“He could. I beg your pardon, Your Majesty. I am needed elsewhere.” She dipped into a hurried curtsy and spun, stepping into the crowd.
No.
“Penelope?” I called after her.
I would not let her vanish, excusing herself as if she had the right to dismiss me.
She froze, tension stiffening her spine, skirts fisted in her hands. “Yes, Your Majesty?”
“Blessed be the King and Queen.”
Not once had she named me her queen. It was always ‘Your Majesty.’ She never claimed me as her own, never showed any sign of allegiance. By initiating the statement, she had to return it—or be labeled a traitor.
I wasn’t foolish. My entire life—from birth—had trained me to rule, to sit on the throne. No lowborn noble would outmaneuver me.
“Blessed be the King and Queen,” she repeated, the words torn out of her, a single tear trailing down her cheek.
How had she grown to loathe me so quickly? What had I ever done—to her or Gog? I certainly wasn’t helping the matter, but Iwouldn’t attempt to win her favor. No. Now I would show her the queen Radaan never had.
A familiar presence pressed close, cinnamon and sunlight wrapping around me.
“The feast is waiting,” Kallias said, staring after her.
His silent question hung between us—did I need him to intervene? I only had to say the word, and he would send guards.
But today was a celebration. Enough blood had been shed.
I wound my fingers through his, flashing a guarded smile. “Then we shall not keep them waiting.”
He hesitated a breath, giving me a final chance to object. But it could wait. With a nod, he guided me through the crowd to long rows of tables spread over the lawn, covered in pristine linen bleached by the sun.
While we mingled, a table had been set on the dais, where Elysia waited. Her bright smile conflicted with the frown and harsh glare of the two Threshers who stood guard at the palace doors.
We stepped before our ornate chairs, waiting for the crowd to quiet. Conversations faded, and eyes turned to us, excitement heavy in the air.
“Radaan, behold—the King of the Plentiful Plains!” a herald shouted.
The people roared, fists raised. Kallias cracked a smile. Golden Warrior of Elohios, Chosen of the Gods—he had many titles, though it was the one borne of peace that brought him joy.
My husband. Strong. Loyal. Loving. Fierce in battle, yet gentle where he could afford it. Not a warrior by choice, but because his enemies demanded it. He became the king he needed to be. Only he knew the violence required for gentleness.
“And Nienna Draconis, the Dragon’s Heart—Queen of Radaan!”
The cheers were quieter, but applause drifted through the crowd, smiles blooming across faces. They sought celebration, joy, something to grasp.
We took our seats; a silent cue for the servants. They poured from the palace, trays laden with food. Scents pressed against me, stomach tightening.
Kallias squeezed my hand.
I would not be sick at our wedding feast.
A servant placed a simple piece of bread, slathered with fragrant jam, on my plate. Bites were already missing—Greaves and Elysia sampling and approving. Warm bread mingled with sweet berries, the scent drowning the sharp herbs spicing the heavier meats along the table.
“This is your doing,” I muttered, picking up the thick slice.
He hummed. “It’s the only thing you seem to enjoy.” He chose his words with care, gaze sliding to the servants bustling around us.
It was one of the few things the babe didn’t despise. Hopefully the pregnancy would be easy, and my stomach would settle in a few weeks, allowing me to attend dinner without hiding my gags.
