But he wasn’t ready. Neither of us were.
Honor ran thick in his blood. A kiss could be survived. More might break what we’d built.
With a tortured whimper, I drifted sideways, spine brushing cool wood. I slipped from beneath him. His palms planted firm on either side of the dresser. His head hung low, shoulders tense, shaking with restraint.
“One day,” he growled, eyes squeezed shut, “you won’t get away so easily.”
My heart surged. A thrill bloomed in my chest.
To bring a man like Kallias to the brink—to know he had to hold himself back. That power stole the breath from my lungs.
I wanted to test his control. Push him further. See where he’d break.
But tonight, I’d show mercy.
With a grin, I darted into the darkness.
Chapter Seventeen
Kallias
If the trousers were a shade roomier, I’d have no complaints. Instead, I drew a breath, squared my shoulders, and forced the button into place. The leather bit into my hips, but appearances mattered. I had no clue who’d greet me today—and a little discomfort was worth the risk.
Silk lined the inside of the leathers, cool against my skin as I buckled them across my chest. I refused to touch the tunic from yesterday—soiled, bloody, and folded over a chair. The gash along my torso pulled tight with every motion, but Nienna’s wrap held firm, clean cloth snug against the wound. Her warning rang in my mind. Walking around soaked in blood only drew attention. If I thought dragons might cross my path, I’d change the bandage first.
A knock echoed through the room as I fastened the last buckle at my throat. For all Draconia’s crowded cliffs and winding towers, the rooms were wide and open. Not as ornate as the Golden Palace in Reem, but richer in wildness. Above the bed loomed a massive fish—sword-nosed, preserved mid-leap in a curved arch.
Paintings of dragons covered the stone walls, scattered with flat seashells that caught the light in shifting rainbows. Chains of giant scales hung across from the window, swaying gently with the breeze.
It was all sea and sky—Draconia, bottled in a single space.
Bootsteps padded along woven rugs dyed in bold spirals. I met my reflection, collar smoothed, jaw set.
Greaves strode in first. He moved fast, looping the room, checking the windows, then settling into the corner with arms crossed. Black armor, throwing knives back in place. The tight pull of his mouth said he wanted words alone.
Fallione followed. “Good morning, Your Majesty.” His tone warmed the air, though the formality stayed.
“Morning,” I returned, turning to face my advisor and friend. Shadows clung beneath Fallione’s eyes. His graying hair, tied at his neck, framed an expression sharp with worry and resolve. He held a pile of green and gold clothing.
Greaves didn’t speak. Just leaned, watching.
“Your people were relieved to hear you survived the trial.” Fallione offered a brief bow, eyes flicking down my frame and back. “I brought your clothes. King Nereus requests an audience now that you’re awake.”
“These will do.” I glanced at the bundle. My sword wasn’t among them. “Where’s my blade?”
“I’ll send for it. Your mantle waits in the receiving room.” A pointed reminder—I was king before warrior. “They’re planning a celebration in the coming days. If you enter negotiations today, I advise leading with the supplies we brought.”
“No. Tell the crew to surrender it to the dock workers.” I shook my head, rolled my shoulders, adjusted my sleeves. “Innaku’s pressing them. We share our grain first. Let it show our goodwill.”
Fallione frowned, gears spinning behind his gaze. “The Innaku supply most of their wheat,” he murmured. “What tensions do you suspect?”
“A dragon ate their crown prince.”
He paled. Hands tightened around the fabric. “Shall I warn our people to remain aboard?”
“Remind them their king came for peace. If they act out of turn, I cannot save them from their own foolishness.”
Fallione said nothing, consumed with thought.
