I crossed into the next room. Sunlight fanned over a wooden table where Radaan’s mantle waited, its golden weave catching in the glow. My throat tightened.
Greaves stepped forward, lifted it with steady hands, and draped it over my shoulders. The weight no longer pressed—it grounded. Familiar. Welcome.
Relief swept through me.
Elohios’ light might’ve fractured during the trial, but it hadn’t dimmed. Not fully. The mantle reminded me I didn’t stand here as a man dodging fate—I stood as king, shielded by the might of a nation behind me.
“I’ll see that the supplies are distributed and urge our men to act with care,” Fallione said, while Greaves secured the mantle’s chains. The gold clashed against the black leathers.
“Shall I accompany you to the king?”
“I speak with him alone.” I caught the tension in Greaves’ jaw. He hadn’t met the man—just a dungeon door slammed in his face. “Work with the staff. Make sure Nienna has everything she needs.”
“Nereus and Nyxaria?”
“Nienna,” I repeated, cutting the thought short with a hard stare. “They’ll send their aides to you, but I wantherinformed. No surprises. She’s my future wife—and I expect you to speak to her directly.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” His tone stayed neutral, but I knew the rebuke hit. I brought him for his value, but he’d be stretched thin—balancing the needs of the crew and acting as Radaan’s voice in a foreign court.
“She’ll need you,” I added, “as the future Queen of Radaan.”
“You’ve secured her hand?”
“No contracts yet.” My mouth pressed flat. “But the intention stands. It’s known.”
“And King Nereus—will he negotiate in good faith?”
He meant:Will this be a war of words?
I exhaled, steadying myself. “I crossed the sea for her. Left Radaan to the Threshers. I’ve sacrificed more than I can name to claim her hand. I offered myself in place of my son. Our tithes will reflect that.” I caught Greaves’ scowl as he fastened the last chain. “But Nereus is more father than king. He won’t surrender her without resistance. He’ll press hard. I want this settled quickly.”
Fallione hummed, understanding what I hadn’t said: time away from Radaan was dangerous.
When I left, the prince was confined to his chambers with strict orders not to be released until I returned. Darius would see it through, but knowing Tallon orchestrated my public disgrace—and wasn’t rotting in the dungeon—gnawed at me. If Vellos made a move, Darius would rule in my place. But doves took days to reach us. And our return by sea—weeks.
If Radaan fell into war again, we couldn’t afford weeks.
“I’ll convey our urgency in the talks,” Fallione said, reading my thoughts. “But, a warning, Prince Ronan waits to escort you.”
I smirked at the note of disdain in his voice. The boy’s insolence grated on him too.
“I’ll be off. Report before dinner—or sooner, if needed.” I pulled the door open.
Nienna’s brother looked up, polishing a pair of goggles. He breathed on the lens, then wiped it clean with silk.
“You look horrible,” he said, tucking the cloth away and pushing the goggles into his sandy hair.
“As do you. Take me to your father.” I kept my tone flat, noting his black eye. Whether he meant my face or the outfit, I didn’t ask. After Nienna left, sleep eluded me. Lust burned too hot. Dawn still woke me, as always. Old habits refused to die.
“He’s flying Argos. Hope you’re not afraid of heights.”
“The only things I fear are your temper and your loose tongue,” I muttered.
“Scared ofme?” He grinned, fingers brushing the bruise beneath his eye.
“Only that you won’t survive to see my departure.”
He snorted and led the way through the black halls. Sunlight vanished at our backs, replaced by the cool glow of rune-lit lamps. I studied the markings—curious whether they fueled the light or merely sustained it. It was humbling being on a foreign island—thrown into a culture I had read about but never experienced.
