Pulling the last buckle on his gauntlet, I held it there, studying his face. “We will take Mon.”
“And march east to take Lon.” His voice thickened with emotion.
The hardness of his gauntlet clicked against my mantle’s chains as his hand rose, guiding my chin until my lips met his. The kiss was chaste, holding a thousand unspoken things: anger at circumstance, rage at Tallon; distance—the careful wall of a king’s restless mind. Cold and measured.
It was what he needed.
When he pulled back, his hand lingered on my cheek. Cornflower-blue eyes searched mine, clouded with a silent question. He wasn’t alone now. This path existed partly because of me, and I wouldn’t leave him to walk it unaided.
“Mon is waiting,” I said. My chin lifted as I locked my nerves behind a wall, like he did so well.
Approval flickered through the depths of his gaze, and his arm fell away.
He led me out into the darkness. I followed the pale gleam of his armor as it caught the faint glow of dawn’s birth. Horses pranced nearby, eyes rolling at Gyrak’s looming presence. Two white mounts stood beside a darker one, black or deep brown in the poor light. Claus and Fallione were already mounted, working to keep the animals turned away from the dragon’s rigid form.
Kallias knelt by a white horse, hands ready to give me a leg up. My stomach tightened at the thought of riding alone across such a wide plain. Nothing to slow the animal. Nothing to guide it.
I rode dragons. This beast would not undo me.
I drew a breath and let my husband launch me into the saddle. Moments later he was mounted, Greaves falling into place at our flank.
“Raul and Cain of Wellmoor, you have my eternal thanks.” Kallias’ words carried to the two figures huddled near their hut. “When I reach Reem, I will send for you. Radaan’s king does not forget kindness shown to him and his queen.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty!” Raul’s dry voice cracked in reply.
Then we were moving.
My horse’s muscles bunched beneath me, ready to spook or bolt. For such a beautiful creature, it lacked sense. If Gyrak had wanted to eat them, he would have done so the night before.
Once we put distance between us and the huts, Ronan launched skyward. The horses sidestepped and tossed their heads, and Kallias hauled on his reins, murmuring low to his mount, though his gaze stayed fixed on me, tight with concern.
I gave him a brief smile and held my seat.
We urged our mounts faster as the sky shifted to a pale gray. Hoofbeats scattered rodents from the road and sent birds bursting into flight. Damp morning chill clung to my skin.
The pace broke into a canter as I rode beside Kallias, circling the city. We stayed far enough out not to rouse the guards, yet still close to ensure that when the clouds thinned, we stood ready.
At the eastern road, we pivoted, turning our horses to face Mon and drawing them to a halt. Fallione came to my side while Greaves flanked Kallias. I swallowed past the tightness in my throat and lifted my chin.
Metal whispered as my husband gripped his spear. The tip angled toward the brightening sky, resting in the saddle holster. Quiet snorts from the horses filled the stillness.
Not for long.
As the sun crested the hills, its rays igniting the golden armor of the Chosen of Elohios, Ronan swept low over Mon.
And Gyrak shook the earth with an enraged roar.
My horse whinnied, tossing her head. Fallione caught her bridle as I pulled hard on the reins, forcing her back under control. Gyrak’s second bellow sent a tremor through her frame, but Kallias’ glare spared me. It fixed instead on his city.
A dragon’s shadow slid over us, sending a shiver down my spine. Not fear. Anticipation.
Gyrak slammed into the ground at our backs, the sound like a forest falling. My mouth curved despite myself. That was simply his size. Radaan would soon house six dragons before this was done—until Ronan returned home.
This felt right, a proper arrival. Not slipping ashore with doubt knotted in my chest. Not approaching a city uncertain of my welcome. I arrived with a dragon and demanded respect.
That was my place.
Queen of Radaan.
