Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Nienna
The dancers stomped in time. Shells tied at their ankles clattered with each movement as they chanted. But my thoughts wandered—high above the celebration, tucked in the Spire, wondering what Kallias was doing.
Mother warned me that negotiations shouldn’t begin until after the Awakening. Too much had unsettled our people. For now, all focus belonged on the festival meant to reunite us.
I sighed and dragged a quill across parchment, scribbling notes. Assigning the dancer order should have gone to someone else, but the task had landed in my lap. Freya sat at my side on a shaded bench, the image of perfect decorum.
Edith remained on rest since her return, though I had no doubt she’d found a way to stay busy. I needed her with me when I traveled back to Radaan.
When I left with Kallias.
“Thinking about him?” Freya asked.
I frowned and gave her a questioning look.
“You’re smiling. You haven’t smiled like that since you arrived.”
My lips pressed into a line. I rose as the dancers finally slowed, their chests rising and falling in unison. I passed the note to the nearest woman. “This is the order. Make sure Lina gets her gown in time.”
She wore simple cotton, cheeks blooming pink as she nodded. Her ceremonial attire—meant to match the others’ blue—had torn, and her mother was still mending it. Accidents happened. Even so, I hoped this Awakening would outshine all that came before it.
It would be Kallias’ first.
We returned to the Spire, and my thoughts drifted again. Would I get a chance to show him the island before we left? The black beach—the Nest. So much I wanted him to see now that he was here.
He’d be eager to rejoin his people. I could handle them. I had before. But Tallon… what had Kallias done with him? Had he dismissed that betrayal without consequence? A darker part of me burned to return—if only to show Tallon and Fyrn what real love looked like.
Let those monsters rot in their sick affections.
I had Kallias.
Elmo’s red tail flashed overhead, slicing through the wind. Tsunami wheeled behind him and I chuckled. She’d grown bolder with each year. Why she lingered around the island without a rider still puzzled me, but I never pretended to understand the minds of dragons.
By the time we reached the clearing, the sun had dropped low in the sky. I tilted my head back and spotted Kalepsi poised near the edge of the Nest. Her violet scales shimmered in the dying light, and a smile tugged at my lips.
What was I to her—some wingless dragonling? Yet she always watched over me. I reached inward. For a moment, I could almost feel a thread tightening between us. My imagination, surely.
Freya hurried to prepare me for dinner. She took extra care with my sea-blue dress, lace pooling over the bodice like seafoam. My hair, braided into a crown, framed the golden circlet she tucked in place. Once she gave her silent nod of approval, I slipped away to the dining hall.
Zane waited at the entrance, tilting his head with a familiar grin. “Hold, Princess,” he said, stretching out a hand.
I paused, casting a glance past him toward my father’s table. Then I looked back, wary.
“There’s a great debate among the riders. No one has the guts to ask.”
I relaxed slightly, lips pursed. “Or the stupidity?”
He chuckled. “We all want to know… does he always glow?”
My face scrunched. “Glow?”
“Like during the trial of the blood oath. Is that… normal for Radaanians?”
A laugh escaped me, short and sharp. If it had been any other rider, I might’ve brushed it off. But Zane was harmless.
“It’s his god’s blessing,” I said, pretending I understood more than I did. “He shines when Elohios grants him favor.”
“I knew he had magic!” He grinned.
It was nearly impossible to understand how Radaan could place faith in gods they neither saw nor heard. Did they possess a magic of their own and simply credit it to divine hands? Or had we abandoned gods we once followed?
That was a question for Kallias and me to untangle one night in bed, when sleep refused us.
Hope flickered in my chest, knitting together the broken pieces of my heart as I stepped into the dining hall. We would have years for philosophy. Our convictions aligned—duty, loyalty, resolve—but there was still so much I craved to know. How he thought. How he saw the world.
Back straight. Shoulders set. Chin high. I drifted through the room like a princess worthy of her station. Father remained at the head of the dais, Ronan to his right, Mother to his left. Further down, Kallias held a seat across from mine—but not beside it.
No marriage contract yet. No official place by my side. He sat next to Jehoikim, treated like any visiting sovereign.
Cornflower-blue eyes flicked up, and when I approached, he rose. A flush crept up my neck, and I dipped my head to acknowledge the gesture. A king standing for a princess—it wasn’t required.
My stomach curled into knots. Blood beat at my temples. He stayed on his feet, gaze steady, until I slid into the seat beside Mother.
She remained still, watching him as he returned to his chair. “Chivalrous,” she murmured, lips curling as she spooned up a mouthful of broth.
Pride flared in my chest. I reached for my glass, hiding a smile. If he’d impressed Mother, that alone could help usher along the new terms between us.
We ate fish chowder—thick, creamy, flecked with herbs—while she peppered me with questions about the dancers. Between spoonfuls and answers, she gave me little chance to study my future husband. Likely on purpose.
Still, I caught glimpses. Jehoikim slouched back in his chair, arrogance draping off him. He talked down to Kallias, despite the king’s clear advantage in presence and stature. He played along—leaned aside, sat a fraction lower, subtly offering the illusion of deference.
It was all calculated.
He studied the island chief the way a predator watches prey.
And when he understood what made Jehoikim tick, he shifted.
Straightened a handspan taller. Shoulders squared.
Gold links of his mantle shimmered against the dark leather.
He leaned in, gaze unwavering, crowding Jehoikim’s space without touching him.
Jehoikim flushed.
The noble beside him froze, soup halfway to his mouth. Slowly, the man lowered his spoon and reached for his napkin, dabbing with a quiet nervousness as he sneaked a glance at Kallias.
“Nienna.” Mother’s voice cut through, and I masked my smirk, folding my lips tight.
“Shall I repeat the question?”
I blinked, struggling to recall. “No, I didn’t see Williard today. I’ll check on him tomorrow.”
She sighed, eyes darting from Kallias to me with a flicker of irritation. “I’m going to insist on an extended stay after your wedding.”
My brow pulled down. “He needs to return to Radaan.”
“And you need time to work this out,” she said, tone cool. “I’m not sending my daughter to another kingdom as a moon-eyed bride, swooning across the table. You’re besotted, and it’s painfully obvious.”
“You think it will fade?” I shot back, glancing at Father.
He didn’t speak—just watched her, eyes glazed in thought.
“I don’t make a fool of myself,” she muttered, clearing her throat. Her gaze met his, sharp as flint. Color touched her cheeks, and she offered him a pointed glare.
Father took it in stride, then shifted his attention down the table to Kallias. His pale brows narrowed as he lifted his wine. Likely planning a subtle torture for this other king.
Mother’s rebuke landed like a blade. I might be younger, but I wasn’t na?ve. A princess must carry herself above reproach. If I couldn’t conceal attraction during a meal, how could I represent Radaan in matters of state?
I pressed my expression into a courtly smile and finished my soup. For the first time in weeks, I lingered. I moved through the room, chatting with nobles, asking about trade and weather, even pearl harvests. I kept clear of Jehoikim but idled near his ambassador, who was far easier to stomach.
Kallias kept his focus trained on the chief and the mayor beside him, but his posture tilted just enough to suggest his ear stayed with me. He leaned. He listened. A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.
He was playing the same game I was. And I loved him for it.
Ending the conversation, I strode down the dais—chin high, shoulders squared. No longer was I the cornered, diminished princess who returned from Radaan.
I had purpose now.
I would be a queen.
Wind tore at my hair as Tsunami streaked overhead. Her sea-green scales, flecked with gold, caught the sun’s last rays. On the landing’s edge, I clenched my core and braced against the gust she left behind.
Far below, scattered figures flowed through the streets—Draconis returning home after a long day’s work. One more day, and celebration would take over the island. The Awakening. A festival of song and fire, dancing and games, food and stories passed beneath rising stars.
And Kallias would witness it all.
I leaned back on my hands, head tilted to catch the last warmth of the sun.
Strands of hair tickling the backs of my fingers.
Would it be braided for my wedding? Plaited and pinned in the traditional Draconis style?
Usually, yes—for dragonflight—but none would let Kallias ride.
Our ceremony would be bound to the land.
“Ready for the Awakening?”
I opened my eyes. Father leaned over me, white beard pulled to one side by the curve of a knowing smirk.
“I’ve yet to convince Williard to make a kite for the ceremony.” With a huff, I shifted as he dropped beside me, letting him block the worst of the gale.
He gave a short hum, then caught a fistful of my wild hair. With gentle, practiced hands, he coiled it into a knot and tied it at the nape of my neck.
“He’s old,” he said. “Time he let the others do it.”
“One kite’s nothing for him,” I muttered, laying my head on his shoulder.
“And what if his kite outshines all his apprentice’s?” he asked, wrapping an arm around me. “How do you think Kai would take that?”
“They should strive for mastery.”
A low grunt rattled his chest. “Kai’s got talent, but his pride is barbed. He needs encouragement, not competition. Too much pressure and he’ll turn bitter.”
“It’s an honor to craft the kites for the Awakening,” I chafed.
“And it’s an honor to rule.” His gray eyes held mine, steady and solemn. “People are not alike. You must know them—read their moods, guess their fears. Rule them not just for the kingdom’s good, but for their soul’s.”
I turned his words over in my mind.
How would Tallon react when I returned as his crowned queen? Had his father warned him? Or would I be the surprise that shattered him?
He would rage. Lash out. Possibly worse than before. We would never reconcile. Would Kallias cast him out? Would I be expected to visit him? Or would he demand the right to visit us?
A vision flickered across my mind—Tallon older, silver laced through his hair, hatred burning in his eyes. A villain. My villain. A monster worse than the Velli.
“You’re seeing him tomorrow?”
I blinked, shaken free from the image. I wouldn’t borrow tomorrow’s troubles.
“Yes—I’ll make my case one more time.”
Father exhaled, slow and deep. “Take Mikal.”
“And does Kallias have free roam of the island?”
He stiffened against me, agitation sharpening his gaze. “Last I checked, he was no longer shackled.”
“He would respect your wishes if you demanded he stay in the Spire.”
“Respect?” He scoffed. “He listens because Argos will swallow him whole if he doesn’t.”
“And yet, he landed here. Faced your trial.”
“He wanted you.”
I nudged him with my shoulder, a grin teasing at my lips. “He respects you. Honors you. Faced you as a man—now he treats you like a king.”
“We’ll see once negotiations begin.”
“He would give you the moon and all her stars.”
“You’re worth far more.”
My heart swelled, and I leaned in, watching a golden dragon dive toward the sea, talons skimming the surface.
Somehow, this second departure felt heavier.
The first time, I left with wonder. With dreams. Now, Kallias would be beside me—but I feared how Radaan would respond.
Wondered if I could shoulder their scrutiny and win back their faith.
“He may accompany you tomorrow,” Father muttered. “But take your maid. Show him Draconia in all her fierce glory. Remind him what awaits should he forget to honor this contract.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, smothering my response. As if the trial had not seared that reminder deep into his bones.
Still, I would take Father’s blessing. Kallias would walk my streets, see my home—not from the Spire or royal gardens, but on the beaches and narrow roads.
As a common man.