Someone blew out a resigned breath.
“You brought this upon yourself, Kallias Sunspear. You stole my daughter and left behind a ghost. She’s a shell now, hollowed out by what you did. She’ll never come back from this, and you’ve ensured the last thing she sees is your death. May your soul never find peace.”
I winced. If any of what they believed had actually happened, they would be within their rights. My heart broke at how protective my mother was, but she was resigning him to his execution over what they thought was true.
No one spoke. Footsteps faded into the dark. I waited, unwilling to breathe until they passed.
Once the silence returned, I rose and crept around the corner.
Empty. The mage lights flickered dimly, their glow barely enough to show where the cells began. I drew in a quiet breath and moved forward, heart hammering as I scanned for extra guards.
Movement caught my eye at the first cell, and I paused.
Greaves sat on a cot, elbows balanced on his knees, fingers laced tight. His warm brown stare assessed me before he dipped his head in silent greeting, then motioned toward the next cell. He rested his chin on his hands, eyes falling to the floor. Lost.
My chest ached as I passed. I never expected to see Kallias again—let alone here. I wanted him higher. On my floor. Not buried down here.
I stopped.
He sat hunched on the edge of the cot, fingers tangled in his hair. His mantle lay on the far corner of the mattress, the cleanest patch he could find. He raised his head as I approached, and something inside me split.
Blood crusted along his cheekbone. His eyes—drained. Hollow. His expression mirrored my very soul.
Tears blurred my vision. I offered a smile, one I’d practiced a hundred times. It trembled, then gave way. “Greetings, King Sunspear.”
His brows pulled low. Hurt etched into the space between them. He braced his hands on his knees and pushed himself upright, gaze darting behind me to the dark hall.
“It’s just me,” I choked out, hating the steel bars between us.
“Just you.” He exhaled, a trace of tension bleeding from his shoulders. This was my Kallias.
“I’m so sorry.” The words rasped through the tight knot in my lungs. I reached for his face. “I should have warned you—I should have–”
“Nienna.” His palm pressed mine to his cheek. “You are Draconis. I knew.”
I slid my hand behind his head, threading my fingers through the short strands and drawing him to me. My lips, salted with tears, found his—bloodied and warm.
He kissed softly, carefully, as if testing the shape of our grief. I smiled against him, rage blooming within, directed at the barrier caging him from me. Heat clung to his skin as if he were sunlight trapped beneath stone. Cinnamon lingered on his breath, sweet and bitter like memory.
My chest ached, the pull to him tearing at my bones. He was safe. He was home. Nothing could rival this. I had tasted the King of Radaan and would settle for no other.
He broke away first, resting his brow against the iron. His gaze searched mine. “Do you kiss all the prisoners?”
“Only the ones who belong to me.”
He scoffed, soft lines deepening around his eyes. I had been right. Silver had thickened along his temples and threaded through stubble framing his jaw.
“You shouldn’t be here.” The words gutted me, tore out my soul.
“Lie.” He rubbed his chin and leaned back. “I should have come long ago. I’m late.”
“Why now? You knew they’d never accept you. Not after Ronan.” Fresh tears slipped down my cheeks, and I let them fall, allowed the anger to scald through the hollows of my ribs like armor.
“I came to ask for your hand. To atone. To right my wrongs.”
“Ourwrongs.”
“The blame rests on my shoulders. Nereus made that clear.”
