Textured, rough, alive. A seed and an infant side by side. Roots plunged into the soil, tendrils clawing toward the surface. The babe curled inward, the umbilical cord stretching across the canvas, bleeding onto the wall to intertwine with threads of gold.
Nienna’s hand. Gods, it rested on her womb, pale fingers splayed beneath her navel.
The peace I carried from the temple evaporated, thinning like fog under morning sun.
My spine stiffened, instinct snapping into place. This was who I was. There was no shame in it.
Nienna turned toward me with a radiant smile, one that chased my fears back into their corners. She whispered a farewell to the priestess and crossed the space between us.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” I said as she slipped her arm through mine.
“You’re not. Vama was showing me the temple’s art.” Her expression softened. “I missed Radaan’s collections.”
I guided her toward the palace, angling my head. “The walls of Draconia were covered in rich paintings. Bold pieces.”
“It’s different here.” She leaned on my shoulder. “Draconis’ art is powerful. Demanding. Radaan feels softer. Peaceful.” Her lips pressed together as she searched for the thought.
“Like coming home after war.”
“Yes.” She gasped, turning to me with bright intensity. The excitement dimmed when she studied my face. “It reminds me of you.”
I was a king. Calculated. Cold when I needed to be. My days were measured by schedules, councils, trials.
But I was also a man.
With a quiet breath, I changed course, steering her away from the palace doors. My stride lengthened, urgency carrying us through the gardens.
Past the flowerbeds. Beneath the Golden Palace’s shadow. Toward a willow whose branches brushed the earth. I pushed aside the trailing limbs and pulled her through, letting them fall between us and our guards.
Her laugh broke free, breathless. I dropped my arm, caught her hand, and drew her to the trunk. Birds scattered with indignant cries, and I sank to the ground, tugging her with me, mindful of our mantles.
My legs framed her as I pulled her close and kissed her. Her giggle vanished against my mouth as I chased every scrap of joy she offered. Like a leech, I wanted more. Never satisfied.
She hummed, shifting until she fit between my legs, her chest settling against mine. Our kisses slowed. Soft. Unhurried. Not the desperate hunger of the night before. This was quieter, deeper. A meeting of hearts. I needed this. Needed her. One stolen moment before the storm resumed.
“Aren’t you full of surprises, dear husband.” She pulled back, eyes bright with amusement.
“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” I said, offering a gentle lie. The King of the Plentiful Plains did not duck beneath willow branches to steal kisses. But a man facing relentless demands, offered a breath of privacy with his wife? I would choose that every time.
“Careful. People might think you’re changing.” Her teeth traced my jaw.
Desire stirred, restless and blooming, impossible to ignore.
“I am,” I said. “I’m Selfish. Demanding, even.”
She laughed, adjusting my mantle’s chains. “You’ve always been demanding. But you are the least selfish man I know.”
A rough sound left me as I leaned my head against the tree, eyes lifting to the branches above. “I’ve gone soft. I wanted peace for Radaan. Every choice served that purpose. A kingdom without war. A future where children held plows and hammers instead of spears.” My throat tightened. “But now? All I want is this.”
She rested her cheek against my chest. Two blue birds darted through the branches, scolding us before hopping into a nest and glaring down.
“If anyone has earned it, Kallias, it’s you.”
Pain sliced through me. My eyes shut against it, jaw tight. Not physical pain. Dread. I had too much left to do. Too much blood yet to spill before rest would be earned.
It was freeing, in a way, sharing this with someone. Greaves knew. Gods—he understood how badly I craved peace.That truth lived between us, unspoken. A quiet, mutual understanding. But speaking it aloud was different.
We sat there, beneath the willow, pretending we could hide from the world. I could almost imagine a life without palace walls, mantles, or war. No servants whispering in the courtyard, or advisors counting minutes. No pardons or documents waiting for my seal.
