“Surface wound,” he murmured, more for himself than anyone else.
Greaves groaned low as he reached for the buckles of Kallias’ armor.
“I’m well.” I straightened and swatted the guard’s hand away. “You sit.”
His dark gaze locked on mine, something dangerous still moving in those murky depths. The battlefield had not released him yet.
Freya rushed in with water, crowding the entrance. Her mouth fell open, then pressed tight as she looked to me for direction.
“Help Greaves out of his armor,” I said. “Then send for a healer.”
“This isn’t our first battle,” the guard growled, voice rough as gravel. He sounded more like a bear than a man.
“And now you have me.” My fingers worked at the buckle of Kallias’ vambrace. “You’ll endure for my sake.”
The armor came off in heavy pieces. Beneath it, they looked just as battered. While they washed, Freya fetched the healer.
War stripped the tent of modesty. Greaves’ trousers were removed while his leg was examined, stitches pulled through a gash above his knee. Kallias shed his tunic, kicked off his boots and trousers. My handmaid shielded me as best she could while I changed into a green dress in the cramped space.
It was an odd thing—to have won the battle while the weight of defeat hung in the air. It settled on everyone’s shoulders. Stories spoke of feasts, dancing, songs that carried into dawn. But this?
This was agony.
Greaves redressed, and Freya vanished with the ruined clothing. Kallias donned fresh garments, clean fabric hiding bruises and shallow cuts that mapped his skin. No deep wounds marred him. Nothing like what Tallon had left on me.
I settled the mantle across his shoulders, fingers catching on clasps, smoothing chains into place. His eyes remained closed, breath even as I fastened the yoke.
“Your Majesties—” Fallione said, stepping inside.
Greaves dragged a hand down his face and collapsed into a chair, injured leg stretched out.
“—We can secure Reem.”
Kallias’ eyes snapped open. “Where is Tallon?”
“Breon and his rider, Nakos, tracked him to the city. They lost him in the streets. Scouts report no sign of him in the palace.”
Ire simmered behind my husband’s gaze, intense enough to make me still.
“If I find him,” he said, voice stripped of warmth, “I will kill him.”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. That was no threat—it was a promise.
Tallon had sealed his fate the moment he dared to press a blade against my skin. Grace had its limits. And he had crossed them.
Fallione drew a careful breath. “He moved against the sovereign ruler of Radaan. You are within your rights.”
Kallias cupped my uninjured cheek, the split callous rough but warm. His nostrils flared as pain flickered through him. “We march to Reem.”
“I’ll ready the forces.” The advisor slipped away.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
I leaned into his palm. “This battle isn’t over. I will find no rest until it is.”
Chapter Eighteen
Nienna
