Kallias
Fallione droned on about lumber logistics, but my skull throbbed with each syllable. I cradled my head, the ache drilling behind my eyes and draining what little decorum I had left. I would need to save it for the negotiations soon, making my moves as the King of Radaan, but also as a man willing to sacrifice anything for the woman he loved.
The woman I hurt last night.
She masked the pain well. A polite smile had covered the wound I gave her. I never meant to cause it, but there were some things I wasn’t willing to share. Some ghosts belonged to the shadows.
Still, she owned me. Mind. Body. Soul.
“Gods.” The word rasped past my lips as I rubbed at my temples. We’d marry, vow a lifetime. Passion, loyalty, unity—everything necessary for a future shared between thrones.
But love required truth.
Greaves knew mine. He always had. Since his youth, he stood at my side—whether I confessed aloud or bled it out in the sparring ring, he saw every fracture and flaw.
Nienna asked for that same intimacy, and I shut her out.
I selfishly pressed her for details about the prince, but when she turned the question on me—when she named Eldeiade—I folded. The dead woman kept resurfacing—drawing her back into my mind—into my dreams.
The look on Greaves’ face when I rose told me I wasn’t silent in the night. Not that it was a restful sleep. I didn’t ask what he had heard, and wondered if it was a new development from everyone sticking their nose in my business, or if he was now worried because I was about to marry another woman while speaking of another in my dreams.
Nienna would love that.
Maybe a dragon would put me out of my misery.
“…across the sea, so we should start with a rate of five gold per beam, anticipating Nereus will haggle–”
“How much do we want per beam?” I snapped. The pain in my head pulsed like a war drum. A rough hand closed on the back of my neck—Greaves’ thumbs digging into the base of my skull.
I sagged forward, tension unraveling one knot at a time.
“Three would be fair,” Fallione replied, tone cautious. “We could survive at two.”
He was still walking on glass after I blindsided him yesterday—announcing Tallon’s removal and naming Nienna as heir without warning.
“Then we ask for three.” I grunted, Greaves pressing into the stiffness coiled through my shoulders. “Nereus doesn’t want games. I have a kingdom to return to, and he doesn’t want his daughter to be caught in a compromising situation.”
Not taking into consideration that I would be the one compromising her.
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Fallione gave up the push, his voice tight.
I drew in a breath and rose. Greaves slung the mantle over my shoulders, its weight settling along my spine. My back screamed in protest as I adjusted the lapels and draped the chains.
The negotiations started much like the day before. Tedious. Measured. Formal. All part of the burden I carried.
Even if I was here for selfish reasons.
“We’ve considered your proposal to allow Nienna to inherit Radaan,” Nyxaria said, voice unhurried and smooth, “and we accept.” She sat composed, the picture of poise. “However, we have acontingent request.”
My headache throbbed again. I forced my focus. “Go on.”
“After your wedding, both of you will remain in Draconia for a month.”
Fallione stiffened beside me. That silence stretched sharp and tight. Her eyes held mine. A test of resolve between two sovereigns.
A month?
I’d left Radaan leaderless for too long.
