The man snapped out of his trance, his gaze flicking up. The polite smile reappeared, though it seemed hollow. “No Velli shall ask for Radaanian blood.”
“Due to the breach of trust, I request you to retire to your rooms.” Kallias’ tone was flat, final. There was no question in his words.
Egath released my hand, leaning back and dropping his arms into his lap. Relief washed over me, but I kept my expression neutral, unwilling to show how eager I was to escape his grasp.
“She’s not Radaanian yet, and I didn’t ask for her blood,” he said. “I would never violate the treaty our men fought so bravely to establish.”
The reminder of war hovered in the air, thick and heavy. I kept my gaze fixed on the soup, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw Egath’s movements, everysubtle shift. The surrounding conversations fell silent, eager to catch whatever fragments of our exchange they could.
“You straddle the line, Ambassador.” Kallias’ voice was measured, but the warning beneath it was clear.
Egath rose, his smile tight, but his words wrapped in false contrition. “My sincerest apologies, Princess Nienna, and Your Majesty.” He bowed, then continued, “I am weary from my travels; an early night would be best.”
Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked around the table, descending the stairs. The nobles’ stares followed him, whispers drifting as they tried to gauge his intentions. Was he making a statement by leaving before the first course? Or was it just coincidence?
“The war is over, Father,” Tallon growled.
Kallias’ cold eyes never left Egath, tracking his every movement. The Velli’s chin was held high, a subtle smirk dancing on his lips as he passed through the crowd and toward the doors.
“The war is over, but peace is maintained by vigilance,” Kallias murmured, his words barely more than a breath as the door closed behind Egath. He picked up his spoon, dipping it into the soup without another glance at me.
Tallon huffed and followed suit, but my focus remained on the bowl in front of me. The red liquid swirled, and my wrist itched, as if Egath’s fingers still traced the veins.
There would be no eating for me tonight.
Six guards trailed me, their armor clanking with every step. Subtlety had long since fled. I’d left the evening meal early, unable to stomach more than a few bites before nausea twisted my insides.
Rubbing my wrist, I moved through the castle’s winding corridors, confident I could reach the roof without assistance. The hem of my green dress swished against my boots, and the long sleeves clung to my arms, stifling in the castle’s heat. Far more clothed than I had been the night before.
I’d nearly talked myself out of it. After our last conversation, I wasn’t sure approaching him so soon was wise. Yet, if anyone could ease the discomfort of having a Velli in the palace, it was him.
It should have unsettled me that, when troubled, I sought his presence, craved his proximity. But Kallias was always there—steadfast, ready to shield me—even from myself.
I climbed the wrought-iron stairs, wincing at the sound of my guards’ footsteps echoing behind. Halfway up, the balcony door swung open, and Greaves’ fierce gaze met mine. I flashed him a quick, apologetic smile. His frown softened as a hint of resignation passed over his face.
“You’re relieved,” he said, his voice low and smooth—deeper than I expected from a man who spoke so little.
The guards stopped at the landing as I reached the top. I nodded my thanks to Greaves. He grunted in amusement and held the door open for me.
Kallias stood by the railing, a steaming mug beside him. The sun had long set, leaving the fading glow of twilight. Above us, the stars blinked into view. The tension that had knotted me all day began to unravel, and I let out a breath.
He was just…right. Kallias was my anchor, steady in any storm.
Tonight, his overcoat was absent, leaving his broad shoulders exposed. The golden chains of his mantle gleamed against the stark white of his tunic. He didn’t turn to greet me but nudged the mug further away, as though to make room for me.
I approached, a nervous flutter stirring in my belly—a different kind of unease. The air between us felt charged with an unfamiliar tension, the kind that made every step seem heavier than the last.
The mugs still steamed, evidence he hadn’t been there long. His cup, slightly drained, rested between his large hands. I picked up the second one, scrunching my nose as the bitter aroma hit me.
“This isn’t cider,” I said, frowning at the scalding liquid. The scent was sharp, acrid—far from pleasant.
He chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that sent a shiver up my spine. “No. Tonight, I needed something stronger.”
I squinted, but he smirked, raising an eyebrow before taking a sip.
“What is it?”
“Don’t trust me?” His voice dropped low as he shifted to face me, leaning against the wall—cocky, unbothered.
