“Kal.” Greaves had stacked our armor near the entrance, ready for cleaning. His chest rose with a measured breath. “Sleep it off.”
My gaze drifted to the washroom. Behind that door waited my wife. My future heir. I imagined stepping inside. Would I lash out? Would I say something sharp enough to scar?
Did she fear me?
The thought lodged beneath my ribs.
Was I not afraid of her as well? Scared of the wound she could open in this old heart? Terrified that history circled back, repeating itself in some nightmarish loop?
“Kallias.” Greaves used my full name—a warning wrapped in concern. He gestured toward the bed. He would not rest until I did. Gods, he didn’t even have a bedroll here. He would claim the floor without complaint.
And that knowledge pricked me.
My fingers dragged through my hair. I tugged hard. No pain answered. Numbness and exhaustion dulled everything.
I crossed the room and sank onto the bed.
A hiss slipped through my teeth as my back met the mattress. Muscles locked in protest. They resisted release, knotted tight from hours of combat. I lay there rigid, staring at the ceiling.
One breath.
Then another.
I counted them, forcing each exhale to carry tension away. Gradually, my spine lowered. Inch by inch, it surrendered to the mattress. When my back finally settled flat, a stray thought surfaced. I should call for Nienna. Her name hovered at the edge of my lips.
But sleep struck before it formed. It fell over me like sodden wool, heavy and suffocating. Sound dulled. Light dimmed.
And my mind slipped from consciousness.
Chapter Forty-Four
Nienna
Ididn’t sleep with Kallias.
It was childish. I knew that. Pride and hurt tangled inside me like briars, and even knowing how small of me it was, I couldn’t bring myself to seek his comfort after Hur’s death. It was almost as if he blamed me for what happened, which he should. Itwasmy fault. Guilt gnawed at my insides, an acid that burned through bone and marrow alike. He had every right to be angry, yet I hid from him.
I needed time away. Space to lick the wound no one could see. I could be the proud queen tomorrow, spine straight and chin lifted, voice steady as steel. Tonight I wanted something simpler. Warmth. Understanding. Silence that did not judge.
So I sought my dragons.
I managed to accumulate only two guards by the time I reached the plateau where Gyrak slept. The wind cut across the stone, bitter from the chilled night. Armor clanged behind me, metal striking metal in a rhythm that scraped along my nerves,but I kept walking. I did not trust my voice not to break if I ordered them away.
Gyrak solved the matter for me.
The black dragon lifted his great head and huffed at my approach, smoke curling from his nostrils. A low rumble rolled through his chest, a sound that vibrated through the soles of my boots. I gathered my shawl tighter around my shoulders and stepped into the shadow of his vast body, craving the shelter of his dark scales. When the soldiers edged closer, he snapped his jaws and spat a scatter of embers across the stone.
They stumbled back at once, retreating to a safer distance.
The scent of sulfur lingered as I curled against Gyrak’s side, pressing my cheek to the heated armor of his hide. His warmth seeped through wool and linen, through skin and into bone. He lowered his massive snout and sniffed at my clothes, breath gusting hot against my neck, a questioning croon rising from deep within his throat.
“I just missed you,” I muttered, shifting until the ridges of stone bit less sharply into my hip.
The ground was ruthless, cold and rough beneath my palm. Nothing like the carved bed Kallias slept in, sheets soft as clouds and perfumed faintly with lavender. Gyrak was a furnace at my back, scales radiating heat like banked coals in a hearth.
He adjusted one great wing, angling it to shield me from the wind. The leathery membrane brushed my shoulder as he settled, patient as any hound waiting for its master.
A rush of air stirred my hair.
