Page 26

The light falls differently in these chambers now.

I carry Calliope up the winding stair, her head tucked beneath my chin, her breath warm against my neck. My muscles ache from battle, but she weighs nothing to my dragon's strength. Never has. Steam rises where my boots touch stone—I can't quite keep my inner fire contained, not with her pressed so close, not after everything we've fought through to reach this moment.

"I can walk," she murmurs, though her fingers tighten in my cloak.

"Let me have this." I breathe in her scent—crisp sweetness beneath the lingering smoke of battle. "Let me bring you home properly."

Home. The word catches in my throat like smoke. This was once her prison, these halls witness to my desperate attempts to possess what could never truly be caged. Now she returns as Queen, as my equal, carrying our child beneath her heart. The changes in me feel as monumental as the changes in her.

When we reach our chambers— our chambers, truly ours now—I shoulder open the heavy door. The room looks different too, though nothing has physically changed. Moonlight spills through tall windows, catching on frost patterns that spread across the glass at Calliope's presence. The massive bed still dominates the space, its curtains drawn back to reveal fresh linens. Someone—probably the servants who remained loyal—lit the fire and left food on the side table.

I lay her on the bed with infinite care. She sinks into the softness with a sigh that makes my heart clench. How long since she's slept somewhere truly safe? How many nights did she spend freezing in the wilderness while I searched, or trapped in my brother's cursed tower while he plotted to steal our child?

"You're brooding." Calliope's voice draws me back. Her hand comes up to touch my face, fingers tracing the new scars there. "I can feel it."

"I should have found you sooner." The words burn like acid. "Should have protected you better—"

"Shh." Calliope tugs me down beside her, and I go willingly, gathering her close. "We're here now. We're safe."

I feel it through our bond—that pulse of magic that grows stronger each day in impossible harmony with mine. My hand splays across her stomach, marveling at the miracle we've created together.

"I can't believe it sometimes," I murmur into her hair. “That you're truly carrying my child. That you chose to keep them, even after everything…"

"They're ours ." Her voice holds certainty that steals my breath. "Not a bargaining chip or a weapon. Not a tool for power. Just ours to love."

Love. Such a simple word for something that burns like dragon-fire in my blood. I remember how it felt when she first fled—the desperate possession that drove me to hunt her across the continent. Now that same fierce need has transformed into something deeper, something that makes me want to be worthy of her trust. Of both of them.

A knock at the door makes me tense, scales rippling beneath my skin. But he speaks my name, and it's only Darian. My oldest friend survived Ulric's dungeons with his loyalty intact.

He doesn’t come in, just speaks through the door.

"The city is secure, my king." His voice carries the weight of his steadfast service. "The remaining supporters of…of your brother have surrendered or fled. The other Lords will surely send word of their renewed allegiance, upon your return.”

Of course they will. Vultures, circling back now that they see which way the wind blows. But those battles can wait. Right now, nothing matters except the woman in my arms, the child growing within her, the future we might build together.

"Thank you, old friend." I don't take my eyes off Calliope as she drifts toward sleep. "Post guards, but otherwise…let us rest."

Darian withdraws silently, and we're alone again. I should sleep, too—the battle has drained even my enhanced strength. But I can't stop watching her, can't quite believe she's really here. That she chose to return, chose to trust me with her heart, with our child's future.

The firelight paints her skin gold, catching on the silver threads in her dark hair. Even exhausted, she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I trace the line of her jaw, the curve of her throat, memorizing her all over again. Her magic responds to my touch, frost patterns delicately spiraling across the sheets.

I used to fear that power in her. Used to think I needed to contain it, control it, keep it safely caged. Now I see how wrong I was. She's strongest when she's free—we both are. Together we toppled my brother's forces, united ancient enemies, reclaimed our throne. Together we might reshape this kingdom into something worthy of our child's inheritance.

The thought of fatherhood still terrifies me. What do I know of gentle things, of nurturing new life? My own parents died when I was young, leaving only lessons in power and control. But when I feel our child's magic pulse beneath my palm, when I imagine teaching them to fly, to love, to rule with wisdom rather than fear…I want to be better. For them. For her.

Calliope shifts in her sleep, pressing closer to my warmth. Through our bond, I feel her contentment, her bone-deep relief at finally being somewhere safe. The winter storm that has followed her for months gentles to soft snowfall outside our windows. Even in sleep, she trusts me to protect her, to keep them both secure while they rest.

I will not waste this second chance. Will not let my need to possess overcome my desire to love, to support, to protect while still allowing freedom. She is not a bird to be caged, but a queen to rule beside me, a mother to nurture our child, a partner to face whatever challenges still lie ahead.

"I will love you forever," I whisper into her hair, though she's too deeply asleep to hear. "Both of you. All my life, I swear it.”

The words feel inadequate, but they're all I have to offer besides my heart, my strength, my very breath. Tomorrow, we begin rebuilding—our relationship, our kingdom, our future. But for now, I hold everything that matters in my arms.

The fire burns low as night deepens. Outside, the city sleeps, snow falling gentle as a blessing. And here in our chambers, finally home where we belong, I keep watch over my wife and child until dawn streaks the sky with shades of silver and gold.

Let Ulric run. Let the Lords plot. Let winter rage beyond our walls. Nothing can touch us here, in this moment of perfect peace. Nothing matters except the miracle of her choosing to stay, to trust, to love.

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

***

Morning light falls strangely in my study, filtering through narrow windows set high in ancient walls. The beams catch on dragon skulls that watch from shadowed alcoves, their empty eyes holding centuries of secrets. This deep into the castle, the air always tastes of copper and old magic, thick with the weight of ritual and sacrifice.

I find Darian already waiting, his armor gleaming dully in the strange light. He doesn’t look cold despite the lingering chill—like all dragonborn, his blood runs hot against the lingering winter chill. He stands before the war table, studying maps and missives spread across its scarred surface like fallen leaves.

"The city quiets," he says without looking up, ever-practical even now. "Most of Ulric's supporters have either fled or sworn new oaths. The rest…" He trails off, but I catch his meaning. The rest won't trouble us again.

I move to stand beside him, scanning reports written in hands I recognize—commanders from the outer reaches, lords of distant holdings, all scrambling to declare their loyalty now that the battle's done. Smoke curls from my mouth as I read, scales rippling beneath my skin at some of the more flowery proclamations.

"Vultures," I growl, though we both know such promises are necessary. "Yesterday they'd have seen me dead. Today they write of eternal devotion."

"They write of survival." Darian's voice holds careful neutrality. "And of hope."

I glance at him sharply. In the strange half-light, his expression gives nothing away. But we've known each other too long for such careful masks.

"Speak plainly, old friend."

He considers his words with the same precision he brings to battle strategy. "The queen's return changes things. Her power, her condition…the Houses will see opportunity there. They know she is powerful. They will either wish to persuade you of their acquiescence or their threat. Who knows what the future holds. Perhaps they await word of Ulric’s death.”

But Ulric is not dead. They haven’t found him. In my gut, I know they won’t.

I grip the edge of the table. "They will not touch her."

"No," Darian agrees simply. "But they will watch. And wait. And wonder…."

He trails off again, but this time I hear the question he won't voice. The same question that haunts my own dreams, though I try to bury it beneath certainty and love.

"She'll stay." The words emerge rougher than intended. "She chose to return."

"She did." Darian begins sorting reports with methodical care. "Just as she chose to flee before."

Smoke pours thicker as my control slips. "That was different. I was different."

"Yes." Now he does look at me, and there's something like approval in his expression. "You were. You are." A pause, heavy with meaning. "But is it enough?"

The question hangs in the air that grows warmer by the moment. Through our bond, I feel Calliope still sleeping peacefully in our chambers above, her magic gentle as the falling snow. So different from the desperate storm that once raged within her.

"It has to be," I say finally. "I won't cage her again. Won't try to possess what can only be freely given."

Darian nods, as if I've confirmed something he already knew. "Then perhaps that's all the answer we need."

We work in silence for a while, sorting intelligence and planning next steps. The underchamber grows lighter as morning climbs, sun-shafts moving across ancient stone like measured breaths. This place has seen so much—marriages and murders, oaths sworn and broken, power claimed and lost. The very walls remember.

"She's different too, you know," Darian says eventually. "Stronger. She seems more like your wife now than she ever did here, if you’d permit me to say it.”

"I know." I trace the line of the Dragonspine Peaks on a map before us, remembering how she faced down my brother on those sacred peaks. "She's everything I never knew I needed. Everything this kingdom needs."

“She reminds me of your mother sometimes.”

I hum. I don’t deny it. Darian looks like he’s considering saying more, but stops himself.

"The Houses will want guarantees," he says instead, ever-practical. "Proof that things truly can be different."

"They'll have it." I straighten, decision crystallizing like frost on glass. "Summon them all—every Lord who claims loyalty to the throne. Let them see what we might build together. What she might help us become."

Darian studies me for a long moment, steam rising where his fingers touch ancient stone. "And if they resist? If they cling to old fears, old hatred of her kind?"

My laugh holds notes of my fire, my fury. "Then we win.”

He smiles then, a rare expression that transforms his battle-hardened features. "You sound like her."

"Good." I gather the most urgent reports, leaving the rest for later consideration. "Perhaps I'm finally learning the right lessons."

Morning light fills the underchamber now, turning shadow to gold and secrets to possibility. Through our bond, I feel Calliope beginning to wake, her magic reaching instinctively for mine even across the distance between us.

"Post extra guards in the garden," I tell Darian as I turn to leave. "She'll want to work there today, to see what survived the winter."

"Already done." His smile turns knowing. "I remember how she is with her herbs."

I pause at the door, looking back at this man who has served me through darkness and light, who has watched me become someone better than I was. "Thank you, old friend. For everything."

He bows, the gesture holding genuine respect rather than mere ceremony. "For the kingdom, my king. And for you."

I leave him to his duties, climbing through shadows toward morning light. Toward my wife, my child, my future. Toward everything that matters.

The rest will sort itself in time.