Though he didn’t say it, his posture spoke volumes—he despised being kept in the dark, especially when it hindered his duty to protect Reem.
The dressing room door opened before I could respond. Nienna stepped out, her presence commanding the space like a gale sweeping through a still meadow.
For a moment, I forgot myself.
Men like Darius would assume she’d retreat behind locked doors, trembling at every flicker of a shadow. She had all the reasons to do so, to surrender to fear.
But it was not a frightened girl who emerged. It was the Princess of Draconia. Her chin lifted, her steps steady, and the weight of the moment transformed into unyielding resolve. Though her cheeks still bore faint traces of tears, her eyes burned with a fierce determination that ignited something primal in me. It wasn’t just courage—it was her defiance that sent my blood roaring in my veins.
A long black gown flowed over her form, hugging her throat and waist before cascading to the floor. Slits revealed breeches beneath, tucked into polished boots.
She’d turned her grief into a shield, her fear into armor.
Greaves shifted behind me and I frowned, wondering if I had made some noise of approval.
A crown of golden braids circled her head, the handiwork of Edith’s deft fingers. The speed and precision left me marveling, though the effect wasn’t lost on me.
Nienna was no princess tonight. She was a queen forged in fire, prepared to wield her sorrow like a blade.
Beside me, Darius bowed as she halted before us. Worry pulled her lips into a frown, and she picked at the bandage wrapped around her injured hand before she caught herself and dropped her arms to her sides. The nervous gesture revealed more than her composed expression intended.
I itched to give her a blade. Even untrained, it was better than nothing.
“Princess,” I murmured, though the warmth in my tone betrayed more than I meant to.
Her ocean-deep eyes caught mine, revealing pain she tried to mask with a tight, deliberate smile. “Your Majesty. General,” she greeted, her voice steady, her demeanor poised.
“The council awaits.” I offered my arm, feigning propriety to excuse my need to keep her near.
Her fingers curled over my elbow, betraying her tension. It was only appropriate, I assured myself, though her touch sent a thrum of pleasure through my heart.
Behind us, the Thresher shadowed our steps, and Darius stationed himself at Nienna’s side as we entered the corridor.
Guards flanked the doors, their eyes alert, while staff darted like shadows in the periphery. Chaos hummed in the air, yet protocol kept everyone moving.
“Prince Tallon has requested to remain in his quarters,” the general announced with a bite of disapproval.
Refused to attend was more likely, but I wasn’t about to push for answers—not when his disdain for the prince was written in every taut muscle of his frame. It was better this way. I didn’t need him near Nienna in her fragile state. He’d only fan the flames of an already tense situation.
Let him skulk in the shadows.
My hand settled on the hilt of my sword, the leather grip grounding me. “His presence isn’t required.”
“As the foreign advisor–”
“He’s relieved of that role.” My words cut through the air, sharp and final. Nienna’s fingers twitched against my arm, her unease palpable. I drew my elbow closer, brushing her hand with a firm yet subtle squeeze meant to steady her. “Malarnath will assume the position.”
Unlike Tallon, he wanted the position and had the diplomacy to handle it.
Darius let out a low hum, the sound thoughtful but guarded. Whatever musings played in his mind stayed locked behind his stern expression as we navigated toward the heart of the palace.
Nienna’s posture remained poised, her chin high, though the subtle flicker of her eyes betrayed her wariness. Her hand clung to my arm—not in fear, but with a resolute grip that mirrored her determination. As we entered a nondescript room and headed down a spiraling stairwell, the air cooled, thick with the faint tang of stone and damp.
The lanterns, suspended at measured intervals, cast their uneven glow on sandstone walls, their light trembling with each movement. The spiral staircase wound downward until it emptied into a narrow hall. Greaves pushed ahead, taking the lead in the confined space, while Darius slipped to the rear, flanked by a Thresher.
The passage was devoid of grandeur, built for necessity, not splendor. Bare walls whispered of function over form, their starkness a reminder of their siege-born purpose. Greaves passed shadowed corridors, black pits that yawned into nothingness.
Nienna’s gaze flicked toward one, curiosity pulling her head as she glanced into the abyss.
