I couldn’t tell him how hollow I felt, how unworthy. Let him believe I gave him all I could and held nothing back—that if I’d kept my power, Scythe might still be alive. That it wasn’t my fault.
But it was.
He shifted, his hand moving to cradle my head. The steady pressure broke what little resolve I had left. My arms encircled him, clinging as my cries burst free, muffled against his chest. His fingers tangled in my hair, the motion gentle, the only movement in his unyielding frame.
This wouldn’t have happened in Draconia. Not if my father or brother were here. Not if I’d been stronger.
It shouldn’t have happened.
But it had.
And it wouldn’t be the last attempt.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Kallias
She was drenched in blood. Not hers, thankfully—Reem owed the stars for that. She escaped with only a small cut on her palm.
If something had happened to her… I would have torn the city apart.
Even now, with her pressed close, skin feverish against mine—a blazing proof of life—my fury churned beneath the surface. I would have answers. Who dared to orchestrate an assassination within my palace walls? How did they breach its defenses? Why hadn’t an alarm been raised? Why had I received no warning?
Nienna trembled against my shoulder, tears falling in a steady, soundless stream. Her first taste of danger came in the form of a brutal trial of fight or flight—a desperate struggle, a narrow escape, her life hanging by a thread.
And it happened under my roof.
Her nails dug into my arm, tiny crescents of pain as she fought to contain her sobs. My hand tightened around my sword hilt, the metal biting into my palm. Somewhere in the palace, Greaves hunted the intruder. They had better be alive when he found them. I had questions, and someone would answer them.
Instinct pointed to Egath, but I forced those thoughts down. What motive could he have for targeting Nienna? Vellos was desperate, yes—drought choked their fields, and famine hollowed their people. I’d seen their gaunt faces myself: starving women, skeletal children, infants too frail to cry. But they couldn’t risk provoking another war. They didn’t have the strength to survive one.
Not yet
No, Egath wasn’t the hand behind this. But I would still keep him close. Darius would see to that, assigning a Thresher of Nyryn to shadow his everystep. The elite soldiers blessed by Nyryn were ruthless, a force of precision and carnage.
The war general likely deployed them already, sweeping the palace in disciplined silence.
Nienna’s sobs softened. She sniffed, swiping at her nose as she straightened. My hand slid from her waist to her back, reluctant to let her go. Her blond hair fell forward like a curtain, hiding her face as her fingers fumbled with her nightgown, tugging at the torn fabric that bared her skin from hip to hem.
The impulse to have her strip the ruined gown and offer a tunic of mine struck hard and fast. I would see for myself that she wasn’t hurt. No one would get close to her tucked away in my rooms. She would be safe.
A sharp knock shattered my foolish haze. My hand fell away as Greaves slipped inside, his face grim. His eyes danced between us, frown deepening as if he could see where my thoughts had been.
Blood streaked his bare chest, smearing across the lines of muscle. He’d found trousers, though they hung loose and unfastened at his waist. His disheveled state mirrored my own, and I clenched my jaw, rising to grab tunics for us both.
“I—I should go,” Nienna whispered, rising to stand.
“Stay.” My voice was firm as I tossed a tunic at Greaves and pulled one over my head. I gripped my sword, heart thrashing at the idea of putting it down while she might still be in danger. “You’re safest here.”
Her gaze darted to me, cheeks flushing crimson as she skimmed my torso. Her scrutiny burned into my skin. For a split second, I saw myself through her eyes—bare, disheveled, dangerous. Her lips pressed into a firm line as her focus settled on the bed, where I tossed my sword.
It felt as though she was committing the scene to memory, stealing a final glance, as if she might not get another.
“Where is he?” I demanded, fastening my belt and re-sheathing my weapon.
“Dead.”
I sucked in a breath through my teeth, biting down on choice curses. “How?”
