I knew the customs of her people. Draconis were far from prudish, but their noblewomen were treasures, their virtue guarded. And yet, I had stood there in the sparring ring, stripped to the waist.
And I’d made enough of an impression for her to draw me.
Her lines, clean and deliberate, marked the canvas with a precision that betrayed practiced skill. The curves of the torso were mine, though the face remained a hollow void, the legs unfinished. Yet, cutting across the chest, she had etched the jagged scar—a brutal relic of the battlefield.
How many more scars had she noticed?
Sleep refused to claim me. I tried to ground my thoughts to the harvests in the south or the watchtowers guarding the eastern frontier. I thought of the Untamed Valley and the great crater that scarred the land. Anything to keep my mind fromher. From the bead of sweat that had slipped down her neck, catching the light, or the way her trousers hugged her frame.
Did she have to wear fabric so close to her skin’s tone? Couldn’t it have been black? Red, perhaps?
An unbidden image flared—a sheer tunic, crimson trousers clinging to her figure. Heat coiled low in my stomach, and I cursed under my breath, biting back a groan as I turned again in the bed, kicking at the tangled sheets. Why were my rooms so hot?
Greaves grumbled from the cot, his words muffled by the pillow. “Fight it out or walk it off?” He didn’t bother lifting his head.
“Sleep,” I barked, scrubbing a hand over my face.
I would have sleep.
My finger tapped against my thigh beneath the council table, the anxious motion concealed from view. My gaze drifted to the empty chair on Tallon’s right, the left now occupied by his newest companion. Verard’gog—a minor landowner from the Craggs. It seemed all of his guests hailed from the east these days.
Nienna had avoided me for two nights. Two.
Not that I could offer her much in the way of marital advice. What wisdom could I share, except whatnotto do?
Look your husband in the eye when he speaks. Listen when he rambles about the strain between nations. Don’t scream and strike him when he tries to kiss you.
Unbidden, shame unfurled in my chest, raw and biting. Memories of Eldeiade’s tirades clawed to the surface. Her voice, rising like a whip crack, accusing me of treating her like an animal, only to demand an heir in the next breath. The venom in her words as she tore at me in private, unraveling everything I tried to hold together.
Nothing was ever good enough for her.
I swallowed hard, forcing the thoughts aside. They lingered like ghosts at the edges of my mind, but the council’s murmur drew me to the present. Still, the bitterness remained, a familiar taste I couldn’t quite spit out.
It wouldn’t be Tallon enduring those tirades and verbal abuse. No, it would be Nienna.
The thought twisted through me as Lieghton’son droned on about the drought plaguing his province. He proposed trenches from the Fillyen River, while Har’mon railed against it, arguing it would devastate his wheat fields. Their voices blurred into the background, eclipsed by the rising tide of my own irritation.
Where was Nienna?
At a social gathering, perhaps, immersed in the labyrinthine games of court? Was she seated among noblewomen, nodding as they spoke of her “luck” in securing a match with Tallon?
My son chuckled low, his shoulders shaking with quiet amusement at some remark from Verard. The nobleman’s gaze flicked to mine, and for a moment, the shrewd smirk that followed slipped past his polished mask.
Perhaps she was alone, sketching—a refuge from the deceit and hollow courtesies that poisoned our world.
Was she drawing me again? Filling in the blanks of her unfinished sketch? A smile tugged at the corner of my lips. I shifted in my chair, angling my head to shield the traitorous expression from view.
I was a blasted king, smiling over a princess drawing me.
Throne or not, I had never allowed the burden of my years—or my crown—to drag my body into disrepair. Sparring with Greaves and the occasional disciplinary bout with Tallon kept my strength honed. I was no longer a young man, and the hard lines of my youth had softened, but they hadn’t disappeared. Clearly, they were sharp enough to inspire a virile, golden-haired woman to commit them to canvas.
“—Velli within the week.”
The name struck like a cold wind, scattering the warmth of her memory.Velli—my enemy and the architect of half my troubles—demanded my focus.
“His rooms are prepared.” My voice dipped, deliberate and firm. These were not friends.Oneambassador, permitted under the treaty, would now reside within these walls—his quarters placed at the farthest end of the palace, as distant from Nienna’s as possible.
“It would serve us well to extend an olive branch, Father.” Tallon’s gaze locked on mine, a glint of challenge in their depths.
