“The way you say that.” His mutter followed me in.
Greaves hadn’t returned. The rooms stood still, thick with silence, lanterns flickering amber along stone walls.
I lifted my chin. “Remove your mantle.”
One brow arched, but I remembered the hesitation in his touch the night before. He wasn’t ready to let me unfasten it. That time would come; I would wait.
He obeyed, fingers slipping the golden chain free. With deliberate care, he eased the yoke off and set it on the stand.
I reached for the buttons of his vest, but he caught my wrist. “How long does the light last?”
Was he worried a servant would see the glow and know someone had removed his clothes for him? Was he more concerned they would assume some other woman did, or that I was that woman?
“It fades before morning,” I said.
He released my hand, and I went to work. Fingers flying, pulse pounding. This was something I’d craved, imagined sharing with the one who held my heart.
Father’s magic lingered in everything it touched. I’d seen it many times through the years, glowing at the end of the festival, but this—this piece of my people and culture—always felt out of reach. As I grew, I realized my future husband would reside beyond the sea, far from this moment, far from Draconia.
Now, this belonged to us.
Kallias shrugged free of his vest, muscles flexing. His shoulders shifted, broad and tense. The guarded expression returned, hard and unreadable. Not rejection—something heavier. Something he couldn’t silence.
He folded his clothes and laid them on a chair, movements slow and precise. Never careless. Even half-naked, surrounded by temptation, he wasn’t rough. He took his time.
Before me, his jaw ticked. Lines cut deep between his brows. He craved this. He wanted me here. But shadows moved behind his eyes—grief, fear, restraint. None of them I could soothe.
“The lovers slip away to claim each other,” I murmured, stepping closer.
He scowled, and I raised a hand to smooth the wrinkle from his forehead, fingers trailing a glowing arc along his jaw.
“They catch the magic—unbound by status—and write their names.”
I stared at his chest. The silver stubble looked patchy where Kalepsi’s fire had burned through. His bandage held clean, no blood seeping through.
Humming, I flattened my palm above his belt and leaned in. My finger brushed over his sternum. His muscles flinched beneath my touch.
“Hold still.”
“Nienna.” His voice rumbled deep, a low warning.
I drew slow loops, each curve deliberate, letters blooming in bright strokes along his skin. I signed my name across his heart—carefully, reverently. More sacred than any treaty.
‘Nienna.’
It wasn’t enough.
I claimed him as a woman, but also as a princess. He wasn’t just a man I loved, but the one I fought for. He crossed oceans, faced dragonfire. I was so much more than Nienna.
‘The Dragon’s Heart.’
Perhaps I added more for my sake. But when I stepped back, heat rushed across my skin, chest constricting. My handprint glowed just above his navel, broken where it crossed the ridges of his abdomen. Over his heart, beside the scar he earned for me, shone my name. My title.
“My turn,” he growled, voice thick, raw with emotion. “Turn around.”
My pulse surged. I twisted, glancing back. A hand tugged my dress loose, rough and impatient. I couldn’t breathe. My arms crossed tight as he fumbled.
“Withering laces,” he muttered, and I laughed, breath hitching.
