“For your sake, then.” He sighed and took a sip.
He held it in his mouth. Swished once. Swallowed slowly. His lips smacked. “It is… different.”
“Do you like it?” I asked, heart sinking when he set it down.
“It’s kahve, but not to my taste.” His hand squeezed my thigh. “Other things are.”
He shoved the chair back, legs braced wide. His hands settled heavy on his thighs as hunger darkened his gaze.
“As queen, your dresses will influence the court.” His voice thickened, husky and low. “Hard to believe that slit’s practical for a farming nation. Unless you aim to set every man ablaze with raging lust.”
“No dragons to ride in Radaan?” I parted my legs, letting the dress spill between them. His eyes roamed the fabric, but it might as well have been sheer. That look could have burned through dragonscale.
“Not a one. I’m told Radaanian’s are not permitted to sit astridedragons.”
“And husbands?”
His brows pulled together. “Pardon?”
I slid off the desk and straddled him, legs bracketing his hips. “Are women not permitted to ride their husbands?”
His eye twitched. Blinked fast. “I’m not sure that’s what the skirts are cut for.”
“I best experiment,” I whispered, guiding his hands to my rear. “A queen never leads her people where she isn’t brave enough to go.”
His touch slid beneath my dress.
And I arched into him, ready to lead.
Draconis dresses were in fact fit to ride, be it husbands or dragons.
Chapter Thirty
Kallias
Dinner that night tested every shred of my patience. The formal dining hall shimmered with polished coral and carved driftwood, the walls inlaid with shells that caught the lights. Our first shared meal as king and queen beneath the scrutiny of the Draconis court. Nienna kept her hands to herself—but I quickly learned the secret language lovers spoke in silence.
She laughed with the mayor of K’lan, her smile radiant. Deep blue eyes flicked to me, then snapped back to the noble with practiced ease. Fingers drifted along the front of her dress, the smallest one dipping lower. Just enough to catch my attention. A spark of heat flared.
Lust coiled through me like a flame-hungry serpent. She knew exactly what she was doing.
“The tithe has been taken, and we thank you for your grain,” Nyxaria said, her voice slicing through the haze. “Dragons have no need for bread. It eases our people’s burden.”
I gave the faintest nod, letting wine swirl in my glass. “Only a fraction of what’s to come.”
Nereus lifted his goblet toward me. “To years of plenty.”
“To years of peace,” I echoed, tapping my cup to his.
Nienna turned, eyes scanning the room before she sipped her drink. She gave the nobleman a polite pat on the shoulder and returned to my side, settling between me and her mother.
“Jakob sends his best,” she murmured as I stood to nudge in her chair. The servant behind her flushed and stepped back, robbed of the task. “He hopes to show you K’lan someday.”
Her gaze lifted to mine. Light shimmered in her eyes, joy shining raw and honest in her smile. The force of it landed square in my chest.
No performance. No game. Just a shared moment in a room full of people who didn’t want me dead. At last, her family let me exist without suspicion. They hadn’t ordered their dragons to eat me, which felt like progress. The nobles kept their smiles fixed and no one spat in my direction. That counted for something.
But the miracle wasn’t in the tolerance—it was her. She gave me warmth, laughter, fire. Our time in Radaan had been a flicker, a mere taste of what could be. This… this felt real. And it was only the beginning.
