Chapter Twenty-Five
Nienna
Father allowed Kallias to sit beside me at the dining table.
Thick bread soaked in soup filled the air with a savory promise—a fraction of what Radaan might offer Draconia through our union.
The meal ended too soon. I watched my father and brother disappear with Kallias, the urge to follow tugging at me.
But some matters belonged to men alone. They’d press him about heirs, testing the waters I wasn’t sure he was ready to wade.
To the world, Tallon stood as his son—next in line should Kallias fall. But an illegitimate heir held no real claim.
Mine would.
I excused myself and walked toward the kitchens, tremulous thoughts fraying at the edges. Did I even want a child? I was a princess—boiled down to a womb. That was my value. Through my children, alliances would be solidified and Draconia and Radaan would have a peace bound by blood.
Kings sired heirs. That was their duty. My parents were considered unlucky, with only two children and just one male. Other kingdoms birthed many, insurance against plague, war, or misfortune.
If I failed to produce an heir, would Radaan see me as broken? A curse? They believed Tallon was a trueborn son. And after Veridis—after I claimed her at the Celebration of Life?
I could find joy in Kallias. I needed no one else. But would that be enough for them?
The kitchen door groaned as I stepped inside. Steam licked my face. The scent of fish, roasted herbs, and baked grain lingered in the air, warm and earthy. Staff moved in a tide of clinks and soft chatter, nodding as they swept past, hands full of plates.
Gertrude’s smile bloomed the moment she saw me. Her hair, pinned into a tight bun, had loosened wisps glowing silver in the light.
“Nienna! Princess, what brings you here?” she gasped, dropping into a low bow. Master of the Spire’s meals, and longtime smuggler of pastries.
“I need bean tea.”
Her brow puckered. She blinked twice, tilted her head, confused. “Bean tea?”
A nervous laugh escaped. I laced my fingers to stop from hugging my arms. “Yes. A tea made from beans. Do you know it?”
“I have beans, your highness, but I’ve never steeped them.” She pursed her lips in thought and tapped a finger along her chin.
“They’re from Radaan.” I lowered my voice, insecure by my request. Perhaps it was exclusive to their kingdom, and I was a fool for asking.
Recognition lit her face. She beckoned me to follow. “I’ve got Radaanian black beans—fresh off the ship yesterday! Never thought of them for tea, but if you’re sure…”
We moved between rows of heavy tables and stacks of pots. The area was clean and organized, but packed. With what little space we had, every inch of the Spire had been claimed.
“Yes, though the beans are removed before serving,” I said. Truthfully, I had no idea what made it work, only that it eased something in Kallias I couldn’t reach with words. I feared the burden of these negotiations was weighing far heavier on him than he’d admit.
“Sit, I’ll make it!” She pulled out a chair near a wall where the heat thinned and voices quieted.
I sank into it, breath slowing as Gertrude vanished into the pantry. Around me, the kitchen kept moving. Two girls laughed near a sink. One yelped, then slapped her friend with a wet, limp fish.
A smile pulled at my mouth.
They bickered, teasing over chores and whispered gossip.
My chest tightened. Scythe would’ve joined me here, settled across from me, offered silence or sarcasm.
I still had Freya and planned to ask for her and Edith to attend me in Radaan.
I wouldn’t face it alone. And this time, I’d bring riders. My people. A tether back to who I was.
“Here, drink this while you wait.” Gertrude handed me a small teacup filled with familiar green liquid, then bustled away with a rattling mug in her grip.
Mint cooled my throat. Salty water clung to the roof of my mouth.
Travelers Tea—brisk and briny—dragged me back to the memory of my brother teasing me.
He claimed it was only for riders after a hard flight.
Father had scolded him, then passed me his cup.
The first time I had it, I nearly gagged.
But I smiled through it, determined to show Ronan up.
After that, I drank it whenever I could.
Now, it tasted like home. Harsh and grounding. One of the many things I’d miss.
Across the kitchen, Gertrude hummed, bent over a steaming pot. She stirred, cringing at the scent. Her nose wrinkled. She gave the concoction another sniff, then glanced at me with unease.
“This is common there?” she asked, poking the contents again.
“It’s a luxury,” I said.
She tied her stained apron over a faded gray dress. Frowning, she muttered under her breath as she adjusted the knot.
I sipped my tea and let my thoughts slip toward Kallias.
Father was likely prying for answers. Ronan probably couldn’t help himself—twisting the topic with some tasteless joke.
The conversation about heirs should have ended once Kallias explained I would rule Radaan and my child would follow. Even if it wasn’t his.
One generation. That’s all it would take to seize his kingdom, break the reign of farmer kings, and root dragons in their soil. My dragons.
Abyss, he was going to die before me.
The thought knocked the air from my lungs. I stared at the empty cup in my hands. He was twice my age. I knew this. But love makes a fool of time. Unless I died in the unlikely event of childbirth, I’d bury him one day.
Life was brutal. It made no room for lovers who found each other too late.
“I fear there’s something wrong.”
I wiped the grief from my face. Gertrude stood in front of me, holding a cup with both hands. She swirled the contents, her frown etched deep.
“I assure you, it’s a simple tea,” I said, though I wasn’t entirely certain. When Kallias first offered it, there were no spices. No honey or citrus. Just dark, acrid liquid reminiscent of ash and soil.
She placed the cup in front of me with care. I leaned over, studying the black surface. Thick and opaque.
“The color looks right,” I told her. I took a sniff and flinched. It wasn’t acidic. More musky, with something damp clinging beneath it. Maybe the sea voyage spoiled it. I swallowed down the revulsion, curled my fingers around the warmth, and stood.
“Will you be testing it?” she asked. Worry pinched her face as her eyes locked on the cup as if it were a snake ready to strike.
“It’s an acquired taste, and not one I have. Thank you!”
The heat soaked into my palms. I lingered in the hallway, taking a slow path toward Father’s study. Ronan’s presence in that room still baffled me. He had no filter. No place in delicate talks.
If I caught sight of his blond head, I might toss the tea in his face.
Luck favored him.
As I turned the corner, Kallias stepped out, alone. Shadows deepened to the lines around his mouth. Fatigue dulled his posture. But when he saw me, his eyes lifted, and a strained smile cracked through the weariness.
“How did it go?” I asked, just as Greaves closed the study door behind him, sealing my family inside.
“As well as could be expected.” His gaze flicked to the cup in my hand.
I held it out. “You looked like you needed a drink.”
His fingers brushed mine as he accepted it. He glanced into the murky depths, nodding once. “Thank you.” He raised it to sip.
He froze, holding the hot liquid in his mouth, eyes flying wide.
“What is it?” Panic rushed through me. “The cook prepared them just like tea. Was there a special way to prepare them?”
His gaze darted to the glass at his lips as if he was contemplating spitting the drink back into the cup.
How awful was it that a king would spit it out?!
“Kal?” Greaves stepped up, brows drawn.
Kallias lowered the mug and swallowed hard. His throat worked against the effort, jaw tight, as he turned and glared at the drink.
“What is this?” he rasped. “Are you sure this was tea?”
“It’s bean tea. What did you call it? Kahve?”
He gave a stunned, breathless laugh. “This isn’t kahve. This is… exactly what I’d expect from something called bean tea.”
“The beans came off your ship!”
“And I deeply regret not bringing kahve beans myself.” He chuckled, lifting the cup and swirling it. “You tried this?”
“I never enjoyed it.”
“You wouldn’t enjoy this.”
He handed the mug to Greaves, who accepted it with a look of pure dread. He scanned the hallway, desperate for a place to abandon it.
“Your father agreed to the terms today,” Kallias said, extending his arm. “Shall I walk you to your rooms?”
“Or yours.” I slid my hand into the crook of his arm as he turned us down the corridor. “Will negotiations continue tomorrow?”
“For a few more days, I expect.”
I frowned. “You’re surrendering to every request.”
“You are worth everything I’ve offered,” he said with a hum. “But these things take time. We can have all taxes and details mapped out, but each must be discussed, dissected. And there are matters I haven’t yet raised with Nereus.”
“Such as?”
“When the dragons arrive in Radaan, they’ll be stationed in the Craggs. But—will any of the five be female? Am I risking dragonlings in my mountains?”
I pursed my lips. Father could easily keep the females in Draconia. Kalepsi, Naneki, and Naksula could remain on the island without issue. “Do you want dragonlings in Radaan? There’s no guarantee they’ll lay elsewhere. Though the Andeluith is tall enough, they might be tempted.”
“I’m neither opposed nor inclined.” He shrugged, and the chains on his mantle clinked together. “But if they’re born in my realm, I’d be expected to claim them.”
I winced, teeth flashing as we stepped into his rooms. “Best not let anyone else hear you say that.”
“It’s a fair claim, is it not?”
“It is, but with that logic, Father will keep all the females here. We won’t offer any other kingdom dragons unless they can be under the protection and leadership of a Draconis ruler.”