“With Elohios’ blessing, I might sway them.”
“And when we reach the estate?” Fallione asked. His voice barely carried, the question heavy in the stillness, no easy resolution to be had.
“I can’t answer that.” Kallias exhaled, resolve cracking. He leaned forward, dragging a hand down his face. “If we meet in bloodshed, I can’t guarantee Kai’lon’s safety.”
“He has an heir. A daughter—Mai’lon.” Fallione winced as he spoke, as if an heir made murdering a noble easier to stomach.
Kallias glared at the parchment, rows of dull numbers detailing our modest force. “Supporting a false king is treason. I would rather see traitors tried.”
Many would mistake my husband for being soft. Perhaps Tallon already had. But softness did not cross oceans for me. It did not challenge a Dragon King or endure dragonfire.
No, Kallias was not soft.
He was a peacemaker forged in war.
“You must consider the insult,” Fallione said, lowering his voice. “Balance matters. Compassion has its place. But does a traitor deserve a king’s mercy?”
“Elohios rules with blade and honesty, does he not?” I nudged my knee against his, grounding, quiet.
Stormy eyes turned to me, frustration clouding their brightness. “If I force the noble houses beneath my rule, how am I any different from Tallon?” Worry carved lines across his face, dark brows drawn tight over bruised shadows.
“No one with sense would make that comparison.” Fallione shook his head. “But we must expect resistance from Kai’lon. Open, defiant resistance.”
“I am prepared to kill him.”
My body reacted before my mind caught up, a sharp flinch at Kallias’ words.
His composure snapped back into place, features sealed behind the mask of a king. “You want assurance,” he continued, voice stripped of warmth, “that if he challenges me or threatens my reign, I will remove him.” His gaze cut to Fallione. “You have it.”
The door creaked open. We all turned as Ronan entered, Greaves close behind. The guard’s attention lingered on Kallias before he shut the door, my brother’s expression dark as storm clouds as he glanced at the parchment, lips pressing thin, as if it passed judgment on us all.
“They’re ready for us.”
Fog hung low over the ground, a pale shroud draped across the plain, as if Elohios hesitated to reveal what waited ahead.
But we already knew.
My mare shifted beneath me, untroubled by the early hour. Metal murmured behind us, the jangle of armor as bodies adjusted in their saddles. Horses nickered, breath ghosting gray in the chill. Night’s damp cold clung to my fingers, and I flexed them along the reins, a small release of nerves.
Freya had dressed me in a white gown cut in the Draconis style. Radaanian soil already stained the hem, while the pristine bodice offered the perfect foundation for my gold mantle. She had braided my hair into a crown, a quiet nod to my heritage and the joining of Draconia and Radaan.
Kallias towered beside me on his brilliant stallion, golden armor catching the first thin rays of dawn. His gaze fixed on the mist ahead, jaw set, gauntleted hand locked around his spear.
That morning held no murmured endearments. No shared warmth. I’d slept alongside a stranger, rigid and distant. He had sealed himself behind armor no smith could forge, hiding the man I loved. Not once had his eyes found me while Greaves buckled his plates or Fallione muttered through strategy.
Uncertainty trembled in my chest. I knew him. Yet this version stood apart from anything I‘d seen. I only knew him in peace, his love and devotion. His potent loyalty and desire to protect.
But protection demanded more than that.
No, he was still my Kallias. But he was also the king Radaan required of him right now.
Birds darted overhead, startled by the mass of waiting bodies. Our army held behind the treeline, the forest pressing close at our backs. Lon’s forces stood between us and the city beyond.
Ronan took flight long before dawn. Gyrak had woken Tsunami, urging her skyward. She complained, grumbling smoke and heat, but followed him all the same.
Sunlight revealed a clear sky, and a glance upward confirmed what the enemy would mistake for birds. But Lon knew dragons were coming. Word of our return would have carried Gyrak’s name with it.
Soon, the fog burned away, thinning under the light until Lon stood exposed. We faced one another across open ground, equal footing. Foot soldiers formed disciplined ranks behind mounted lines. A banner snapped in the brisk wind, crimson cloth mimicking Radaan’s green and gold.
