After helping the women down, I stepped beside her onto the sand-dusted path.
“And you feared the Andeluith,” I muttered, craning my neck to catch the thin line of sky above the rooftops. Down here, no sunlight reached the path. The corridor pressed in, dark and cramped.
“I can stillseethe sky,” she whispered, defensive. “And I could climb to the roof in mere moments. I’m not trapped under a mountain.”
I chuckled, wrapping the banter around me as if it were armor. In the road, Draconis paused and stared. Their lips parted in disbelief, brows low with suspicion, shoulders tight with disdain. Nienna moved forward, spine straight, demanding their bows and respect with each step.
They parted like a field of wheat beneath storm winds—retreating into doorways, pressing against walls. Greetings came, along with shallow bows, some more shallow than others.
Radaan had pride, but Draconia wielded it as a sword. To them, I had stained their princess—sent her away, only to return when it suited me.
And that was the nicest theory.
Nienna stopped before a colorful door, and Freya swept it open, ushering us into a room soaked in light.
Kites hung overhead and lined the walls—bursts of color and craft suspended in midair. Magical lights glowed along the ceiling, bathing the display in radiance. Every kite demanded attention. They were a myriad of colors and styles, vibrant as wild banners, strung with a precision fashioned by expertise.
An older man rose from behind a counter, smiling wide as he spotted Nienna—only for it to flicker when he noticed me.
Gods, I hated that.
The judgment landed fast, deep, and silent. Still, I’d endure it for the way he lit up at the sight of her.
“Princess!” he called, his graying braid slipping forward as he dipped into a bow.
A younger man stood nearby, arms folded tight, eyes sharp and angry as they darted between us. Greaves shifted closer. I met the youth’s glare with my own, cold and steady.
She beamed. “Williard, how are you?”
The younger one didn’t move. No show of respect. No greeting. Just that unblinking gaze, thick with accusation.
“As well as these old bones allow,” Williard replied, still smiling. “And who might this be?”
I considered looking away from the insolent boy, but chose not to. His tanned skin crinkled as his nose twitched into a snarl.
“Is it customary for apprentices to ignore their royalty?” I asked, chin lifted.
Something in his stance tightened my gut. I wanted to put myself between him and Nienna, shield her from whatever venom stirred behind his eyes.
Freya sucked in a breath as Nienna faced the dark-haired man.
Her silence bristled. I could almost hear the decision forming. Should she demand obedience? Or let it slide? I had already issued the challenge. Would she support it or allow him grace?
And was it worth it?
“Kai?” Her shoulders squared. Voice low, steady.
That’s my queen. Don’t let them walk on you.
His eyes snapped from me to her. My jaw clenched as his anger shifted withthem—no softer, no kinder.
“You may see yourself out,” she said. Flat. Final. “I’ll make sure Mikal hears of your reluctance to show respect.”
He staggered, face twisting, trying to mask the snarl beneath something polite. It didn’t work. He gave the weakest excuse for a bow, then stormed out past the counter, slamming the door behind him.
Nienna exhaled, breath long and tired, the tension folding out of her spine, deflating. “Williard, this is King Kallias Sunspear of Radaan.”
The older man’s eyes, clouded with age, still held a glint of cautious disapproval. “Greetings, Your Majesty.”
