“Nienna.” He spoke my name like a plea. “It’s important. The king takes life, yes—but the queen cleanses him of death, reminding him of the lives he safeguarded with the sacrifice. She must bring life into the world. That’s her duty.”
I faltered, the weight of his words settling over me. Fyrn had mentioned Eldeiade never fulfilled her role, abandoning the rituals for reasons unknown.
The pain etched into Kallias’ face told me it had cut him deep. Not just the act of the hunt, but her refusal to share in his belief, in his need for balance. It seemed such a simple thing—to wash away blood and share intimacy—but to him, it was sacred. And she had denied him.
The realization struck like a blow. How much destruction had he endured? Years of war with Vellos, leaving behind a trail of bodies. Hundreds, maybe thousands. Yet here he was, inquiring about crops, discussing mines, admiring gardens. He cherished life with the same hands that wielded devastation.
My chest ached for him, for the man who bore that burden in silence.
“Death is necessary, but life? Life must be treasured, Nienna.”
Words hovered on the tip of my tongue. Kallias wasn’t only violence and destruction. He guarded Radaan, kept her safe, gave her another chance at peace. Without him, could she have survived the war? Would she have endured?
I glanced away, swallowing unspoken thoughts. No words could ease his pain. I couldn’t reach for him or soothe the weight he carried, no matter how I wished I could.
Instead, I focused on the engravings. Scenes of battle became sparse, yielding to stretches of farming and mining. The shift felt intentional, a quiet celebration of life’s smaller victories. I traced a carving of a babe cradled in a woodland home, marveling at the artist’s skill. Did they live still, or had their hands carved other wonders in this manor long before?
The staircase spiraled upward until we reached the summit. At its end, a pair of immense doors loomed, adorned with twisting vine carvings that seemed to pulse with life. Sunlight spilled through narrow windows, catching the mirrors and scattering its warmth down the cold, shadowed corridor.
Two guards snapped to attention as Kallias dismounted. He turned to help me down, his touch steady at my waist. I hid a smile as my feet touched the stone floor.
“Remember, Nienna,” he said, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face. “You’re safe here.”
I nodded, his words sinking into my chest like an anchor in calm waters. Safe or not, the blade strapped to my thigh would remain within reach. Safety didn’t mean letting my guard slip.
With my hand on his arm, we approached the entrance. Greaves trailed behind, silent and watchful. The guards turned in unison, hauling the great doors open.
The sight beyond stopped me in my tracks.
Claydon, hair a wild puff of white, stood braiding his wife’s silken gray locks with meticulous care. His nimble fingers worked, though the effort pulled a grumble or two from him.
“King Kallias! Princess Nienna!” he called, his voice warm with familiarity. “I do beg your pardon, but this has been a great undertaking, I beg just one more moment!”
Behind them stretched an immense receiving hall. Vibrant tapestries of greens, pinks, reds, and blues adorned the walls, their summer hues banishing the gray monotony of the tunnel. A plush brown carpet sprawled across the floor, burgundy runes stitched in its weave. The dark wooden furniture clustered in welcoming nooks, paired with soft blankets and stacks of books, created an inviting, lived-in warmth. The room rivaled the palace in grandeur, yet felt homier.
“Good evening, my king, my princess.”
Gayle’s kind face lit with a smile. She wore a simple blue gown, elegant without pretension. Her husband, in sapphire overcoat and trousers, tied the braid with a flourish before leaning into a bow. She followed with a graceful curtsy, deeper than expected for her age and standing.
“Rise, Claydon,” Kallias said, his voice free of the frosty formality he reserved for nobles. “I’ve told you for years to light that tunnel.”
“And waste good oil?” he scoffed, one hand landing on his hip as his eyes crinkled with humor. “Pah!”
“Oh, were you frightened?” Gayle asked, stepping forward with concern, her outstretched arms a gesture of comfort.
“Not in the slightest,” I replied, grinning as I clasped her hands.
Greaves cleared his throat.
“I had the king of Radaan at my side. What are a few shadows?” I laughed.
Gayle shook her head, her grin brightening as she studied my dress. “Andeluith herself would think twice before coming down on Kallias.”
Claydon chuckled, drawing my gaze. My lips tightened into a thin smile. Could the tunnel collapse, then? The possibility gnawed at me, unspoken but heavy.
“You must be weary from your travels,” Gayle said, pulling my attention to her. “Clay, take the men to the library for a drink. I’ll escort the princess to her rooms so she can freshen up beforedinner.”
The older woman looped her arm through mine, her grip firm but kind, then guided me away. Twisting to glance back, I caught Kallias’ amused grin. His nod urged me forward.
