Greaves arranged his cot, then relocated the chair from the desk to the door before striding to the lone window to study whatever lay outside. He drew the heavy curtains, then removed his bandolier, followed by an obscene amount of blades tucked into his clothes and armor. He moved with the same detailed precision as Kallias, taking care as he discarded each weapon. After he tugged free his tunic’s laces, he grabbed fistfuls of fabric to yank it over his head.
My husband’s strong hands redirected my face back to his. He kissed my forehead, then trailed his fingers over my eyes, urging them to close.
“Sleep, Nienna.”
Chapter Eight
Nienna
“He’s so… big!” a feminine voice exclaimed.
Pride warred with exasperation as I stared at Gyrak in the blazing morning light. He stretched to his full height, neck arched, chuffing in pleasure at the noblewoman’s remark.
“Argos is bigger,” I muttered under my breath.
He whipped his head toward the clouds, jaws snapping in irritation.
He definitely heard me.
Kallias spoke with Baldur’mon while Fallione lingered behind us, deep in conversation with a cluster of riders. Horses across Mon stood saddled. Every able-bodied man old enough to wield a sword sat astride one. This was a show of force, and the forming ranks understood it.
Greaves sat astride a black stallion. Fallione had explained that the color mattered for appearance’s sake. I wore white, riding a mare to match—true gray or simply so old she’d faded into it. She matched Kallias’ stallion perfectly.
Excitement tangled with quiet dread. Younger faces, likely untouched by battle, grinned and clapped each other on the shoulder. Veterans who had served under Kallias moved in silence, checking girths and straps with practiced hands. Their looks passed between one another before settling on me.
I caught the gaze of a broad-shouldered man as he mounted. He didn’t blink, holding my stare with a challenge that dared me to look away.
I lifted my chin and glared right back.
So they blamed me. Those loyal to Kallias saw me as his weakness. He left Radaan for me. While Draconia painted him as the villain of our story, Radaan whispered that I was the fault line beneath it all.
I could bear their anger.
A shadow swallowed the light, and silence rippled through the massive crowd. Gyrak lowered his head until his lips hovered above the man I’d been staring down. When he glanced up, hauling hard on his horse’s reins, the dragon bared fangs thicker than his legs.
Released from the challenge, I blinked against the sting in my eyes and turned toward my husband, hiding my smirk.
“What’s he doing?” Kallias muttered.
His horse shifted, unease rolling through its frame. Nervous nickers broke the quiet, answered by low murmurs meant to soothe, while Gyrak huffed and basked in it.
“Making sure they remember he’s the biggest,” I said, laughter slipping free.
The aged mare beneath me pinned her ears but paid no mind to a predator larger than a house.
“Prince Ronan is blessed to ride such a magnificent creature.” Honey coated Beatrice’mon’s words.
The mayor’s wife would remain in Mon, holding the city together while we ventured east. At least she wouldn’t swoonover my brother. No, her fascination belonged to his dragon. Marginally better.
Gyrak pulled back, intimidation complete.
“Beatrice, it’s time,” Baldur called as Fallione broke from his group and rode up beside us.
“It was a pleasure, Your Majesty,” she said to me, bowing as far as horseback allowed.
“Likewise.” I offered an easy smile. “Your company has been a pleasure. I would welcome a visit in Reem.”
She laughed as her gaze drifted to Gyrak. “If there is anything left.”
