space.
Bootsteps padded along woven rugs dyed in bold spirals. I met my reflection, collar smoothed, jaw set.
Greaves strode in first. He moved fast, looping the room, checking the windows, then settling into the corner with arms crossed. Black armor, throwing knives back in place. The tight pull of his mouth said he wanted words alone.
Fallione followed. “Good morning, Your Majesty.” His tone warmed the air, though the formality stayed.
“Morning,” I returned, turning to face my advisor and friend. Shadows clung beneath Fallione’s eyes. His graying hair, tied at his neck, framed an expression sharp with worry and resolve. He held a pile of green and gold clothing.
Greaves didn’t speak. Just leaned, watching.
“Your people were relieved to hear you survived the trial.” Fallione offered a brief bow, eyes flicking down my frame and back. “I brought your clothes. King Nereus requests an audience now that you’re awake.”
“These will do.” I glanced at the bundle. My sword wasn’t among them. “Where’s my blade?”
“I’ll send for it. Your mantle waits in the receiving room.” A pointed reminder—I was king before warrior. “They’re planning a celebration in the coming days. If you enter negotiations today, I advise leading with the supplies we brought.”
“No. Tell the crew to surrender it to the dock workers.” I shook my head, rolled my shoulders, adjusted my sleeves. “Innaku’s pressing them. We share our grain first. Let it show our goodwill.”
Fallione frowned, gears spinning behind his gaze. “The Innaku supply most of their wheat,” he murmured. “What tensions do you suspect?”
“A dragon ate their crown prince.”
He paled. Hands tightened around the fabric. “Shall I warn our people to remain aboard?”
“Remind them their king came for peace. If they act out of turn, I cannot save them from their own foolishness.”
Fallione said nothing, consumed with thought.
I crossed into the next room. Sunlight fanned over a wooden table where Radaan’s mantle waited, its golden weave catching in the glow. My throat tightened.
Greaves stepped forward, lifted it with steady hands, and draped it over my shoulders. The weight no longer pressed—it grounded. Familiar. Welcome.
Relief swept through me.
Elohios’ light might’ve fractured during the trial, but it hadn’t dimmed. Not fully. The mantle reminded me I didn’t stand here as a man dodging fate—I stood as king, shielded by the might of a nation behind me.
“I’ll see that the supplies are distributed and urge our men to act with care,” Fallione said, while Greaves secured the mantle’s chains. The gold clashed against the black leathers.
“Shall I accompany you to the king?”
“I speak with him alone.” I caught the tension in Greaves’ jaw. He hadn’t met the man—just a dungeon door slammed in his face. “Work with the staff. Make sure Nienna has everything she needs.”
“Nereus and Nyxaria?”
“Nienna,” I repeated, cutting the thought short with a hard stare. “They’ll send their aides to you, but I want her informed. No surprises. She’s my future wife—and I expect you to speak to her directly.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” His tone stayed neutral, but I knew the rebuke hit. I brought him for his value, but he’d be stretched thin—balancing the needs of the crew and acting as Radaan’s voice in a foreign court.
“She’ll need you,” I added, “as the future Queen of Radaan.”
“You’ve secured her hand?”
“No contracts yet.” My mouth pressed flat. “But the intention stands. It’s known.”
“And King Nereus—will he negotiate in good faith?”
He meant: Will this be a war of words?
I exhaled, steadying myself. “I crossed the sea for her. Left Radaan to the Threshers. I’ve sacrificed more than I can name to claim her hand.
I offered myself in place of my son. Our tithes will reflect that.
” I caught Greaves’ scowl as he fastened the last chain.
“But Nereus is more father than king. He won’t surrender her without resistance.
He’ll press hard. I want this settled quickly. ”
Fallione hummed, understanding what I hadn’t said: time away from Radaan was dangerous.
When I left, the prince was confined to his chambers with strict orders not to be released until I returned.
Darius would see it through, but knowing Tallon orchestrated my public disgrace—and wasn’t rotting in the dungeon—gnawed at me.
If Vellos made a move, Darius would rule in my place.
But doves took days to reach us. And our return by sea—weeks.
If Radaan fell into war again, we couldn’t afford weeks.
“I’ll convey our urgency in the talks,” Fallione said, reading my thoughts. “But, a warning, Prince Ronan waits to escort you.”
I smirked at the note of disdain in his voice. The boy’s insolence grated on him too.
“I’ll be off. Report before dinner—or sooner, if needed.” I pulled the door open.
Nienna’s brother looked up, polishing a pair of goggles. He breathed on the lens, then wiped it clean with silk.
“You look horrible,” he said, tucking the cloth away and pushing the goggles into his sandy hair.
“As do you. Take me to your father.” I kept my tone flat, noting his black eye. Whether he meant my face or the outfit, I didn’t ask. After Nienna left, sleep eluded me. Lust burned too hot. Dawn still woke me, as always. Old habits refused to die.
“He’s flying Argos. Hope you’re not afraid of heights.”
“The only things I fear are your temper and your loose tongue,” I muttered.
“Scared of me?” He grinned, fingers brushing the bruise beneath his eye.
“Only that you won’t survive to see my departure.”
He snorted and led the way through the black halls.
Sunlight vanished at our backs, replaced by the cool glow of rune-lit lamps.
I studied the markings—curious whether they fueled the light or merely sustained it.
It was humbling being on a foreign island—thrown into a culture I had read about but never experienced.
My age lent me confidence. Court politics honed me. Nienna didn’t have that when she came to Radaan. This kingdom was new to me. I couldn’t linger—Vellos’ threat made sure of that—but questions still crowded my mind.
We climbed through the Spire’s core, and I kept away from the railing overlooking the hollow shaft.
Heights didn’t scare me, exactly—they unsettled.
The Golden Palace’s roof had always been a refuge, and during war, with my stay in the mountains, I fought in valleys.
Radaanians belonged to stone and soil, not the skies.
A guttural chirp cut the air. I flinched, glancing to the side.
Ronan sighed.
A blur of blue-green sliced past, gold flecks flashing as the creature tore by, its wings snapping like canvas in the wind.
“Tsunami,” he called, just as a roar rattled through the Spire. “She’s a menace.”
I edged closer to the railing and looked up. She climbed toward the black ceiling, slicing through the air before catching a high ledge with her claws and vanishing into shadow.
Another piercing scream shattered the stillness. I clenched my jaw against the sound. How the Draconis hadn’t all gone deaf was beyond me.
“She’ll outgrow the Cireendium soon,” Ronan muttered, leading the way up the next flight. “But for now, it’s her escape. She stirs up the others, then flees before they can catch her.”
“She hasn’t bonded with a rider?”
“Who would want her?” he snorted. “She’s half feral.”
“A dragon picked you.”
His brows rose as he shot me a look over his shoulder. “And Gyrak won’t take another. We crossed the sea and back without rest. Let’s see you manage that.”
“Unnecessary exertions.” I returned his stare, flat and unimpressed.
His expression darkened, lip pulling into a sneer. “It was the right thing to do—she needed distance. From you.”
I didn’t flinch or respond. The boy itched for a fight, and I owed him nothing.
“Tell me this, King Kallias,” he went on. “If you had a sister—or a daughter—and found her tangled up with a man old enough to father her and her betrothed, skirts hitched to her hips–”
“Seen a healer about that eye?” I spat, snatching his jacket. Fisting the leather in one hand I pushed him back and forth examining it. “Be a shame if the other matched.”
He jerked out of my grip, humor drained from his face. “What would you have done?”
“Listened to the sister I grew up with.” I brushed past him as if I knew where I was going. He’d catch up. “The one who understood court politics better than I ever did. Who our parents married off because they trusted her judgment.”
“And see how flawed it was?”
“She didn’t settle for a prince,” I replied, as he fell into step beside me again. “Because a king was in her grasp. I’d say she chose well—for herself and for her nation.”
“Blasted kings and their egos,” he muttered, forging ahead.
I scoffed. He was well on his way to growing one of his own.
We stepped into the hollow of the throne room, the dais looming above like judgment cast in stone. No banners hung from the arching walls—just glossy slabs reflecting pale light from the landing. The space breathed severity. As if Nereus only ever sat on the throne to deliver punishment.
Deep scars clawed across the floor, remnants of Argos’ fury.
Ronan led us toward the open platform. As my boots struck the landing’s first stones, my stomach pitched. From below, it looked formidable. Up close, the sheer drop stole my breath. Maybe wings would’ve helped—or the promise of a dragon to pluck me from death if I slipped.
More likely, they’d chirp at my fall and watch me plummet.
A thunderclap of wingbeats ripped through the air, and I halted as the massive black beast descended, claws raking stone. My pulse startled. The landing groaned beneath his weight.
Argos twisted his head toward us with a growl, foul breath washing over me as he shook his thick neck like a soaked hound. Nereus dismounted in one clean slide, pulling off his goggles and never once glancing back.
He stalked closer, each step heavy with intention. Chin high. Shoulders squared. Storm-gray gaze pinned to mine. A man I’d clashed blades with. My equal—maybe my better—but not someone I ever wanted to meet on a true battlefield.
“Walk with me,” he said, his tone clipped. Behind us, Argos hurled himself back over the ledge and vanished into the sky.
I pivoted and kept pace. Another dragon landed, and I caught sight of Ronan tugging down his goggles, heading toward the smaller black.
“The Kulletti demand a meeting.” Nereus’ voice ground like stone as we turned into a side corridor. “The Awakening is two days away. You know it?”
I hated this ignorance. “A festival.”
“The festival,” he snapped, not breaking stride. “It begins with a night of revelry, ends with the dragonlings cracking shell. Marks a new year. It matters. I’ve no time to juggle marriage negotiations on top of that.”
He wanted to delay. I braced myself. “My nation is without a ruler. It is of the utmost importance that I return soon.”
“You wouldn’t be returning at all if Nienna hadn’t kissed you.”
His words hit sharp, but I masked the wince.
He pushed through the doors of the smaller dining hall, the same room we’d spoken in before. His gaze flicked to Greaves, then he dropped into a chair. He gestured for me to sit beside him. A sour, briny scent stung my nose—pickled fish.
I joined him as he bit into toast layered with diced fish and some sort of paste. Greaves hovered close, watching, waiting. Wondering if I’d have him test it first.
But I passed their games. Draconia needed me alive. Poison wasn’t on the menu, not when I was more valuable as their ally.
I bit through the paper thin bread. Salt-heavy with a slow, rising burn. I swallowed it down and leaned back.
Nereus nodded, satisfied. “Negotiations for Nienna’s hand begin after the hatching. But I have two conditions.” He lifted a finger. “First: a Draconis wedding.”
“Here?” I asked. If the palace served as host, I could oblige. Ideally, Radaan would witness the marriage—but I wouldn’t deny Nereus the assurance of a sealed union.
“And by our traditions.”
“I’ll need a detailed list. My advisor will see to it.”
“Done.” He took a deep breath, then raised a second finger. “And I want your word. Swear you’ll not touch her until you’re married.”
Years of court trained me to stillness. But the words struck hard. Had someone seen? Heard?
“I know Nienna,” he said, grinding his teeth. “I saw what happened.”
He stared at the table as if he didn’t want to be reminded of what he glimpsed in my memories.
If he only knew what a breach of privacy that had been for me. I wouldn’t have done it if there was any other way. My moments with Nienna were ours. And what of me and Eldeiade? I could only hope he didn’t see more than I had.
“I’m asking you as a father,” he said, eyes rising like steel drawn from the sheath.
“Keep it in your trousers. Show a scrap of respect for me and my station. I want your word no one will find you the way Ronan did. I won’t have whispers about my daughter’s skirts flitting about my ears at the dining hall. ”
Could I promise that? Could I resist her—resist myself? Nienna ignited every hunger I had, an addiction I couldn’t curb.
But if her father demanded this, I could honor his request.
“I’ll not bed her until the wedding. You have my word.”
A flicker of guilt burned behind the words. His eyes narrowed. He’d caught the phrasing.
“It’s settled then,” he said, leaning back. “Negotiations start after the hatching. I look forward to it.”
So did I.
It couldn’t come soon enough.