Page 24

The carriage cuts through snow like a blade through flesh, its enchanted wheels never quite touching the ground. Fjordmarse craftwork—ancient magic bound in steel and silver, designed to bear their nobility across treacherous mountain passes. The vehicle remembers its purpose even after centuries of disuse, responding to my blood as if it knows its duty to the crown. The well-oiled mechanisms whisper secrets in a language I half-remember from childhood lessons, speaking of roads long buried and kingdoms long fallen.

We make better time than I dared hope. What took weeks on foot passes in mere days as we race south, the landscape blurring past enchanted windows. Calliope sleeps more easily now, curled against my side as mountains give way to foothills, then to the great dark forests that surround my city. The steady motion seems to soothe her, and for the first time in weeks, her skin holds real warmth.

The healer's confirmation of our child's health has lifted something from her shoulders, though I still catch her hand drifting to her belly when she thinks I'm not watching.

Each dawn brings us closer to Millrath, each dusk reveals new signs of my brother's influence spreading through the land. We pass abandoned villages where every door bears his proclamation, the parchment crackling with frost. Trading posts stand empty, their usual winter stores depleted by desperate refugees heading south. Occasionally we glimpse other travelers—merchants' caravans moving in armed convoys, families with their possessions piled on sledges, the occasional patrol of soldiers bearing unfamiliar sigils.

We travel with a small escort—just enough soldiers to defend us if needed, but not so many as to draw attention. Fort Caddell rangers scout ahead while Fjordmarse warriors guard our flanks, the unlikely allies working together with the precision of those who have everything to lose. Their coordination still unsettles me. Centuries of hatred don't vanish overnight, yet here they are, united in purpose. I catch them exchanging techniques during brief rests—human rangers teaching dragonborn warriors their silent ways of moving through snow, Fjordmarse soldiers showing the humans how to predict weather changes by taste and scent.

The winter seems to ease somewhat as we travel, as if even the land itself recognizes its rightful rulers. The endless storms that followed us north have gentled to occasional flurries. Through our bond, I feel Calliope's magic settling into new patterns, no longer the erratic surge that drained her strength.

I learn more from our escorts as we travel. Ulric's proclamation spread quickly through the major cities, carried by ravens and riders alike. He speaks of building a new Kaldoria, one free from the "tyranny" of the old bloodlines. The Iron Lords of Brittletale support him, their forges working day and night to arm his growing forces. Other Houses sit neutral, waiting to see which way the wind blows.

But it's the rumors about Calliope that truly make my blood boil. They say she bewitched me, drove me mad with her magic until I pursued her into the deadly northern reaches. They whisper that the endless winter is her curse upon the land, punishment for rejecting her. Some even claim she works with dark powers, that she means to destroy the ancient bloodlines entirely.

If they only knew the truth growing within her. If they could see how she reaches for me in sleep, how her magic harmonizes with mine in ways I never thought possible.

Our final night's camp lies just beyond sight of the city’s inner walls. Millrath rises from the darkness ahead like a sleeping beast, its towers black against star-scattered sky. The familiar silhouette of my castle perches on its rocky outcrop, but even from here I can see the changes. Black banners catch in the winter wind. My brother prepares for war.

We camp at the banks of a small lake in the foothills of the mountains surrounding my city, its surface frozen for the first time in living memory. The black ice reflects torchlight far in the distance, making it seem as if two cities exist—one above, one below, both waiting to swallow us whole. The sight stirs something in my blood, an ancient recognition. This is what it means to be king, to hold this dark jewel of a city, to protect its people even when they forget who their true ruler is.

In our tent, Calliope lies against my chest, her breath frosting despite the furs wrapped around us. Her fingers trace idle patterns on my skin, following the ridges of scales that refuse to fully retract. Through our bond, I feel her rising tension, her fear warring with determination.

"Tell me what you're thinking," she murmurs.

"That I should have killed him when I had the chance." The words emerge in a low rumble. "After the coalition's attack, when he first showed his true colors. I was weak."

"You loved him." Calliope’s voice holds no judgment. "He was your brother."

"And now he sits on my throne. Threatens my wife. My child." Smoke curls from my mouth, making the tent's canvas ripple. "Tomorrow, when we enter the city—"

"He'll know we're coming. Will have forces waiting."

"Let them try." I pull her closer, breathing in the crisp sweetness that always clings to her skin. "Let them see their true king and queen return. Let them witness what happens to those who threaten what's mine."

Her hand comes up to cup my cheek, turning my face toward hers. "We'll need more than just force, Arvoren. The people must choose us. Must see that we offer something better than your brother's false promises."

The moonlight filtering through canvas paints her skin silver, catching in her dark hair like stars. Her eyes hold that fierce defiance I first fell in love with, tempered now with something deeper. Something that makes my dragon blood sing with recognition. When I kiss her, she tastes of winter wind and ancient magic.

The kiss deepens, and suddenly the tent feels too small, too confining. Without breaking contact, I gather her into my arms. She weighs nothing to my dragon's strength, her body fitting against mine as if carved from the same stone. Through our bond, I feel her desire mirror my own—a hunger that burns hotter than dragon-fire.

The night air bites at our skin as I carry her from the camp, but neither of us notices the cold. Moonlight turns the forest into something out of ancient legend—branches weaving intricate patterns against the star-strewn sky, snow glinting like scattered diamonds in the darkness. Steam rises where my boots touch frozen ground, leaving a trail of melted footprints that will be gone by morning.

In a hollow between ancient pines, I find what I'm seeking—a patch of clover somehow preserved beneath the frost, its delicate leaves a reminder that spring still exists somewhere beneath all this endless winter. The ground here remembers warmth, protected by the massive trees whose roots have guarded this space for centuries.

I lower Calliope onto the soft green with infinite care. Her dark hair spreads across the clover like spilled ink, and when she looks up at me, the fierce love in her eyes steals my breath. Moonlight paints patterns across her skin, turning her into something ethereal, a creature of starlight and storm, beautiful enough to break kingdoms for.

"I love you," I breathe against her lips. The words feel inadequate, but they're all I have to offer besides my heart, my crown, my very breath.

Her fingers trace the scales rippling beneath my skin as I lean down to capture her mouth again. Around us, the forest holds its breath, bearing witness to this moment between king and queen. Tomorrow, we fight for our throne, our future, our child's birthright. But here, in this hollow of ancient magic and tender green, we are simply man and woman, husband and wife, dragon and sorceress, two hearts beating as one beneath the endless stars.

The city waits, black against stars, patient as stone. It has outlasted centuries of war, has watched kings fall like leaves in autumn. Tomorrow it will watch again as we fight to reclaim what's ours.

I press my lips to Calliope's hair and settle in to guard her sleep, smoke curling gently from my mouth as I watch our destiny approach with the dawn.