I forced my expression into something polite, serene. The dagger disappeared into the folds of my dress as I straightened my posture. The façade held firm, but inside, my heart ached, splintered into pieces too jagged to mend.
It was all a play I was locked in. Some drama that I starred in. Promised to a prince who hated me, trusted to marry him by a starving nation. A king that wanted me, but his kingdom’s survival hinged on my union.
This wasn’t a drama.
It was a tragedy.
Chapter Twenty
Nienna
Scythe’s smile vanished as I crossed the threshold of my chambers, the dagger slipping from my fingers to clatter against the floor. She rose from the chair where she’d been reading, placing the book aside. Her wary gaze swept over me, her composure cracking.
Before the first tear escaped, she pulled me into her arms. Her embrace was firm, anchoring me as my strength collapsed. My knees buckled, and I sagged against her, crushed by everything I couldn’t say.
I hated Tallon. The thought of marrying him made my stomach churn, but my father’s blood oath bound me. My duty demanded it, though my heart rebelled against every thread of that obligation.
“What happened?” Scythe guided me to the sofa in the receiving room, and I let her lead me, too drained to resist.
“It’s all wrong.” Tears choked my words, and I nestled my head into the crook of her neck as her fingers brushed back my hair, her touch gentle but grounding. “I never expected to marry for love—I’ve always known that.”
My knees drew to my chest as I curled into her. “But why—why do I…” My voice fractured into a sob, Kallias’ face flashing in my mind. His promise, his shame, Tallon’s vile accusations—all of it lashed at me like a storm.
“You love him, don’t you?” she whispered. She didn’t name him, but she didn’t need to.
The silence that followed screamed louder than any confession I might’ve given. I couldn’t bring myself to say it, couldn’t manage anything but another broken sob. It would have been easier to hate everyone here, to despise Fyrn, tosee Kallias as nothing more than a man on the throne. If only Tallon continued on with his indifference—I could have endured.
But tonight shattered that fragile pretense. His attack revealed a darker truth—the prince would never leave me in peace. My future with him wouldn’t hold even the hope of friendship. It would be a battleground every day—a war waged in silence and rage.
Could I endure that? A lifetime of bitterness and strife?
“Are we going home?” Scythe asked, her voice low, as if fearing the answer.
Home. Draconia. The familiar halls where I might wait for another proposal to tether me to a foreign kingdom—or resign myself to a solitary life without a husband or children.
Kallias rose unbidden into my thoughts. I saw him on the battlefield, his scarred chest bared, blood streaking his sword. A Velli blade pierced him, the steel sinking into his flesh with horrifying finality.
“I despise it here,” I spat, forcing the image from my mind.
The lie tasted bitter, but we both knew it for what it was. I couldn’t hate Reem, not truly. I was growing to care for its people, to appreciate its beauty. Radaan offered food and timber that could rebuild Draconia, strengthen them enough to push deeper into the Wild Shores.
But if I fled, Kallias would die. I knew it like I knew my own heart. Draconia could scrape by through famine. My people would endure, but his—they would pay the price in blood.
“I can’t,” I whispered. Then I wiped the tears from my cheeks and pushed myself upright, steeling my voice. Princesses did not break in their handmaidens’ arms. “I won’t.”
Scythe studied me, her brows knitting together as worry flickered in her gaze.
“I refuse to abandon Radaan and allow them to be ravaged by war.” The words trembled, but the resolve behind them didn’t waver.
The unspoken truth hung heavy between us.
I wouldn’t leave Kallias.
Fyrn’s presence offered a reprieve from thoughts of the king, but even her company circled back to Tallon. It was the safe choice—the obvious one, given I was to marry him. She seemed determined to make it palatable.
“If you’d like, I could show you his sprinter,” she said, her face alight with enthusiasm. “He’s the fastest Radaan has seen in years!”
Horses. Boys and their horses.
