“You’d think the novelty would’ve worn off,” he muttered.
“You’re far too fascinating,” I said with a short laugh, slipping free of the crowd. Once we gained higher ground and left the listening ears behind, I lowered my voice. “What were you planning for the rest of your day, my king?”
“I’m to discuss ship placements with Captain Jenson. Wedding details with Fallione. Or yet another discussion about trade with Nereus. Take your pick.”
“Would you like to see my childhood hideout?”
“A hiding place?” He glanced down the narrow halls branching off the Cireendium. “I can’t imagine there are many.”
“It’s not here.” I slid my hand down to his, fingers threading through his.
His brow furrowed, weighing the cost. “Fallione will be sorely displeased.” But when he looked back at me, a grin broke across his face—bright and boyish.
I tossed a glance behind us. “Think we can lose him?”
His guard scowled, as expected.
“He’s impossible to shake,” Kallias replied.
“If we snuck into my rooms, I bet he’d excuse himself.”
Greaves arched a brow. His scowl flattened into a look of long-suffering boredom. Unimpressed by my teasing.
I pivoted down a side corridor, guiding us through a maze of tight turns and narrow stairs. Only one could pass at a time. Our steps fell soft on the stone, swallowed by the quiet. These service passages fed into the Spire from smaller entry points—used by staff to avoid the crowd bottlenecks at the main gates.
At last, sunlight broke through. I led them out to the eastern edge.
Without hesitation, I ducked into a shaded alley. A woman with a basket gasped and dropped into a bow.
“Good day!” I called, not slowing.
The walk through K’bar was brisk. The sun bore down, beading sweat at my temples. My dress clung at the collar, the heat thick against my skin.
By midday, we arrived at the shore. Sand glittered under brutal daylight, white and blinding. A small sailboat floated beside a rocky outcrop. Gulls circled, shrieking above as they scanned the water.
Grinning, I hitched my skirt and climbed into the boat. Kallias eyed the vessel with suspicion, hesitating.
Greaves stopped behind us, arms crossed, his gaze sweeping the horizon. “Who’s the captain?”
“I am.” I dipped into an exaggerated bow. “Captain Nienna, at your service.”
This stretch of beach was a royal secret—hidden, quiet, off-limits to the public. Our own private island offered a breath away from Draconia’s tight quarters. A place untouched by court or crowd.
“Have you sailed before?” Kallias asked as he clambered in.
“Often.” I grabbed the ropes, lowering the sail. “Greaves, would you be so kind?”
The man stared at his king for a moment, clearly considering whether to toss him overboard or follow orders. With a grunt, he gave the boat a shove. Water surged at his legs before he jumped in, boots thudding beside mine.
Wind caught the canvas, and the vessel shot forward, cutting across the blue.
Ronan had Gyrak and could fly wherever he pleased. This was all I had. My escape. My secret refuge. I came here often as a child. Sometimes Adoni joined me. That memory surfaced, bitter and sour, but I pushed it back. Not today.
The beach wasn’t far. A crescent-shaped sliver of land. The eastern shore, shielded by jagged rock, faced away from Draconia. No eyes followed us here.
I pulled the boat into the worn dock and jumped ashore, tying off the line.
Thin trees stretched toward the sun, crowding the strip of sand. Lush vines spilled down stone walls. The ground shimmered, warm and gold, soft beneath my feet. No rocks. No gulls. Just wind and waves and silence.
