“And if he refuses?”
“You have his ear and his heart. Give him time to give you his mouth.”
My mind drifted to the nights he’d used that mouth on my skin. I drew a steadying breath, incredulous that he could shatter me with his silence yet manage such feats of pleasure without hesitation.
“We will land tomorrow morning,” I said, pivoting the subject away from my gnawing insecurities. “I’ll make sure you’re among the first ashore.”
“Thank you.” His eyes glimmered with gratitude, or perhaps nausea, as he nudged his bucket closer.
It was his constant companion on this journey, though I could only imagine his eagerness to be rid of it.
I murmured a quiet goodbye and searched the ship for Freya. She took up a cramped room with Edith, both perched on crates, needles in hand as they mended clothing.
“Please tell me I’m needed above deck,” Freya blurted when I entered.
I bit back a smile while Edith scowled at her younger companion.
“We’re only in the sailors’ way above deck,” she muttered, leaning closer to the swaying lantern to examine her stitching. “Here, we can prove useful. There’s no shortage of mending on a ship full of men, after all.”
“Edith, I have need of your services,” I said, offering Freya an apologetic smile.
My friend groaned, then stabbed her needle into the jacket, hissing as it pricked her finger.
“Of course, Your Majesty.” Edith set the garment aside, brushing her skirts with quiet precision. “Freya, try not to bleed on the good men’s livery.”
Freya waited until the older woman strode past before waving the needle with a mock threat.
I led the way back to my room, Edith the picture of a perfect handmaid, trailing silently behind. She said nothing when I turned to her, simply shutting the door and regarding me with a guarded expression.
“I need to wear Radaanian green.”
It was nearing evening, and I marveled at how scarce one could make themselves on a ship. Kallias had avoided me all day. Ronan had taken Gyrak above the clouds, no doubt stoking his irritation further, though at least they were out of sight. They would return under cover of darkness, and no alarm would rouse Radaan.
I had taken my midday meal with Fallione, who assured me the ship could be hidden at Wellmoor. How one hid a Dragon Ship, I had no clue.
The sun began to sink, a deep orange orb, nearly red, dragging shadows across the deck. A harbinger, it seemed, of what was to come.
My search for Kallias ended only when he wanted me to find him. I approached the prow, which I’d already inspected twice, moving on soft steps.
Sunlight struck the intricate gold details of his mantle, igniting them. The green of his jacket shimmered against tanned skin, vibrant and full of life. The gale tugged his hair free of its precise formation, and creases at the corners of his eyes deepened as he glared into the distance, etched lines of vigilance and fatigue.
I took my place beside him, hand resting on the splintered wood of the ship. He shifted, a fraction closer, glancing down.
“You changed.” Not a question, but a statement, opening the door for conversation.
“It was a poor choice.” I twisted to peer up at him, noting the set of his jaw. He remained closed off, guarded. Not letting me in.
“You may wear whatever you wish.” His gaze returned to the horizon, hands clasped behind his back, spine straightening.
“Just because I can, doesn’t mean I should.” My lips pressed together when he stayed silent. “I’m sorry for earlier.”
He was a statue, unmoving, unblinking. Blue eyes glimmered like cornflowers in the dying sun. Stubble bristled along his jaw, unable to hide his fierce frown. Dark brows cut a sharpVabove. Light caught the silver threading his beard, pooling near his temple—a reminder of the years between us, and that I married a made man. We had to learn this together: how to be partners when he’d spent his whole life alone.
“Let me in,” I whispered, letting the wind steal the words from prying ears.
Heavy lids veiled those irises, and with a slow sigh, he cupped my face. The warmth of his rough skin felt like sunlight to a basking dragon. Relief bloomed, a simple touch undoing knots I hadn’t realized I carried.
“I would be a pitiful king if the color my wife wore swayed my actions.” His thumb traced my cheekbone. “But, for love of the sun, Nienna, do not push back at me in public.”
