Chapter Thirty-One #2
Her voice echoed as if down a corridor. My heart rammed into my ribs.
Red welts on arms. Bruises hidden under crimson silk. Black hair covering what little remained. Whispers and rumors that I abused women—that I was a monster. That my charm masked something vile.
I flinched.
The memories surged—shadows I thought I’d drowned. I tried to shove them down again, but it was like submerging my fist in a jar of water. The more I pushed, the more they surfaced.
Eldeiade had been cruel. Vicious. And when she started the rumors, it didn’t matter what I said. The court believed her. A king who beat women behind closed doors. That’s who she made me.
It took years to undo the wreckage—years marked by silence, strategy, and deliberate distance.
I refused her hands, dodged her reach, turned every gesture into a line she couldn’t cross.
Each rejection became a quiet tally, a shield forged from restraint.
And now… now Nienna wore the evidence Eldeiade once claimed I left behind.
I hurt Nienna.
There were days I wanted to strike Eldeiade. I pictured it more times than I’d admit—yet I never lifted a hand. Her cruelty simmered in my blood. Fermented. I endured her abuse, waiting for the day she’d go too far and I could call for her head without guilt.
But Nienna?
She was the one sacred, pure thing I claimed in my life. And now her skin mirrored the very accusation I spent years disproving. The lie had found shape again. This time, in someone I cared for.
Tangled on the bed, her trousers slipped low, the dress caught between her thighs like a shroud. The soft rustle of fabric sounded far away.
“Kallias?” she whispered.
I looked up.
Not just eyes. Her whole face watched me, open and unguarded. Irises like seawater. Confusion blooming beneath furrowed brows.
Passion drained in an instant, dying in a puff of smoke. What filled me wasn’t cold—it was hollow. An emptiness that gnawed at my ribs.
“I’ll be back,” I said, the words gravel in my throat. My voice cracked, breaking the air between us like something fragile.
She was not Eldeiade.
“Wait—talk to me.”
I backed toward the door, my legs moving while my mind stayed trapped. Thought splintered under the torrent of emotion rising in waves.
Disgust churned first, then shame, then a deeper rot. Not fear of her—but of myself. A pathetic man hunted by echoes that never faded. Her bruises dragged my past into the light and held it there. A living nightmare.
I snatched my tunic, the linen rough in my grip, and shoved it over my head. My fingers found the lock and turned it before my mind caught up. The door swung wide, and I pushed through, desperate for air free of her scent.
Greaves stood there, blocking my path.
His brow snapped into a frown as his gaze dropped to my chest. He stepped aside, but flinched when I stormed past.
He followed.
Failure. That’s what this was. A reminder that no amount of progress could erase the scars. Life would always find a way to throw this back in my face. There was no escaping it.
“Where in gods’ name do they spar here?” I snapped, fingers buried in my hair.
Greaves didn’t answer. He just picked up speed, and I followed. The hallways stretched quiet and still, but I rushed through them, skin on fire.
He led us through the Cireendium, then down to the first level, past the grand floor where we’d signed the treaty. Turn after turn, Greaves moved as if this route had become familiar, like he’d walked it more than once since we arrived.
We stepped into a vast, windowless chamber. Lanterns burned low along the walls, their flames flickering gold over stained wood painted in concentric circles.
A training room, similar to the one I recognized from our boyhood drills.
Weapon racks lined the edges—swords, staves, spears. I walked straight to the shortswords. A spear would’ve kept him at a distance, but I craved the heat of close combat. I wanted to feel the sting of every strike. Let Greaves knock the guilt from my bones, draw penance for my sins.
Black stone walls loomed around us, matte and lightless. The air pressed heavy, gloom wrapping me like a second skin.
Greaves rolled his shoulders, loosening his stance. I tested the weapon in my grip, adjusting to the unfamiliar weight before I stepped into the smallest ring. He moved to meet me, gaze dipping to the blade in my hand before drawing his own.
As soon as steel cleared leather, I struck. No warning. No hesitation. I threw myself into the clash, a flurry of slashes and parries. Each blow shoved memories deeper. The ringing metal drowned my thoughts.
Greaves slipped inside my defense and seized my wrist. “What happened?” he hissed, breath sharp through clenched teeth.
I wrenched free. He let me go, stepping back, eyes locked on my feet. My chest heaved. A twitch shivered under my eye.
He had asked me the same question once—after the first night with Eldeiade.
With a growl, I lunged. We fell into motion, blades snapping and twisting in tight arcs. Each movement deliberate. Every counter mattered. One mistake could brand us both.
He ducked beneath my guard and clamped an arm around my neck, lips at my ear. “She’s not Eldeiade.”
“Then why does she remind me of her?!” I roared, swinging wild and hard.
He grunted, rolled free of my reach.
“Why do I see black hair instead of blonde? Why does my mind betray me?” My blade came down again. “Why can’t I forget?!”
My muscles screamed. Each strike slammed against his sword, arms shaking from the impact. Pain told me I was strong, that I was still standing. Not the beaten king who hid from his wife.
Or was I?
Was this fighting? Or flailing in her shadow?
Her ghost laughed in my mind. Delighted. Triumphant. I’d pushed Nienna away—and Eldeiade was winning.
I turned and hurled the sword. My scream cracked through the chamber.
Kallias Sunspear, King of Radaan, a pawn in his dead wife’s game.
Steel scraped across the floor, echoing sharp. My rage throbbed beneath my skin. I needed to break something. Prove I wasn’t weak. Prove I could still feel.
“Kal–”
“You wouldn’t understand,” I spat, even though he did. He heard the whispers and rumors, saw the stares I endured. Witnessed her cruelty, the jabs I never dodged. She had broken me—the one person I was supposed to trust.
“Pick up your sword, Kallias.”
I turned, teeth bared. Nereus stood in the doorway, expression unreadable.
Greaves shifted aside, the loyal guard once more.
“I said, pick it up,” Nereus snapped, his voice rising.
“This isn’t your business,” I bit back, holding tight to the chaos boiling in my chest.
He drew his sword, stepping into the ring. “You married my daughter. That makes it my business.”
He swung—not fast, not reckless. Just enough to force movement. I ducked, dove for my blade, and caught it in time to block.
Greaves fought fair. Nereus did not. He struck with a power I couldn’t match, strength too sharp, too sure. He had to be using magic—each blow faster than the last, each step more relentless. I barely had a chance to breathe before his sword came again and again, forcing me out of our circle.
His teeth flashed. “Where’s your light now, King of Radaan?” He dipped under my guard and slammed the hilt against my ribs. Air left my lungs in a wheeze.
Gods. He was using magic.
I stumbled sideways, lungs clawing for breath.
Elohios, hear me. Lend me your strength.
My sword arm flew up to block another strike, but my skin—pale, bare—offered no protection. No glow shimmered beneath the surface. No flicker of light answered my plea. Only silence.
“You’ve let your past chain you,” Nereus said, stepping back as his blade dipped in a slow arc, tip brushing the ground.
My chest rose in heavy, rattling breaths. Pain throbbed deep in my ribs, a steady beat beneath the louder cry of pride.
I was being schooled by a man years my senior. Why did that bother me when I was content to let Greaves batter me?
Because he was my wife’s father. He knew I hurt her, though I couldn’t imagine how.
“My past was buried. Forgotten,” I rasped, each word gravel on my tongue. “You dug it up.”
“Buried, yes. Forgotten?” He gave a small shake of his head. “You might not be new to a union. But marriage isn’t about rule—it’s about surrender. It’s a single soul, split and shared.”
My grip tightened on the sword’s hilt, knuckles whitening with the effort. “She doesn’t need to know.”
“You’re right,” he said, softer this time. “But you need her to.”
My gaze fell to the floor. No one deserved to carry it, to relive those horrors. To voice it aloud would only stir the rot, drag the past into the open where it could fester in daylight. Yet if I left it buried, would it be any better?
Was he right? Would her knowing help anything? Or would she believe me weak for my flinches, my craving for control?
Would she regret her marriage to a weak king?
“Ready yourself!”
Nereus rushed me again. Steel collided, the blow jarring straight through my arms and into my ribs, which flared with pain.
“Show me your light!” he roared, eyes blazing with fury.
Elohios. Honesty. Truth.
Who was I lying to?
Not her.
Myself.
Brightness flickered in my veins—weak, unsure, barely rising.
This wound was mine, no one else’s. But if I left her in the dark, if I allowed her to believe her love had somehow broken me, if she bore guilt for something she never caused…
Forgive me.
Radiance burst from within, lacing my skin with gold. Cracks split across my arms like veins carved in fire. Nereus cursed, lifting a hand to shield his eyes as the brilliance blinded him.
I stood in the glow. My chest heaved. My sword hung loose at my side.
I could carry the burden of my past. I had before.
But Nienna did not deserve to suffer for my actions.
She was my partner, not a crutch. Two halves of a single soul—we rose or fell together. And I had no right to guard a wound she had already reached for with gentle hands and open truth.
“I’m done,” I said, the words raw.
I turned from the fight, dragging my aching body to the rack and placing my sword back into its cradle. Behind me, Nereus didn’t follow. He watched in silence, unreadable, as if measuring the shape of something that had finally cracked open.
Each step stung. Bruised ribs. Tight breath. But those wounds would heal.
The one beneath? That aching, blistered gash in my soul?
Only she could mend that.