I frowned, my disapproval clear.
“Perhaps a ball in his honor,” he said.
“Aball?” General Darius spat the word, his voice rough with disbelief.
Across the table, Fallione stiffened, his fists tightening as his gaze drilled into the map, as if sheer focus could temper the bite he no doubt wished to unleash.
“Yes,” Tallon continued, unflinching, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk. “A formal occasion, General. Nobles dressed in finery, exchanging pleasantries. Though I imagine you might find little to discuss beyond soldiering—bland topics for a dance.”
“You weren’t there,boy, when Vellos–”
“There isn’t enough notice.” My tone cut through the tension before Darius could step too far. Tallon’s goading had worked, but the general should’ve known better. “A few days won’t suffice to prepare.”
“Just a small one.” Tallon brushed a hand through his dark hair, revealing the sharp angles of his face, features gleaming with an intensity that bordered on defiance. “Say the word, Father. I’ll handle it. Foreign relations are my domain—let me do my job.”
It was the first time he’d ever shown enthusiasm for the duties laid upon him. His smile, more a baring of teeth than a sign of goodwill, carried a challenge I did not trust. The calculation in his gaze made my chest tighten, but I couldn’t ignore the truth. Radaan didn’t belong to me alone. It was his kingdom, too.
The lantern’s glow flickered across his face, and for a moment, his eyes gleamed like a predator’s—too much like the Velli.
But this was my son. My only heir. Without him, the throne held no future. If he wanted to test himself, I wouldn’t stand in his way.
“Done,” I said. “Set it for the day after his arrival.”
Fallione’s jaw tightened as his eyes closed, a practiced gesture of restrained fury. Across the table, Darius sank into his seat, muttering curses under his breath while shaking his head.
“Thank you,” Tallon replied, his tone laden with anything but gratitude. “Who’s the ambassador?”
A groan rippled through the room. My own eyes closed against the dull throb of frustration. He listened only when it served his purpose, a trait inherited straight from his mother.
“Egath,” I said at last, the name heavy on my tongue.
Egath, son of Wrath. The warrior whose blade came within a whisper of my heart at the foothills. The descendant of the man I killed.
“Done!”
Tallon shot to his feet with far more enthusiasm than the topic deserved. Verard rose with him, both offering a curt excuse before taking their leave.
The heavy thud of the doors shutting echoed through the chamber. Silence reigned until Darius turned a scowl on me, his disapproval written in the hard lines of his face.
I met his glare with indifference. He had no heirs. War consumed his every moment. He wouldn’t understand.
Not that I did either.
That night, I distanced myself from Nienna. My mask remained a quiet defense against the swirling tension in the room. The Velli were coming—into the very heart of Radaan, the one place I had kept them out of. The safety of my people, the sanctuary I had fought for, would be exposed to their bloodlust.
Even as I avoided her, I couldfeelher presence. The sound of her voice, the warmth in her gaze—it was a balm to my fractured soul. She embodied everything pure and unbroken—the fire in the Radaanian people that refused to fade. As long as she was safe, perhaps it would be enough.
Tallon rambled on about the ball, dismissing every suggestion Nienna made with a scoff. She tried to offer encouragement, but he shut her down each time, his laughter biting, his words belittling.
The way he treated her stirred a cold anger in me, a bitterness I knew all too well.
I couldn’t stay. I rose, the chair scraping against the stone floor. As I left the dining hall, I felt her gaze following me, sharp with questions. She wanted to ask, but the company wouldn’t allow it.
When we ventured past the private kitchen in our wing, without a word, Igor handed me my cider, a grin flickering across his face. I moved on, passing the cup to Greaves, who took a sip as we walked.
When we reached the pond stairwell, he offered me the mug, nodding as if it passed his inspection.
“I swear you drink more each time,” I muttered, eyeing the half-filled cup.
