“Another thing,” Mother said. “We require a traditional wedding.”
Fallione frowned, flipping through his pages.
“I’ll need specifics.” Kallias’ eyes narrowed on her. “But there’s one issue. I’m not Draconis. I have no dragon to tour the island.”
“Argos will fly you,” Father replied.
I jabbed my foot beneath the table, catching his ankle. He looked at me, brows raised, smirking in silent defiance.
Kallias deadpanned. “They won’t carry a Radaanian.”
“He will.”
A choked laugh burst from Ronan before he could stop it. He slapped a hand over his mouth, snorting behind his fingers. I glared, warning him with a look.
Kallias blinked. “On his back?”
“In his claws.”
“Alive?”
“Or dead.” A roar shook the Spire’s stones. Argos answering Father’s challenge.
I stifled a groan and shut my eyes.
“I will do what’s asked of me,” Kallias said. “Though I request a Radaanian wedding as well.”
My heart surged to my throat. I turned to him, and his gaze met mine, a flicker of mischief behind it.
Mother’s brow pinched. “But you will be joined here?”
“The marriage shall be consummated here, and you’ll have your month,” he agreed. “But my people want to celebrate. Their blessing matters.”
“Nienna?” Father’s tone opened the floor for me.
I swallowed, fingers clenched tight in my lap. “Are there any ceremonies I should prepare for?”
“My advisors can fill you in.” His voice rumbled low. He wasn’t just offering tradition—he was asking for trust. I understood what marrying a prince meant. A king, though? That path remained unlit.
“I agree.” I trusted him. If Radaan needed a wedding, I would give them one.
“Settled then. Draconia is pleased with this union. Are there any addendums from Radaan?” Father asked.
“None.”
“Eamon, ready the treaty. We’ll sign tomorrow on the common level where all can witness this joining. A promise of peace—a bright future for us all.” He stood, voice carrying the weight of finality.
And just like that, it was done.
After all the heated talks and drawn lines, it felt too simple. But Kallias had risked far more—his life, his pride, even dragonfire—for this moment. For the chance to sign that treaty. For the right to marry me.
Dismissed, I walked past his chambers, though every part of me ached to be there. Instead, I followed the call that drifted through the Cireendium—Kalepsi.
At the Nest’s threshold, I laughed aloud.
Chaos ruled.
Dragonlings clambered over Kalepsi’s bulk—two perched on her back, another gnawing on a tail spike. She flicked the thick appendage, knocking the offender sideways and snorted, unimpressed.
