“I doubt that,” I murmured.
My words felt almost too blunt, but they could not be helped. The king was too proper, too kind. I had seen him honor me in ways no one else had. He recognized my worth, allowed me to speak at the council even when he didn’t need to. He’d been nothing but respectful, and I couldn’t fathom him treating any woman as less than she deserved.
Tallon made the first move, lunging with an overhead strike. The clash of steel echoed in the arena. They fought with naked blades?
“Me too.” Her tone carried a quiet bitterness. “You should have seen how she treated people. She only showed love to her son—tried to keep him from the king as much as she could, and he stayed away. They were almost never together.”
My heart tightened at the thought. Would Tallon treat me the same way? My parents loved each other fiercely—and often enough that my brother and I would hide to avoid their overt displays of affection. I came from a home where love was a blessing, not just a duty. And yet, I was marrying into a family so broken, so distant—one that seemed to loathe thevery idea of connection.
Kallias parried Tallon’s strike, letting him take the offensive. Blow after blow rained down, each met with calm, almost shrugging off the attacks.
How many verbal blows had the king deflected from his late queen? How many insults had he endured and dismissed as effortlessly as he shrugged off Tallon’s attacks? Would I be expected to do the same?
The thought turned my stomach. I had agreed to this union for an alliance, for the good of my people—but also for myself. It was my choice, despite the burden of duty.
But what if that meant living in a world of isolation, in a marriage where love was merely a formality? If I broke the engagement, I knew my father would welcome me home—but what would I return to? A sullied reputation, the stain of a princess who ran from her fate, from her father’s blood oath? I’d be branded a failure, a coward, no matter what my heart truly desired.
I could escape a miserable married life, but at what cost? Not only for me, but for the Radaanian people, for Draconia. This alliance was critical for both sides. I might not have witnessed the full horror of war, but I saw Kallias picking up the pieces of his nation, rebuilding what had been torn apart. He wasn’t just a king—he was trying to create something new from the ashes of destruction.
And Tallon? He would raze it all to the ground without a second thought.
Kallias’ sword swung out with precision, twisting Tallon’s blow back onto himself. It was as though, in that instant, he finally had enough of his son’s reckless assault. Like a wave crashing against rocks, he surged forward, closing the distance with relentless force. The prince stumbled, retreating, his strikes now panicked and wild as he tried to parry the unyielding barrage.
Fyrn gasped, her breath catching as Tallon faltered. Panic flashed across his face, a raw expression I’d never seen on the arrogant young man. He caught himself, then retreated farther, his footfalls quick and desperate, no longer attempting to defend himself.
“Bare blades?” I choked out. One wrong move, and the royal bloodline—if it even was—could be severed for good.
“The king demands it,” Fyrn murmured, her gaze glued to the arena. “I think he believes wooden staves are too soft after the war.”
Of course. He bore witness to the carnage of battle, the lives lost—he would see this fight as more than a training exercise. There was no place for softness now.
A low snarl cut through the tension, and my lips parted in surprise as I realized it came from Kallias. He lunged again, not giving Tallon an inch. Each strike, each thrust, was deliberate, precise, and as swift as the wind. The king wasn’t relying on brute strength; he read his son’s every feint, every attempt to deceive him, and countering with a speed that only came from years of relentless practice. The kind of practice that separated warriors from mere men.
He smacked Tallon across the head with the flat of his blade, the slap echoing.
Fyrn let out a soft, empathetic whimper as the prince crumpled to the sand. But my gaze never left Kallias. He stepped back, giving him room to rise, his chest rising and falling with measured breaths. His sword tip dug into the sand, and the breeze ruffled his silvering hair. He ran a hand through the strands, pushing them away from his brow, muttering something too low for me to hear.
Tallon’s reply was a venomous snarl. White-knuckled, Kallias gripped the hilt, spinning around, and stalked back to the arena’s center.
Greaves, standing at attention against the wall, gave no indication of concern. It was clear he knew Kallias could handle Tallon with ease.
“He should be more careful. He’s bleeding,” Fyrn whispered.
It was true. Blood trickled down Tallon’s cheek, and he wiped it away with disgust before forcing himself to his feet. His gaze flicked in our direction, but his anger was all-consuming. With a grimace, he stormed toward Kallias, his features a mask of rage.
“One slip-up, and his son’s face could be scarred forever,” she murmured.
I blinked—she thought the king had been careless. I bit my cheek, holding back my rebuke. Ronan and my father had sparred enough that I knew Kallias’ every step was deliberate. His blows were controlled, his movements calculated. He was letting Tallon waste his energy, waiting for him to become overly confident, then striking when the moment was right.
That strike hadn’t been careless—it took the utmost care.
“At least you wouldn’t have to marry him,” I scoffed.
Her lips twitched in a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Her gaze remained fixed on the prince, and guilt twisted my heart. I winced, knowing she was his friend.
“Surly Kallias won’t let that happen,” I added, attempting to reassure her.
“I hope not. He never seems to care for Tallon, though.”
