Chapter Twenty-Four
Nienna
Freya and Edith worked on me for hours. My nerves had frayed well before I stepped into the hall the next day.
The silver tiara nestled into an intricate web of braids, each twist tight and deliberate.
They cascaded down my back like the creeping vines through Radaan’s halls.
My gown shifted from pale blue at the collar to midnight at the hem, a dusky gradient shimmering beneath the lights.
Pearls clustered along my shoulders and poured down the center of my chest, flaring wide across my hips.
My black boots made no sound on the stone as I descended to the council chamber. My heartbeat lodged in my throat. I looked the part of a queen, but I felt like a schoolgirl trembling before a boy.
Father wasted no time. When the Draconis returned to work, so did he.
I bit the inside of my cheek. I had listened through every negotiation during my engagement with Tallon, but this was different.
The man I would marry would meet my eyes from across the table.
I would see him—not just his name scrawled on parchment.
My family waited in a narrow corridor outside the council door, and my anxiety surged. This was finally happening. A renegotiation between Draconia and Radaan—a feat I never imagined possible.
Father’s expression was drawn, his mouth pressed into a tight frown. He grasped my arms, sliding his hands down to grip mine while searching my face.
“I need to know you want this.” His voice strained, ragged with something deeper than worry.
I’d wounded him before with my actions. And now I asked him to give me away again.
“My heart belongs to him.” My words barely reached the air. I clutched his fingers, my throat constricting. In that room, I wasn’t only his daughter—I was a symbol. A bargaining piece.
A queen in waiting.
“Then so be it.”
With a sigh, he looped my arm through his. Past Mother and Ronan, we strode forward. The door groaned open, and we stepped into the chamber with our chins held high. Draconis—proud and indomitable.
Kallias rose from his seat, Fallione rising to his right.
Greaves hovered near the wall, shadows etching his features.
Scribes lined the walls, quills hovering over parchment.
Haldor and Zane flanked the entrance, quiet sentinels.
There were no formal advisors. Mother, Father always said, was our voice of reason, our wisdom.
Kallias wore his signature green, but the leaf embroidery stitched along his coat was a shade of damp bark. He dipped into a bow, the chains of his mantle brushing the edge of the massive table.
The oak slab commanded the space, broad and scarred, dominating the hard room. The walls bristled with swords and established treaties on display like our kingdom’s trophies.
“Welcome, King Kallias Sunspear of Radaan,” Father intoned. He led me to my seat—the one time I would sit at his left, with Ronan to my right.
“Thank you for hearing my case, Nereus Draconis, Dragon King of Draconia,” he said, laying the title down like an olive branch.
My head swam. No matter what training Mother had drilled into me, Kallias’ calm held a note of confidence born of countless verbal battles of wit and word.
“What do you seek in my halls?” Father asked as we all settled. Quills scraped paper, the sound brittle in the vaulted silence.
Though we had an audience, this was private. Here, we preferred quiet meetings—honesty found easier footing in smaller spaces than in the pomp of the throne room.
“I ask for the hand of Nienna, the Dragon’s Heart, in marriage.”
“To whom?”
A tedious formality, but neither man skipped it.
“I ask for her hand,” Kallias repeated, expression unchanged. Calm and deliberate, one palm rested flat on the table, emerald ring glinting beside a gold signet, while the other disappeared beneath the edge.
Father leaned back, not in dismissal but with the first breath of casual ease, of informality.
“She was given to your son, pledged as a seal between our lands—a promise. That treaty is broken. Now you ask for her hand yourself. I ask, then, that your grain tithe rise by five percent.”
“Done.”
I blinked and held still, though my gaze drifted to Kallias. Five percent more in grain alone was a steep demand. And judging by the way Fallione’s brow tightened, he hadn’t advised it.
But Kallias wasn’t bluffing. To him, this was no game.
His eyes—clear, bright, the color of a summer sky—met mine, and he blinked once, masking that familiar twitch. He would pay whatever the price. He would leave with me, no matter the cost.
I stayed silent while the conversation circled. Father demanded. Kallias agreed. Only when Fallione raised a hand did he push back. Grain, wool, timber, stone—it all blurred. Numbers and percentages poured out like water I couldn’t hold.
Mother joined the fray when Fallione pressed too hard, and both kings settled in, allowing their advisors to sharpen the edges of each clause.
Would it end today? Could it? Would I walk from this table engaged? Would my parents allow a quick wedding, or stretch it into a drawn-out spectacle draped in lace and wine?
“You must guarantee an heir.”
Father’s words cleaved through the din. Kallias’ eye twitched, and pressed his lips together, buying himself time.
An heir?
I glanced toward Mother. Her frown had deepened, and a thin line pinched between her brows. She wasn’t posturing. She meant it.
Kallias inhaled and answered, his tone even and measured. “Can the gods guarantee a seed will take root?” His voice remained steady, but I saw that second blink. He hated the question. “I cannot speak for the gods.”
“Draconia seeks a lasting bond,” Mother said, tone cool and slicing, her attention shifting from me to Kallias. “One secured by blood. Nienna’s marriage to you jeopardizes Radaan’s line. If she married your son, her child would inherit the throne. Stability for generations.”
A muscle jumped in his cheek. “You want me to remove Tallon from succession?”
Fallione’s face flushed red as he raised a hand, but Father silenced him with a glance.
“I’m not telling you how to handle a son who disrespected my daughter. Though I’d hoped you’d taught him better,” Father said. “Give her a future, a child with a claim to Radaan.”
“As a man, I swear to do my duty by her.” His fingers flexed on the table as if he hated saying the words.
“Too old to get it up?” Ronan tossed the comment like a stone.
My mouth dropped. Mother twitched. Father’s stare sharpened. Steel locked on Kallias.
I wanted to sink into the floor, vanish into the floor. This wasn’t just a conversation, it was legacy. Bloodlines. Empires. And Ronan had turned it into a tavern joke.
But Kallias didn’t flinch. His eyes held steady, locked on Father’s. The air thickened with tension, and still he didn’t waver.
“I cannot swear to things not yet known,” he said at last, and Mother’s breath hissed sharp. “But Tallon will never wear Radaan’s mantle.” His gaze found mine again. “He will never be king.”
My chest tightened, and my fingers dug into my skirt. That was no idle promise. He was carving a future with me at the center, even if it meant casting his son aside.
Father rubbed the bridge of his nose, elbow braced on the table’s edge. “And who, then, inherits your throne?”
“Nienna.” Kallias leaned into the chair’s curve, the tension slipping from his shoulders. “She will stand beside me. Queen in title and in power. I am older. Likely to die before her. If no heir is born, she shall rule and choose her next mate.”
Fallione’s face drained of color.
My breath hitched. Not because of the idea of Kallias dying, or remarrying after him. But because he was offering everything. In death, Radaan would pass into Draconis hands.
Unheard of.
Father studied him, squinting. Waiting. Surely a clause would follow. A safeguard. A condition.
None came.
It was reckless. If I married him, and my father ordered a dragon to end his life, we would own his kingdom. Just like that.
Why was he willing to gamble everything—his kingdom, his legacy—for me?
“Let us sleep on this. Prepare for dinner. Nobles will no doubt pester you.” Father dismissed him with a wave. “You stay,” he added when I shifted to rise.
I pressed my lips together and stayed put. Kallias hesitated, the crease between his brows deepening. He rose, followed by Greaves and Fallione, both silent as they filed out.
Father waved again. “The rest of you, leave.”
Scribes shuffled behind riders, doors thudding shut, leaving my family.
“Did he just offer us Radaan?” Father groaned, dragging a hand down his face.
“Only in the event of his death,” I replied.
“He’s twice your age. He’ll die long before you,” Ronan muttered with a scoff.
“Silence,” Mother snapped. Her slender finger tapped her bottom lip. “He avoided the question about the heir. He doesn’t believe he can sire a babe.”
My brother leaned back, eyes sharp and teasing. He smirked at me, goading, daring me to deny it. But this wasn’t just mockery. He’d called Tallon a bastard before. A slip, maybe. Or something more.
“Old or not, he’s well within his prime to–” Father winced, glancing at me. “From what I saw in his memories, that’s not in question.”
Ronan scrunched his nose in disgust. “You saw them? Like saw them?”
Mother sighed, brushing her hair over one shoulder. “The man is a fool.”
Her words stung. I valued her opinion more than most, and she thought him foolish, a lovesick boy handing over everything for a girl. But I knew him better than that.
“He’s not a simpleton,” Father said, watching me closely. “There’s a reason he made that offer. Nienna, tell him I’ll meet him in my study after dinner.”
I dipped my head and rose. They would speak of me once I left—I was certain—but I needed to see him.
My boots clicked through the halls, and I kept my expression carefully neutral as servants glanced my way.
Smiles hovered on their lips, eyes curious, searching for signs.
They wanted to know if this meant security.
Would we feast again with Radaan’s backing or go without, cut off from both Radaan and Innaku?
I rapped lightly on the door to Kallias’ quarters.
Greaves opened it with his usual discipline, but surprise flickered in his eyes before his mask returned. Inside, I spotted Fallione with his head cradled in his hands. Kallias stood nearby, one hand braced on the table, the other buried in his hair.
When he noticed me, his face twisted in something between relief and resignation. “Everyone out.”
His advisor rose, cleared his throat, and bowed before exiting. Greaves followed, footsteps clipped and reluctant.
“What was that?” I asked, narrowing my gaze. He looked like a creature too long in a cage.
Kallias exhaled and winced as he raked his fingers through his hair. He pulled out a chair and gestured. “Sit.”
“And if I want to stand?”
“Sit,” he repeated, flat as iron.
I took the seat across from him. He leaned forward, elbows braced against the table’s surface, fist pressed to his lips, gaze distant.
“You offered Draconia your entire kingdom.”
My voice stayed even, though his eyes told me he was still caught in a storm he couldn’t navigate.
His nostrils flared as he turned to me. “Because I had no other choice.”
“You have Tallon–”
“I burned that bridge,” he interrupted. “For you, I gave him up.”
I recoiled as if he slapped me.
“No need to feign offense,” he said. “It wasn’t a difficult decision. The boy makes my blood boil. He’s impulsive. Cold. Cruel when he thinks no one’s watching. The beast would make a terrible ruler. You are the wiser choice.”
He looked away, eyes landing on a mounted fish along the wall. “But more than that—I have my reservations concerning his legitimacy.”
His throat bobbed in a thick swallow, but he remained silent, letting that sit with me.
“I heard you call him a bastard,” I murmured. “Scythe and I… we listened in. Through the passages.”
His frown eased a fraction, and he huffed out a breath. “What else did you hear?”
My expression tugged into a coy grin. “Nothing important.”
His hands returned to his temples, circling as if to scrub the thought away. “My concern isn’t the throne. Not even the scandal of illegitimacy. I tried for months, years, to sire a child.” His teeth bared in a tight grimace. “My doubt is that I can produce an heir.”
Surprise flooded me. I never once considered that. If Tallon wasn’t his, and if he’d tried that long with his late wife…
Was it her?
Or him?
His jaw clenched as he studied my reaction. “I should have told you. But in Radaan, I assumed you’d marry Tallon. It wouldn’t have mattered. And once I left for Draconia, all I thought of was you. Not future babes.”
“It does not change anything, Kallias.” I reached for his arm, grounding him. “It doesn’t matter to me.”
“Consider it, Nienna. You’re young. I’m twice your age. If I die before you, you’ll desire companionship, maybe even children. And think of your people. Draconia will want an heir out of you, not just Ronan. I can’t give you that.”
He dragged a hand over his face, eyes hollowed out with guilt. “I should’ve thought it through. I can’t promise you a child.” His gaze met mine, steady and grave. “Do you still want this?”
I blinked, rage warming my chest, but it wasn’t for him. The weight on his shoulders spoke of shame, not indifference. This was not about me at all. This was about her—the wife who came before me.
I stood and reached for his chair. When I couldn’t move it, he frowned and helped turn it. I straddled his lap and settled close.
His hands gripped my hips. Not possessive, just needing contact. Hunger flickered in his gaze, shadowed by pain.
My fingers threaded into his hair, brushing the strands back. “I want you. I’ve only ever wanted you. If we aren’t blessed with a child, then we’ll shape another legacy. We are not defined by bloodlines.”
“I feel less of a man,” he whispered. His eyes closed. “As if I am not worthy of you.”
I cupped his face, thumb resting at his temple. He leaned into the touch with a soft, yielding motion.
“You crossed the sea. Braved dragons. Risked everything—for me. And you believe you’re unworthy?”
“No one deserves you,” he murmured, lips brushing my palm. “You are dragonfire and sunlight. A queen waiting to rise.”
“And you are my king—tempered steel and searing heat. Exactly what I need. What I want. I will have no other.”
I bent to place my lips on his, sealing that promise with a kiss.