The cook had to know. There were only so many things you could mask. Wine swapped for grape juice, spices replaced with bland substitutes.
I would have to remind Kallias I was raised in Draconia, an island alive with spices that burned on the tongue like dragonfire. No Draconis mother ever stopped eating them while with child.
The feast wore on. Nobles made endless toasts to our health and reign. My glass was emptied and refilled. The crowd grew bolder, clearing space for dancing as the evening deepened.
Kallias reclined in his chair, nursing his cup. His bandaged arm reminded anyone who braved a glance of what we were celebrating. Bright blue eyes glittered with mirth, corners ofhis mouth lifting in an easy, genuine smile. He was so relaxed, soaking in his people’s revelry. For the first time in public, I saw him as he truly was, beneath the mantle of king.
His gaze flicked to me, a single brow arching in question.
I slid my calf along his in answer. The long cloth draped over the table, hiding the small, intimate motion, keeping the moment between us. I saw him—Kallias—not just the king of Radaan.
The sun lowered, casting a golden hue over the festivities. Those gathered seemed to sense what was coming; the tempo of the music quickened, wine glasses drained faster.
They were permitted to stay until morning, providing witnesses to Elohios’ blessing. My heart lurched into my throat, and I caught myself before I twisted to glance at the balcony high above.
Some cultures demanded a bedding ceremony witnessed by the court. As a princess, I’d been prepared foreverythingto be on display. But this? Distance would at least soften the exposure.
The setting sun flared across Radaan. Whoops and cheers followed its dip below the horizon. Faces turned toward us, many flushed from dancing or wine, all grinning. Expectant.
Kallias rose with me.
This was something special. Perhaps they would never witness it again.
Music halted abruptly, ending on harsh, jagged notes.
I refused to wipe clammy palms on my dress, lifting my chin. “Good people of Radaan, tonight you are blessed by the gods! Keep your eyes on the sky. Elohios has chosen your king, and your queen has chosen Veridis. The sun is not the only light that shines on Radaan.” My voice rang clear above the crowd.
Their anticipation pressed in, whispers swirling through the air.
Kallias clasped my hand, leading me into the quiet of the palace. The halls were dull, a stark contrast to their usual brightness, empty except for us and Greaves trailing behind.
“They dim the lights to make your light brighter?” I whispered, pressing closer.
“It was one of the few details we found in the records.”
A reminder that the ritual had only been performed once in known history.
“And the woman—did she do anything?”
Kallias smiled, amused, as we climbed the stairwell. “You have nothing to fear.”
Doubt gnawed at me. His light had flickered around my dragons. What if it faltered with me? I was the Dragon’s Heart, connected to them in ways I didn’t fully understand. If the magic sensed I was their hatchmate and he did not glow… what then? What assurance would the people have?
Perhaps we should have tested this theory.
“Nienna.” He stopped at the top of the stairs, frowning down. “Have you changed your mind?”
“No!” I shook my head. “No, I just–”
“Have faith.”
My shoulders sagged and my lips pursed into a deadpan expression. Always ‘have faith,’ or ‘trust me.’
He chuckled, a teasing grin splitting his face. “I think more pressure is on my performance than yours.” His brows lowered, seriousness creeping in. “Unless you’re not feeling well.”
He was worried about the babe—and Rodrick’s warning.
“The little one will be fine.” I shook my head, grabbing his hand to pull him down a corridor. I was unfamiliar with this part of the palace—few sections had a second level. Radaan sprawled wide, not tall.
