Page 17

Dawn bleeds silver through the pines, turning frost to diamonds on bare branches. I wake to find Arvoren exactly where he was when exhaustion finally claimed me—sitting against a massive trunk, one arm still curved protectively around my shoulders. Steam rises faintly where snow meets his heated skin. The fire smolders, smoking but barely there. He hasn't slept; I can tell by the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes track every shadow in the pale morning light.

For a moment, I let myself remember other mornings, back in Millrath. How he would watch me then, too. Something has changed, but I cannot describe or understand quite what it is. The difference makes my chest ache in ways I can't quite name.

"The storm's dying," he says when he notices I'm awake. His voice is rough from disuse, but gentler than it was last night. "We should be able to cover more ground today."

I sit up slowly, wincing as my body protests. Everything hurts—the spirit's burn on my arm, the lingering weakness from Ulric's poison, the deep bone-weariness of pushing my magic too far. I haven’t felt truly comfortable in months. The child's presence pulses steady and warm within me, but I can feel their magic taking its toll, too, draining what little strength I have left.

"Where are we going?" I ask, though I already know the answer.

"Millrath." When I stiffen, he adds quickly, "The castle is the only place I can properly protect you. At least until we deal with Ulric—"

"I won't be locked away again." The words come out sharper than intended. "I can't."

He looks away, smoke curling from between his teeth. "You really think I would…after everything that's happened, you still believe I'd treat you like that?"

"I don't know what to believe anymore." I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hide how my hands shake. "You saw me in that fortress and assumed the worst. Didn't even try to understand—"

"Because it looked like you'd chosen him!" Real pain edges into his voice. "My own brother, who tried to kill us both. Who would have torn apart everything we—" He breaks off, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "How was I supposed to trust what I saw?"

"Arvoren, how am I supposed to trust you? Even—" I stop, pressing my lips together. Even now, I can taste the sickly sweetness of the tea, feel the fog that clouded my thoughts for weeks. "You see betrayal everywhere you look because that's all you expect to find. Perhaps you gave me the habit. I can’t trust that you’ll be the husband I need you to be, not until you show me it’s true."

Something flickers across his face—hurt, maybe, or recognition. But before he can respond, a sound cuts through the morning quiet: branches snapping, something large moving through the underbrush.

Arvoren is on his feet instantly, pushing me behind him as shadows detach themselves from the murk beyond the trees.

They move like liquid darkness, these creatures. Bigger than wolves but wrong somehow—too many joints, too many teeth gleaming wetly in the pale light. Magic ripples across their shadowy forms like oil on water. I count five, then seven, then lose track as more emerge from the forest, moving around us, flowing synchronously. Their eyes glow with an inner fire that speaks of ancient power and hunger. I feel them watching.

I cannot yet tell whether they’re hostile. Whether they want us dead.

"Stay close," Arvoren growls, scales rippling beneath his skin as his dragon nature rises to the surface. "If they're Ulric's—"

"No." I recognize the magic radiating from them—older than Ulric, older than kingdoms or crowns. "These aren't his. They feel…different. They’re wild."

This is wild magic. I know it as well as I’d know my own flesh and blood.

The beasts circle us with impossible grace, their movements too fluid for their massive bodies. When they breathe, frost forms in the air, and the temperature around us plummets. One lets out a sharp, crackly sound like ice cracking in the depths of winter—a hunting call that makes my blood run cold.

The attack comes without warning.

Two launch themselves at Arvoren while another lunges for me. He meets them with fire and fury, dragon-flame turning the morning air to steam, shifting instantly. I stumble backward as he towers above me, trying to call my magic, to summon the storm that always hovers at the edges of my consciousness.

Power rises, but something's wrong. Pain shoots through my abdomen, sharp and unexpected. I double over, one hand pressed to my stomach as black spots dance at the edges of my vision.

Too much. Too much.

With a thrill of fear, I know my body is reaching its inevitable limits.

"Calliope!" Arvoren's voice seems to come from very far away. Through blurred vision, I see him tear through one of the beasts with terrible efficiency, his partially transformed state letting him match their impossible speed. But there are so many, and they keep coming, flowing out of the shadows like living darkness.

I have to help. Have to fight. But the magic slips away like smoke through my fingers, and the pain intensifies with each attempt to grasp it. The child moves within me, their presence both comfort and terror. What if using too much power hurts them? What if—

A shadow falls over me. One of the creatures looms above, its too-many teeth bared in what might be a smile. This close, I can see the patterns of frost that spread across its midnight fur, the way its form seems to shift and flow like water in moonlight. Ancient magic radiates from it in waves that make my teeth ache.

It lunges. I throw myself sideways, but I'm too slow, too weak. Claws like icicles tear through my sleeve, drawing blood that freezes instantly on my skin. The pain clears my head enough to access a fragment of power—just enough to send a burst of killing frost into the creature's face. It reels back with a sound like breaking glass.

"No!"

Arvoren's roar shakes snow from the branches above. Dragon-fire fills the air as he barrels into the beast, tearing it apart with claws and flame. But more circle behind him, their movements coordinated, patient. They know they have us outnumbered. Know we're already exhausted—from our flight from the fortress, from his desperate search for me, from my dire and unending ordeal.

I try once more to reach for my magic, gritting my teeth against the pain. The child's power pulses within me, eager to help, but I force it down. I can't risk them, not to save myself. Not even to save their father.

Arvoren fights like a demon, his partially transformed state letting him match the creatures' impossible speed and strength. But he won't leave my side to pursue them properly, won't risk them getting past him to me. His protection will get him killed.

It will get us both killed. All three of us.

"Go!" I shout as another beast lunges. "I can—"

The words die in my throat as agony tears through me. The child's magic surges despite my attempts to contain it, responding to my fear. Power explodes outward in a wave of killing frost, turning the very air to crystal. The beasts cry out in voices like breaking glass. Tree branches crack and shatter in the sudden cold.

The last thing I see before darkness claims me is Arvoren's face, transformed by terror as I crumple into his arms. His lips form my name, but I can't hear him over the roaring in my ears. Can't tell him about the life growing inside me, about why I'm so afraid.

Can't trust him with this final, precious secret. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

The world fades to white, and somewhere in the endless dark, our child's magic pulses like a second heartbeat.

***

I wake to warmth and the steady rhythm of a heart beating against my cheek.

For a moment, I'm disoriented—where is the perpetual chill of Ulric's tower, the whispers of ancient magic in the walls? But no—I'm curled against Arvoren's chest, his arms wrapped around me like steel bands, dragon-fire warmth seeping into my frozen limbs. Somehow he's found us shelter: a shallow cave carved into the hillside, partially hidden by a curtain of ice-heavy pine boughs. Snow falls beyond our sanctuary in lazy spirals, turned gold by the last light of sunset.

He's finally succumbed to exhaustion, his breathing deep and even. One of his hands rests protectively over my stomach, and the intimacy of it makes my heart ache. In sleep, his face loses its hard edges, the constant tension melting away. He looks younger, almost vulnerable. More like the man who would wake in the night just to pull me closer, less like the king who kept me in chains.

The child moves within me, a flutter like butterfly wings, and I have to bite back a gasp. Their magic pulses in time with Arvoren's heartbeat, reaching for him even as I hold myself back. How would he react if he knew? Would he see our baby as a miracle or a tool to secure his bloodline? Would he lock me away "for my own protection," keeping me safe until I deliver his heir?

He’ll know soon, I know. I’m already showing, though it’s subtle enough that I can hide it. But it won’t be long.

I want to believe he's changed. Want to trust the tenderness in the way he holds me, the fear in his voice when I collapsed. But I remember too well the possessive gleam in his eyes when he first claimed me as his queen, the way he watched my every move as if expecting betrayal. His brutality. His cruelty. The fear that still hasn’t left me, that I will carry for the rest of my life, of having no freedom ever again.

Careful not to wake him, I trace the line of his jaw with trembling fingers. There's a new scar there, very small and faint, still pink and healing—earned searching for me, perhaps? He shifts slightly at my touch, pulling me closer even in sleep, and murmurs something that might be my name.

I love him. That's the terrifying truth of it. Maybe I always did, despite everything. When he fights to protect me, when he looks at me like I'm something precious rather than something to possess... it would be so easy to let myself fall. To give up.

But it isn't enough, is it? Not without trust. Not without the freedom to choose, the knowledge that our child— my child—will be safe, provided for. Treated gently. Treated with a dignity Millrath stole from me for a long, long time.

Unbidden, tears prick at my eyes. They deserve better than a life of suspicion and control. Deserve to be loved for themselves, not for their power or their bloodline. What if Arvoren sees them as just another piece in his game of politics and power? What if—

He stirs, his arms tightening around me.

"Calliope?" His voice is rough with sleep and worry. "Are you hurt? The magic you used—"

"I'm alright." I press my face into his chest, hiding the warring emotions I know must show on my face. "Just tired."

He makes a sound deep in his throat, almost a growl. "You shouldn't have tried to fight. Should have let me—"

"Let you what? Die protecting me?" The words come out sharper than intended. "I'm not helpless, Arvoren. Not anymore."

Arvoren’s hand comes up to cup my cheek, turning my face toward his. There's something in his eyes I can't quite read—fear? Hope?

"I know you're not helpless. I know you're stronger than I ever imagined. But I can't—" He breaks off. "I can't lose you again. Not to Ulric, not to anything."

The raw honesty in his voice makes my chest tight. I want to tell him everything. Want to take his hand and press it to my stomach, to share this miracle growing within me. Want to believe that he could love us both without needing to control us.

Instead, I lean up and brush my lips against his jaw, tasting smoke and winter wind on his skin.

"Sleep," I whisper. "We're both safe for now."

He subsides reluctantly, but his arms stay locked around me, as if afraid I'll disappear the moment he lets go. I listen as his breathing evens out again, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek.

Outside our shelter, the storm rages on. But here, wrapped in dragon-fire warmth with our child's magic pulsing between us, I let myself imagine a future where trust comes as easily as breathing. Where love doesn't mean possession. Where we can build something new from the ashes of what we were.

It's a beautiful dream.