Page 28

Maps spread across the war table like fallen leaves, their edges curling in the heat from my skin. Steam rises where my fingers trace trade routes and border lines—old habits die hard, and my dragon nature still bleeds through when I'm agitated. House Morwen's latest missive lies open before me, its careful script outlining terms and conditions, promises and platitudes. The Lords arrive within days, and every word must be weighed, every concession measured against generations of mistrust.

My father's voice echoes in memory: Never let them see weakness. Never let them think they have the upper hand.

But my father died believing in people. He believed in a world where we could be different. I wonder what he would make of me now, seeking peace instead of submission.

On happier days, I think he might have been proud.

Candles gutter in their holders as I pace the length of the chamber. Dawn paints the eastern windows gold, but I've been here since midnight, reviewing proposals and counterproposals until the words blur together. The Houses want guarantees—of autonomy, of protection, of respect for their ancient rights. They want proof that the Dragon King has changed, that his witch-queen has tempered his fury into something they can trust.

A bitter laugh escapes me, smoking in the cool air. Trust. Such a simple word for something that feels impossible after everything that's happened. But Calliope believes in it—in the possibility of building something new from the ashes of the old ways. And these days, I find myself believing in her more than in my father's ghost.

A knock interrupts my brooding. "Enter."

Darian slips through the door, and immediately my scales ripple beneath my skin. My oldest friend's expression carries that careful neutrality that always means trouble.

"Report." Smoke curls from my mouth despite my efforts at control.

"My king." He hesitates, which sets off more warning bells. Darian never hesitates. "The queen…it seems she's not in your chambers. Or anywhere in the castle that we can find."

The maps beneath my hands begin to smolder. "What do you mean, you can't find her?"

"The guards say she left the royal wing shortly after dawn. But she hasn't been seen since, and none of the usual places…"

He trails off as I grip the table hard enough to splinter the wood beneath my hands.

"And you're only telling me this now?" My voice drops to a growl that's barely human.

"She's been gone less than an hour." Darian keeps his tone deliberately calm, reasonable. "And she is free to move about the castle now. Perhaps she simply wanted to explore—"

"She would have told me." Through our bond, I reach for her, seeking that familiar pulse of magic and life. The connection feels strange—muted somehow, tinged with something that might be fear. "Something's wrong."

"My king—"

But I'm already moving, my partially transformed state letting me cross the chamber in two strides. "Search everything. Every room, every passage. Send riders to check the city—"

"Arvoren." Darian catches my arm, a liberty only decades of friendship allow. He looks at me flatly—not an unkind or scolding look, just a hard, level stare. "Forgive my tongue, my king, but…remember what happened last time you tried to cage her. She chose to return to you. Chose to trust you. Don't throw that away over simple paranoia."

The words hit like physical blows. Because I know he's right. I remember too well how my desperate need to possess, to control, drove her away before. Remember the look in her eyes when she came here. She knew from the very start that her pretty cage was still a cage. She knew how the game worked, and she played it. And torturously, I remember waking to find her gone, taking half my soul with her.

But this feels different. Through our bond, that thread of unease grows stronger. Something's wrong. I know it in my bones, in my blood, in the very air that crackles with tension around me.

"Ulric's still out there." The words emerge in a snarl. "Wounded, humiliated, but alive. You really think he's given up? That he won't try to take what he sees as his?"

"All the more reason to trust her to protect herself." Darian's voice gentles slightly. "She's not the same woman you first brought to this castle. She's stronger now. Wiser. And she carries your child—"

"Exactly." Smoke pours thicker as my control slips. "She's carrying our child. If anything happened to either of them—"

The bond between us flares suddenly, sharp with fear that isn't mine. An image flashes through my mind—stone walls, shadows moving where they shouldn't, a familiar scent that makes my dragon blood howl with protective fury.

I shove past Darian, already half-transformed. "Search the castle. But do it quietly. I don't want the Lords' spies catching wind of this."

"And you?"

"I hunt." The word comes out garbled as my throat reshapes itself, scales rippling across my skin in waves of ruby red. "Whatever's frightened her, I'll find it. I'll tear it apart."

I don't wait for his response. The window before me shatters as I complete my transformation, wings spreading wide as I launch myself into the dawn-painted sky. Below, the city spreads like a map of black stone and iron, its streets beginning to fill with morning crowds. Somewhere in that maze of buildings and shadows, my wife needs me.

I'm coming, I think fiercely, hoping she can feel it through our bond. Whatever's happening, wherever you are, I'm coming.

The hunt begins.