Chapter Twenty-Six
Kallias
Fallione droned on about lumber logistics, but my skull throbbed with each syllable.
I cradled my head, the ache drilling behind my eyes and draining what little decorum I had left.
I would need to save it for the negotiations soon, making my moves as the King of Radaan, but also as a man willing to sacrifice anything for the woman he loved.
The woman I hurt last night.
She masked the pain well. A polite smile had covered the wound I gave her. I never meant to cause it, but there were some things I wasn’t willing to share. Some ghosts belonged to the shadows.
Still, she owned me. Mind. Body. Soul.
“Gods.” The word rasped past my lips as I rubbed at my temples. We’d marry, vow a lifetime. Passion, loyalty, unity—everything necessary for a future shared between thrones.
But love required truth.
Greaves knew mine. He always had. Since his youth, he stood at my side—whether I confessed aloud or bled it out in the sparring ring, he saw every fracture and flaw.
Nienna asked for that same intimacy, and I shut her out.
I selfishly pressed her for details about the prince, but when she turned the question on me—when she named Eldeiade—I folded. The dead woman kept resurfacing—drawing her back into my mind—into my dreams.
The look on Greaves’ face when I rose told me I wasn’t silent in the night.
Not that it was a restful sleep. I didn’t ask what he had heard, and wondered if it was a new development from everyone sticking their nose in my business, or if he was now worried because I was about to marry another woman while speaking of another in my dreams.
Nienna would love that.
Maybe a dragon would put me out of my misery.
“…across the sea, so we should start with a rate of five gold per beam, anticipating Nereus will haggle–”
“How much do we want per beam?” I snapped. The pain in my head pulsed like a war drum. A rough hand closed on the back of my neck—Greaves’ thumbs digging into the base of my skull.
I sagged forward, tension unraveling one knot at a time.
“Three would be fair,” Fallione replied, tone cautious. “We could survive at two.”
He was still walking on glass after I blindsided him yesterday—announcing Tallon’s removal and naming Nienna as heir without warning.
“Then we ask for three.” I grunted, Greaves pressing into the stiffness coiled through my shoulders. “Nereus doesn’t want games. I have a kingdom to return to, and he doesn’t want his daughter to be caught in a compromising situation.”
Not taking into consideration that I would be the one compromising her.
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Fallione gave up the push, his voice tight.
I drew in a breath and rose. Greaves slung the mantle over my shoulders, its weight settling along my spine. My back screamed in protest as I adjusted the lapels and draped the chains.
The negotiations started much like the day before. Tedious. Measured. Formal. All part of the burden I carried.
Even if I was here for selfish reasons.
“We’ve considered your proposal to allow Nienna to inherit Radaan,” Nyxaria said, voice unhurried and smooth, “and we accept.” She sat composed, the picture of poise. “However, we have a contingent request.”
My headache throbbed again. I forced my focus. “Go on.”
“After your wedding, both of you will remain in Draconia for a month.”
Fallione stiffened beside me. That silence stretched sharp and tight. Her eyes held mine. A test of resolve between two sovereigns.
A month?
I’d left Radaan leaderless for too long.
“Your Majesty,” Nienna broke in, her voice gentler than her mother’s, “King Kallias has already sacrificed time away from his realm. Asking more of him is difficult. Why the delay?”
Nyxaria turned her gaze to her daughter. My mind raced. Messenger doves relied on ship-to-ship relay, but Draconia had blocked our waters. Now that the truce held, I could press for their return, establishing the line of communication again, but that would take time—and each day, my unease grew.
“The matter of succession still leaves us…” Nyxaria paused, searching. “Unsatisfied.”
“Unsatisfied,” I echoed before I could stop myself, cursing inwardly. My tone had sharpened. The king’s glare joined hers now.
“I have set the option of the Draconis inheriting my kingdom,” I went on, steadying my voice. “And you call that unsatisfactory?”
Nereus leaned forward, bracing his hand on the table. “Never has a Draconis queen been barren. We ask that Nienna remain to ensure nothing interferes with her ability to conceive.”
Blood rushed to my ears. My jaw locked.
Would they listen at the door? Monitor the bedding like some kingdoms did? Were they accusing me of risking her health? Or were they worried I would pull back my promise and take Nienna to Radaan—poisoning her womb to keep Tallon in my line?
“Tallon is removed.” I matched his posture and tone. “There’s no reason to remain here while we consummate our marriage.”
His nostrils flared—confirmation I’d struck a nerve.
“Records state you only bedded your previous wife once a month, treating her like a–”
“Ronan.” Nereus cut him off before I could.
My head snapped toward him, and the world tilted. Pain lanced behind my eyes. I clenched my jaw. “What records does Draconia keep on the marital affairs of foreign kings?”
He knew. If anyone had seen a sliver of my torment, it was Nereus.
“We’ve made our request.” Nyxaria redirected the topic, but my gaze found Nienna. A flush climbed the tips of her ears as she shot her brother a scathing look.
“I object.” My refusal came low, but firm. “I left my kingdom under the care of a war general. My advisor’s here beside me. The route home takes weeks. After negotiations, we’ll have time enough to prepare the wedding. You ask too much.”
Doubt pulsed across the room, thick as storm clouds. I should’ve eased into resistance—Fallione warned me not to lead with fire—but the demand overstepped. They knew it.
“Perhaps we should revisit this later,” Nienna said, lifting her chin. “What’s next?”
Nyxaria narrowed her eyes, suspicion sharpening her features. “How many dragons we send to your kingdom.”
“I request five.” The number Nienna mentioned during her time with the Sols. She’d called it a light demand.
“I will honor that,” Nereus said with a brief nod.
“As your daughter, I ask that my brother escort me to Radaan.” She straightened her shoulders.
Ronan choked, eyes wide as he turned toward her. “Me?”
There was something in her request, some bold play that I didn’t comprehend—but it had her mother leaning back, irises glittering with approval. Nyxaria’s thin fingers tapped on the table.
Nereus studied his daughter. “In addition to the riot, I’ll allow it,” he said at last. “But he returns within a moon.”
Suspicion stirred behind his tone. He felt it too—machinations moving where we couldn’t yet see.
The women were up to something.
Nienna caught my eye and bit her lip, softening just before she remembered herself. The shift back to polished princess looked almost natural.
I chose trust. “Done,” I answered, hating that her insufferable brother would now set foot in my kingdom.
The queen returned to her earlier point. “We still ask that Nienna remain for one month following the wedding.”
I turned to my future bride. She was orchestrating something. Her gaze darted from Ronan back to me.
He was key.
His scowl deepened, but he didn’t argue. Just slumped in his seat, staring at nothing. She wanted him to escort her, like before. But why?
For safety? She would already have dragons in tow.
Then it clicked.
His dragon.
“On the condition Gyrak is harnessed,” I said, the pressure in my skull easing. If that beast pulled our ship, we’d cut the journey from weeks to days. Time reclaimed.
Ronan groaned, burying his face in his hand. Nereus leaned back, watching me with quiet calculation. Nienna ducked her head, barely hiding a satisfied smile.
This was her plan. Every step laid for me. Pride swelled, hot in my chest. Despite the ache in my body, something settled in me.
This—this was what it meant to have a true partner. Not just a queen, but a co-ruler. She wasn’t dead weight. She cleared paths.
“It would shorten your travel time considerably,” Nereus murmured, fingers dragging through his beard. “You’ll remain here until the month concludes. Then return by sea—Gyrak in harness.”
“The riot of five will launch four days after our departure,” I added. “I won’t have dragons descending on my people without my presence.”
“Done.”
The negotiations rolled on. My headache clung to the edges of thought, and I let Fallione steer the rest, stepping in only when necessary.
When it ended, I gave the formal parting expected of a king—then walked straight to my rooms.
My boots hit the wall with dull thuds, kicked off with more determination than coordination. After removing my mantle, the bed took me without protest, swallowing my aching limbs. The mattress gave a soft creak as I sank, spine throbbing, shoulders locked, my mind still spinning from the meeting.
Greaves muttered something low to Fallione near the door. I didn’t catch the words, didn’t care to. Every sound grated. Even the rustle of fabric felt like teeth against stone.
My skull throbbed—tight pressure building with nowhere left to go. Muscles coiled across my back, too many nights tense, too little sleep.
I closed my eyes.
Darkness rushed in, thick and immediate.
The seat beneath me offered no escape. Plush and yielding, but I couldn’t sink far enough to disappear. Not from her.
She perched beside me at the dining table, poisoning every word that left my mouth with her spite. Across from me, Claydon stood tall, expression raw, pleading for reinforcements at the foothills. His people required protection. I needed to give it.
“I will come to your aid,” I said, trying to rise—but my feet refused. Something rooted me to the floor. My own body turned traitor.