“It’s shallow. Bleeding has eased on its own,” the older man said, pursing his lips. “Stitches would worsen it. The palace healers could do more for scarring than I. But–” He looked toward the tent flap as another groaning soldier was carried in.
“No stitches, then. Bandage it best you can.” I would not occupy space while men lost limbs and lives for Radaan’s honor.
Binding my wound was painfully slow. He slathered ointment and wrapped the gash, hesitating with every careful motion—not dawdling, just anxious over caring for a queen.
Finally, Freya adjusted my dress and draped the mantle across my shoulders.
The room kept filling. As I rose, a body landed on a cot behind me, blood seeping from a gash in his head. Dark eyes locked on mine—a boy. Sixteen? Seventeen? Not yet a man, but he sported heavy chainmail and his first battle wound.
His face lit with a trembling, bright smile. “My queen!” His words slurred, and the old healer moved around me, wiping away blood with brisk swipes of his cloth.
My heart fractured as more bodies arrived—then a healer shook his head over the boy who’d called out for me, dragging fingers over lifeless eyes. Two attendants grabbed the corpse, hauling him out.
Bile rose in my throat, and I clutched Freya’s hand. She squeezed once—a sharp, grounding reminder that I was Queen. I would not let it end here.
Lifting my chin, I strode out. “I want to see the front lines.”
“Nienna, you almost died!” she hissed.
I turned, glare fierce enough to challenge a dragon. “We are Draconis. I will not hide while my husband fights my battle.”
Her frown eased, corners of her mouth tilting upward. “Aye. We would not. To the front!”
When we passed the final tent, my heart lurched. Devastation devoured the plains. Smoke curled, blotting the sky. Fires raced across the dry wheat, hungry and unrelenting.
And in the center, Kallias burned brighter than any dragonfire.
A beacon of otherworldly light, dragons arcing around him but never too close. Gyrak circled like a vulture, chasing Tsunami away again and again.
Screams of dying men clawed at my ears, piercing my tortured soul. Groans and whimpers trailed past, prayers to gods for reunion with loved ones.
The battle dragged deep into the night. Kallias’ light anchored me, bolstering me at the plain’s edge. He retreated once, never returning to camp. Armor and spear were sent after him. Blue Dyre fell from the sky, his sapphire scales causing the blessing to flicker. Before I had time to worry, Elmo swooped, chasing him off.
It shattered me. Somehow, my dragons fractured his light, weakened it. In the Spire it was broken, as if his god struggled to reach him, or he lacked the full blessing. Now, in the chaos of beasts, it faltered.
Were they cursed? He never would have sent for them, never married me or named me queen, if any curses lay between Radaanian gods and dragonkind.
Did his gods disapprove of me?
He’d been so certain Elohios blessed our union. The light had been proof. So why did it falter now?
The night dragged on. Freya draped a fur over my shoulders to ward off the cold as the battle slowed near dawn. Final pockets of resistance fell away, and my vision blurred as the Golden Warrior of Elohios finally emerged from the haze and returned to me.
His spear dipped toward the earth, armor dulled by soot and gore. Grime masked his features, silver hair matted with sweat and blood.
Greaves followed several paces behind, gait uneven, scowl sharp enough to warn away anyone who strayed too close. Black armor hid much of the filth, but his face bore the same marks of war.
Wind snapped my crimson-stained dress as I stood. Kallias met my gaze and blinked. Those sky-blue eyes that once burned bright now seemed so dull, worn thin by exhaustion and pain.
“My tent,” he rasped. His voice scraped raw from shouting and thirst.
When he slowed to approach me, I shook my head and turned, leading him back into camp.
Freya was dispatched for food and water. Soldiers drifted past through trampled grass, boots dragging, offering weary bows. Respect filled their eyes, earned by a king who fought besidethem—but their loss hung heavier. A hush pressed over, grief settling in shared silence for the kin who would not return.
The tent flaps fell closed behind us.
Kallias’ gauntlet lifted my jaw, tilting my head to inspect the gash. I caught his breastplate to steady myself as he tugged my collar aside, eyes fixed on the bandage.
