I drew in a sharp breath. I hadn’t dared suggest that, determined to fulfill my duty for Draconia’s sake. For Tallon to request my dismissal—retract his father’s blood oath and the very foundation of our treaty—would push Draconia and Radaan to the brink of war.
“Radaan needs this, Nienna.” His tone steadied, though his voice remained tight, guarded. “If we don’t secure this alliance—and the marriage that binds it—the Velli will attack within a year. They won’t stop, and this time, I’m not certain we can hold them back.”
His jaw tightened as he exhaled a weary sigh. He was risking everything by telling me Tallon requested to dissolve the contract—all for the sake of honesty.
“Kallias—”
His gaze darkened, a perfect mirror of the night sky as he searched my face.
“—I will marry Tallon. Draconia needs food. Our dragons deserve better hunting grounds. My duty isn’t to him, but to our kingdoms. I know where I belong, and it’s here, at Radaan’s side.”
His eyelids drifted shut as if my words pained him, and he turned away.
“If I may be blunt?” I asked, hating the invisible weight he shouldered—even though I was the one marrying Tallon.
He nodded, draining his mug.
“I’ve heard there was little love between you and the late queen.”
His eye twitched, and his posture shifted—the stiff set of his shoulders, the subtle bracing of his stance. There was more to the story, more than he wanted to share, and I needed to uncover it.
“Perhaps you could offer guidance.”
“Marriage advice?” His scoff came short and dry.
“From one loveless union to the next.” I beamed, though the words cut a gash through my heart. Love was never an expectation, but I had hoped, at least, for a partner I could tolerate.
“I fear I’m rather unqualified.” He held out his hand, a silent gesture for my cup.
“That’s where you’re wrong.” I drained the last sip and swung my legs over the wall, dropping beside him. The warmth radiating from him brushed my skin like a stolen comfort. “You can teach me how to win Tallon’s heart. You’re the most qualified—unlessyouwere the one who pushed the queen away?”
A flicker betrayed him, a brief twitch at the corner of his eye. His tell. I extended the cup, grinning in challenge.
He squinted, then sighed, and took it from my grasp. His fingers grazed my palm, the touch lingering just enough to notice.
“Come tomorrow night.” He shook his head, a reluctant smirk tugging at his lips. “I’ll share my pearls of wisdom. Though I doubt you’ll find them valuable.”
“I shall string them into a necklace.”
I laughed, retreating toward the door. My steps were lighter, my chest unburdened. It wasn’t the crisp air or even the time with him—it was the invitation. He wanted me to return.
And that was just silly.
Chapter Thirteen
Nienna
The canvas loomed before me, its surface a taunting confession. My fingers twitched, itching to hurl it into a hearth—even in the sweltering summer heat, where no flames danced. Obliteration was the only solution.
Rough lines and jagged strokes seemed to pulse with accusation. The strong, sinewed figure caught in charcoal was unfinished but damning. The face remained blank, yet the wrists were bound in the sleeves of a garment.
“What are you sketching?” Fyrn’s voice pierced the silence behind me.
My breath hitched. Too late. Her sharp eyes had already seen it. Suppressing the sting of panic, I reached for the canvas, letting my features settle into an indifferent mask.
“Nothing of importance,” I muttered, fingers curling to claim it.
“Is that a man?” Dior’gad rose from her chair, pinching her spectacle into place as she squinted at the sketch.
