“I trust you slept well, Your Majesty?” Fallione asked, waiting until his king settled before reclaiming his own chair.
“As well as could be expected.” My attention stayed on the map pinned to the table. “Where will we dock?”
The answer had already caused friction between Ronan and my husband. I avoided siding with my brother, though I shared his view.
“In the eastern plains,” Kallias said. His jaw shifted as he traced the shoreline with his finger. “It should give us time to test Radaan’s climate.”
“Running like a rabbit,” Ronan muttered under his breath.
He wanted fire and spectacle. We had a dragon. Radaanian foot soldiers, and whatever defense Tallon imagined he could muster, posed no threat. With Gyrak, we could reduce the city to ash in a single day.
“I will not rush into my country blind,” Kallias said, teeth grinding together, still refusing to look at Ronan.
That was the man I knew. Measured. Exacting. One of his dearest friends lay dead, the other’s fate uncertain. He would not gamble Clay’s life on bravado.
“We could anchor at Wellmoor,” Fallione offered, nodding toward a green peg on the map. “Send a skiff in. Learn the mood of the common folk.”
The bay sat too far from Reem for my liking.
“Is there nothing closer?” I asked.
“Anything closer risks announcing our arrival to Tallon before we’re ready.” Kallias’ eye twitched once, hidden behind a measured blink.
“Arrive with Gyrak and you’ll be ready,” Ronan muttered.
“And Wellmoor will give us the information we need?” I asked when my husband’s glare flicked toward my brother.
“My ties to the west are weaker,” Kallias said, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve drafted men from those districts for years. They haven’t seen the evils of Vellos. Cutting east brings us too close to their lands, and Tallon has strengthened his bonds there.”
A memory surfaced: the prince riding to the eastern districts, avoiding the call of a mammoth attack. He’d nearly caught us then, detouring north for one reason alone—to find us together.
“If we announce ourselves in the west,” Fallione added, “it gives him a chance to flee over the Craggs.”
Kallias held my gaze, unflinching. Torment churned beneath the surface, full of betrayal and pain.
“You’re letting him escape,” Ronan accused.
Kallias didn’t blink.
His jaw locked tight, nostrils flaring with restraint.
Tallon haunted him. He always would. When someone grew up as blood, when they were called family, punishment never came without pain, no matter the crime.
We never believed the prince would stage a coup. Removal from the line, exile perhaps—but treason carried only one price. Death.
Before this ended, Kallias might be forced to kill the man he once called son.
“We land in Wellmoor,” I said, unwavering in my support.
I wanted Tallon to burn for the pain and suffering he’d forced upon my husband, but I would never add to Kallias’ torment for my own satisfaction.
Ronan huffed his frustration and surged to his feet. The ship groaned as Gyrak shifted above, the dragon’s irritation echoing his own.
“And you call yourself a warrior king,” he scoffed, striding for the stairs.
“He is young,” I said, resting my palm on my husband’s thigh. Muscle tightened beneath the dark linen. “Will the western soldiers rally behind us?”
It was Fallione who answered. “His Majesty, Kallias Sunspear, is their king. I struggle to believe Prince Tallon could sway the entirety of a nation the size of Radaan in such a short time.”
