“I’m ready,” I whispered, squeezing his arm.
Gold thread rasped beneath my thumb when he shifted under my touch. His mantle chains swayed as he stepped beside me and faced the guards. At an unspoken signal, the doors swung open.
“His Majesty, King Kallias Sunspear, Chosen of the Gods! And Queen Nienna Draconis, the Dragon’s Heart!”
The silence that followed the herald’s call was deafening. Chandeliers flickered; their mirrored facets snared the light, throwing it across the room. The scent of roasted beef and earthy vegetables rolled over me, warm and rich, my stomach answering despite the knot in my chest.
A nobleman rose.
That single motion broke the spell. The crowd stood as one, greeting us. Pulse racing, I walked beside my husband as he led me forward, past bowing nobles. I noted who bent deep and who offered only the bare minimum. Kallias knew his court. I did not. I hadn’t grown among them, and I remained too much a stranger to predict their intent or their reach.
When we climbed the dais, my stomach flipped. Rising with him, my hand resting along the crook of his elbow—as his equal—seemed so strange, unreal. This time I wasn’t a princess with Tallon standing between us. Kallias guided me to the high-backed chair that mirrored his own. I would sit at his right, an honored, cherished position. Each of those truths settled as he brought me to my seat and lowered his arm.
My touch slid along his sleeve, as if reluctant to part. The nobles’ stares closed in on me, and uncertainty clawed at my resolve.
His hand caught mine.
When our fingers interlaced, I fought against the quirk threatening my lips as pleasure hummed through me. He wasn’t leaving me, wouldn’t abandon me. He must’ve understood how daunting this was, how the rush left me off balance. There were traditions that stretched back centuries, rituals meant to anchor moments like this, and we were stepping past all of them.
We sat, sinking into the plush chairs. My hands came to rest on the carved armrests, a fingertip tracing a groove until I noticed the nervous gesture and stilled. On the main floor, crisp white linen draped along each table, the room stretching far wider than I remembered. As the seats filled, women smoothed their skirts while men flattened their overcoats.
Servants placed the first course before us, shallow bowls holding rich red soup, and Kallias pressed my hand, a quiet signal to wait. Greaves’ steady gaze scanned the room as he reached for the spoon.
“Your Majesty,” a woman murmured, bending close in greeting as she revealed her own spoon. Her long crimson curls spilled over her shoulder, forming a curtain between me and the watching court while she sampled the steaming broth.
Her hazel eyes twinkled as she met my gaze. “It’s safe.”
“Thank you.” I returned her smile.
She withdrew with Greaves, leaving us alone with our bowls. My attention lingered on the spoon in his hand as I lifted mine. That woman had used her own. Was that enough? What if poison clung to the metal?
“Elysia was chosen by Greaves,” Kallias murmured, then took his first bite.
I followed his lead. The soup proved thick and vivid, flavor blooming across my tongue. Herbs surfaced after the acidic tomato faded, leaving a deep richness behind.
“He knows her?” I asked, keeping my tone light as the nobles began to eat, our first bites granting silent permission.
“She was training to replace him,” Kallias said. “Not as Kingsguard, but as food taster. She has a background in the kitchens and studied alongside the Harvesters for the past year.”
The assassin’s guild of Radaan. The thought of having an assassin at my back sent a shiver along my spine.
“She worked with the apothecary,” his blue irises darkened as he read my face, “studying poisons and antidotes.”
Not blades or combat; only toxins—as if that distinction should assure me.
“Are the Harvesters in the palace?” My gaze swept the room, cataloging the noble’s different features, searching for someone who’d be strong enough to snap me in two or sly enough to slip death into my food.
Kallias didn’t answer right away, and his pause drew my attention. His jaw shifted before he looked at me. “Yes.”
My stomach tightened, eyes skimming the crowd again.
“They’re protecting us,” he said, voice softer than a whisper. “Their work relies on remaining unseen. You wouldn’t be able to pick them out.”
Ronan chose that moment to enter, his presence chasing away the chill of foreboding. He swaggered up the aisle, silver embroidery glinting along his riding leathers. A cocky smirk sat firm on his face, and sandy hair—free of its goggles—fell in loose waves across his brow.
Kallias greeted him and offered the seat beside mine.
“Mother would have your hide,” I murmured as he dropped into the chair.
