Chapter 22 #2
I smiled into this kiss, teeth grazing his lower lip. His grip tightened around my arms. His hips shifted forward, brushing mine.
“How long do you need?”
A growl escaped, and he spun me around, pressing me against the wall. His mouth claimed me—nothing gentle. No restraint. Hunger devoured every movement—lips parting, tongue slick and demanding.
I melted into him with a moan as my knees gave out. He caught me, hands sliding to grip my thighs as he lifted me from the ground. His hips shoved into me, pinning me against the wall. My head fell back, eyes shut, heat racing through me in a pounding, urgent wave.
His mouth dropped to my neck. The scratch of his jaw teased my skin as he kissed and nipped along the line of my collar.
“You wouldn’t need long,” he groaned, fingers flexing against my thighs.
A whimper escaped. He held me steady with his legs, tapestry bunching beneath us, one hand rising toward my chest.
“Gods, Nienna, I need you.” His voice cracked, dragging back to my lips with unrelenting purpose.
I took all of it. Matched it. Ground against him, chasing the friction I craved. My skin burned. Neck prickling. Nerves flared beneath my scalp.
He tore away with a broken sound. I bucked forward. Desperate. Strung tight and shaking. My pulse thudded in my ears, silencing everything except the rasp of his breathing.
“Please.” One syllable. All I had. He was the only soul I’d ever beg.
“I promised your father.” His fingers dug into my hips, bracing against my need. He nipped my ear, his breath hot and uneven. “I can’t take you. Not yet.”
With a snarl, he dropped me. My legs wobbled. Instinct reached for him, but he pressed his palm to my stomach, holding me back. His touch hovered—so close to where I needed him.
He slumped forward, forehead resting on my chest.
“Have mercy, Nienna.” He gasped, voice torn. His fingers clenched the fabric of my dress. “You don’t know how badly I want to toss caution aside. Take you here. Now. But I gave my word.”
He straightened, lifting my chin. Something wild simmered in his gaze—starving and dangerous, barely restrained.
“We will wait.”
It sparked a challenge in me. A wicked thrill. He could leash his desire in a blink. Lock it down and choose duty. But when he pressed against me, nothing existed except the heat between us.
My body ached. Still, I met the eyes of a king. Controlled, powerful, expectant.
And I wanted to be the one to break that control.
“Yes, my king.” I whispered, biting my lip.
He groaned low, dragging his thumb across my mouth. I darted my tongue out, teasing. His hand dropped, brushing over his belt.
“To the landing.”
I looped my arm through his. The walk up the Spire cooled the fire between us, bit by bit.
I could wait. I would. What we had didn’t need to be rushed. But sometimes, I longed to erase the caution in his expression. The wariness behind his smile. Years of betrayal by his own son and Eldeiade had left scars that still bled.
He deserved better. I’d give him everything to heal that pain.
“The Spire was found like this?” he asked, pausing to gaze up the hollowed center.
“With the Cireendium? Yes.” I leaned over the edge. “Draconia was never home to humans. Some creature must have lived here once. We only made it fit for man.”
He hummed, pulling me upward.
At the throne room, I broke into a run out onto the landing, arms flung wide.
Specks of light drifted around us—leftovers from my father’s magic. They hovered, soft and flickering, little white fireflies caught in a playful spiral.
I twirled, trying to catch them. They brushed my skin, left gleaming trails down both forearms. Kallias chuckled behind me.
The lights landed in his hair, highlighting the silver at his temples. Others dusted his mantle, scattered bright as fallen stars.
“Feels like warm snow.” He cupped my cheek, then brushed a glowing fingertip along my jaw.
“He took it from the ocean. Near the Wild Shores, the sea glows with life. They say it’s incredible.”
“You’ve never seen it?”
I shook my head. “No. So Father brought it to me.”
“All this—he made it? He’s powerful.”
I crouched. Caught a few motes in my palm, then dragged my fingers across the stone. “He’s a Well. Constantly pulling magic from Argos, storing it in his body. He once held off an entire whirlstorm alone.”
“A good reason to honor my promise,” he muttered, eyes falling to the markings I’d traced:
‘Kallias and Nienna.’
“How long does the glow last?”
I heard the judgment in his voice. Laughed. “Do you want to know why the crowd was in such a hurry?”
“With all those boys dragging girls into alleys? I can guess.”
“Catch more of these, and I’ll show you.” I ran across the landing, scooping up the radiant wisps. They melted into my palms, lighting my fingers.
I spun toward him, both palms glowing.
Wiser than I, he held up one hand, the glow faint and cool. Nothing like the sharp, divine light his god gifted him. He raised a brow, gaze flicking between my hands.
“Come.” I led him into the palace, careful not to brush the walls. We slipped down a level to his rooms. At the door, he stepped ahead and pressed a bare hand to the panel.
“Do you remember when I said wait?” A twitch caught in his eye, brows pulling tight.
I grinned and nudged the door open with my shoulder. “I haven’t forgotten, my king.”
“The way you say that.” His mutter followed me in.
Greaves hadn’t returned. The rooms stood still, thick with silence, lanterns flickering amber along stone walls.
I lifted my chin. “Remove your mantle.”
One brow arched, but I remembered the hesitation in his touch the night before. He wasn’t ready to let me unfasten it. That time would come; I would wait.
He obeyed, fingers slipping the golden chain free. With deliberate care, he eased the yoke off and set it on the stand.
I reached for the buttons of his vest, but he caught my wrist. “How long does the light last?”
Was he worried a servant would see the glow and know someone had removed his clothes for him? Was he more concerned they would assume some other woman did, or that I was that woman?
“It fades before morning,” I said.
He released my hand, and I went to work. Fingers flying, pulse pounding. This was something I’d craved, imagined sharing with the one who held my heart.
Father’s magic lingered in everything it touched.
I’d seen it many times through the years, glowing at the end of the festival, but this—this piece of my people and culture—always felt out of reach.
As I grew, I realized my future husband would reside beyond the sea, far from this moment, far from Draconia.
Now, this belonged to us.
Kallias shrugged free of his vest, muscles flexing. His shoulders shifted, broad and tense. The guarded expression returned, hard and unreadable. Not rejection—something heavier. Something he couldn’t silence.
He folded his clothes and laid them on a chair, movements slow and precise. Never careless. Even half-naked, surrounded by temptation, he wasn’t rough. He took his time.
Before me, his jaw ticked. Lines cut deep between his brows. He craved this. He wanted me here. But shadows moved behind his eyes—grief, fear, restraint. None of them I could soothe.
“The lovers slip away to claim each other,” I murmured, stepping closer.
He scowled, and I raised a hand to smooth the wrinkle from his forehead, fingers trailing a glowing arc along his jaw.
“They catch the magic—unbound by status—and write their names.”
I stared at his chest. The silver stubble looked patchy where Kalepsi’s fire had burned through. His bandage held clean, no blood seeping through.
Humming, I flattened my palm above his belt and leaned in. My finger brushed over his sternum. His muscles flinched beneath my touch.
“Hold still.”
“Nienna.” His voice rumbled deep, a low warning.
I drew slow loops, each curve deliberate, letters blooming in bright strokes along his skin. I signed my name across his heart—carefully, reverently. More sacred than any treaty.
‘Nienna.’
It wasn’t enough.
I claimed him as a woman, but also as a princess. He wasn’t just a man I loved, but the one I fought for. He crossed oceans, faced dragonfire. I was so much more than Nienna.
‘The Dragon’s Heart.’
Perhaps I added more for my sake. But when I stepped back, heat rushed across my skin, chest constricting. My handprint glowed just above his navel, broken where it crossed the ridges of his abdomen. Over his heart, beside the scar he earned for me, shone my name. My title.
“My turn,” he growled, voice thick, raw with emotion. “Turn around.”
My pulse surged. I twisted, glancing back. A hand tugged my dress loose, rough and impatient. I couldn’t breathe. My arms crossed tight as he fumbled.
“Withering laces,” he muttered, and I laughed, breath hitching.
Cool air swept across my fevered skin, raising goosebumps. His chest touched my back, warm and bare.
“Gone by morning?” he breathed against my ear, voice barely holding.
“Yes.” The word spilled out, more whimpered sigh than sound.
He kissed a line between my shoulders, each press deliberate. The dress parted wider. My upper back bared, skin flushed and trembling under the chill.
I shivered when his fingertip found me.
“Be still.” His tone held no space for disobedience.
I swallowed the knot in my throat. His touch moved down, traced the dip of my spine, then slid outward. He exhaled, then gave me room to inspect his work.
I twisted, catching the mirror’s reflection.
My skin burned hotter. Across the pale canvas of my back, written in glowing letters—singed into magic and flesh—was a single word.
‘Mine.’