Tallon’s mother relished the violence, encouraged it even, filling the hall with bloodthirsty crowds.
Now, it was a place for a father to discipline an unruly son.
When I returned with the signed peace treaty, I hoped for an end to bloodshed. I had done my duty, seen too many soldiers die. The mockery of battle had no appeal anymore. I retired the royal combatants, sending them away, despite Tallon’s complaints.
I swung the sword in a wide arc, following through with a lunge. My right shoulder twinged, an old ache from when it had nearly been hacked off by a Velli warrior. I ignored the sharp reminder and fell into the flow of practice, each move as instinctive as breathing. The door slammed shut behind me, but I didn’t look up.
The sun had passed its zenith. When I finished, I would take a reprieve—a cold bath, a necessary one, given the way the heat clung to my tunic, sticking to my chest and chafing my skin as it dragged across my back.
“You’ve brought this on yourself.” I grunted, the words slipping from my mouth as the steps neared. Soft footfalls, the kind that made me wonder if Tallon had opted for something less ostentatious today.
Without looking up, I thrust the sword into the sand and tugged at the hem of my tunic. Sun be cursed, I cared little for formality at the moment—no one else was here to witness my lapse.
Greaves coughed, or rather, choked, his gaze fixed somewhere behind me. I turned, barely restraining a flinch.
It wasn’t Tallon who entered.
Chapter Twelve
Nienna
The breeze grazed my parted lips—a whisper of coolness, or maybe just the sound of my own breath catching. Flames licked at my skin, spreading a warm blush over my cheeks and ears, staining them a vivid scarlet.
And yet, I could not tear my eyes from Kallias’ body.
Broad shoulders thick with solid, corded muscle, each line of his chest and capable arms stark under the midday light. His wrists were caught in his sleeves, drawing my gaze lower, where the taut ridges of his abdomen rose and fell with quiet power. A faint dusting of dark hair brushed across his skin, the trail disappearing into his trousers’ waistband.
He whipped the tunic back over his head in one fluid motion, the fabric whispering over his torso as he stretched and flexed. I snapped my mouth shut, caught between fleeing and pretending I hadn’t just ogled him like a stunned courtier.
The shirt fell past his navel; the hem skimming his hips, and some small part of me wanted to demand he take it right back off.
Those eyes locked onto mine, and I struggled to swallow around the dryness in my throat, forcing a smile. His brow furrowed, gaze flicking to my guards, then to me with the intensity of a hawk zeroing in. With a swift jerk, he tugged his sword from the sand and strode forward.
I pressed my damp palms against my skirts, moving closer to the iron fence—a slim barrier between me and the arena’s sandy drop. My mouth felt parched, and I traced my lips with my tongue, a small, nervous gesture that caught his eye.
“Good day.”
“Where is Tallon?”
Our voices overlapped, but his cut through, overpowering my cracked tone with ease.
I gripped the handrail to steady myself. “I was told he’d be here.” My eyes slid down, almost involuntarily, to where the linen clung to his bronzed skin, the fabric skimming each carved line of muscle—leaving little to the imagination. “Fyrn’sol told me he would be here.” The words tumbled out again, and I cursed my own repetition.
Think of Fyrn—clever, graceful Fyrn with her golden hair and eyes like a midsummer sky.
But my attention kept drifting to Kallias, to the way his presence seemed to fill every corner of the arena.
His sharp gaze pinned me, slicing through me as if he could hear my thoughts. My smile wavered, brittle under the intensity of his scrutiny. Those piercing eyes, dazzling yet shrewd, weighed each word I spoke, as if testing their truth. Heat prickled over my cheeks, deepening the flush that must have looked painfully incriminating.
Surely, he did not think I sought him out?
Not that I could complain, considering the state I found him in.
The arena’s entryway crashed open, and I gave Radaan’s gods a silent prayer of thanks as Tallon strode in.
“Father,” he drawled, fingers pushing back his dark hair.
Fyrn’sol beamed as she trailed him, her eyes flicking between me and Kallias. She rushed toward me as Tallon flashed a vicious grin, then altered his course to the arena’s stairs.
