Page 34

Spring comes to Millrath like a fever breaking. Time stretches strangely around us in the following weeks. I watch it happen gradually, then all at once: frost retreating from windowpanes that haven't known clarity in months, black ice dissolving from the moat in sheets that catch sunlight like dragon scales, ancient stone remembering warmth it had forgotten. The city wakens slowly, cautiously, as if unsure whether to trust this gentle thaw.

The changes within the castle mirror those without. Servants who once scurried through shadows now linger in patches of sunlight streaming through tall windows. The endless fires that kept us from freezing burn lower, their smoke no longer a constant presence in every room. Even the dragon skulls that watch over my throne seem less fearsome, their empty eyes catching new light in ways that make them look almost alive again.

Calliope's magic shifts with the seasons. The storm that followed her across the continent gentles day by day, her power finding balance as our child grows stronger within her. Sometimes I wake in the night to find frost dancing across our bedchambers, delicate as lace—not from fear or pain now, but from dreams that make her smile in her sleep. Her unconscious magic plays like a child testing boundaries, and I find myself mesmerized by these small displays of joy.

Watching her heal is like watching spring return to a land long frozen. The shadows beneath her eyes fade slowly, replaced by a glow that has nothing to do with magic and everything to do with life growing within her. She moves more carefully now, one hand often pressed to her swollen belly, but there's a sureness to her steps that speaks of someone who knows exactly where she belongs.

The Lords will arrive within days to begin negotiations for a new peace. Ravens bring messages of cautious hope, of desire for change, of willingness to try something different than endless rivalry. My brother's death seems to have broken something loose in the kingdom—some terrible tension that held us all rigid with fear and pride.

But those are thoughts for another hour. Right now, in the gentle light of early morning, I have more immediate concerns.

"You're brooding again." Calliope's voice draws me from my thoughts. She stands in the doorway of our chambers, wrapped in a robe of deep blue silk that makes her skin glow like moonlight. Her dark hair falls loose around her shoulders, still damp from bathing.

"Not brooding," I counter, though steam curls from my mouth with the words. "Planning."

She crosses to where I stand by the window, bare feet silent on ancient stone. When she slips under my arm, fitting herself against my side, I feel her shiver slightly at my fever-warmth. Even now, these casual intimacies catch me off guard—how easily she chooses to be close, how naturally we fit together.

"Tell me," she says simply.

I gather her closer, one hand splaying over her belly where our child's magic pulses in time with her heartbeat. Through our bond, I feel her contentment, her quiet joy at this moment of peace.

"The Houses will want guarantees," I say finally. "If we want stable peace—real peace this time—we need to make a lot of promises. They need to know I am…generous.”

"Aren't you, though?" But there's no accusation in her voice—only that gentle wisdom that still leaves me breathless sometimes. "Isn't that exactly why you can change things? Because you know what it means to rule that way, and you've chosen something different?”

I press my lips to her hair, breathing in the crisp sweetness that always clings to her skin. "When did you become so wise?"

"I've always been wise." She elbows me gently. "You just weren't listening back then."

The simple truth of it makes me laugh, though steam still curls from my mouth. She's right, of course. She usually is, about the things that matter most.

Through the window, across the dark water, I watch the sun climb higher over my city. Merchants have begun setting up their stalls in the market square, their voices carrying faintly on the morning breeze. Here and there, patches of green show through melting snow—the first hints of grass this land has seen in months.

Calliope follows my gaze, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my chest. Through our bond, I feel her own quiet amazement at the changes happening around us.

"Will you come to the gardens today?" I ask, though I already know her answer. Since that day when Ulric took her, since I killed my own brother to keep her safe, she's made it her mission to reclaim that space. To turn fear into something beautiful.

"Mmm." She stretches like a cat in sunlight. "The hellebores are blooming. And I need to check on the herb beds—some of the hardier plants survived the winter. With luck, we might have fresh medicines by summer."

The casual way she speaks of the future catches in my chest. Not so long ago, she couldn't imagine staying here, couldn't see past the chains I placed on her. Now she plants roots both literal and metaphorical, making this place her own in ways I never could have forced.

"Take guards," I say, because I have to, because the memory of her being taken still haunts my dreams. "Just in case."

"Just in case," she agrees easily. Then, with that slight smile that still makes my dragon blood sing: "Though I think we both know I can protect myself now."

I capture her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm where magic still dances beneath her skin. Through our bond, I feel her pleasure at the gesture, her love for me tangled with amused exasperation at my protective nature.

"I know you can," I tell her. "But humor me?"

She rises on tiptoe to kiss me softly, then pulls away before I can deepen it. "Always so demanding," she teases. But her eyes are soft when she adds: "I'll take guards. And I'll be careful. I promise."

I watch her dress for the day, marveling at how naturally she moves through our chambers now. She chooses a gown of pale green silk that makes her look like Spring incarnate, though she grumbles good-naturedly about how none of her clothes fit properly anymore. When she struggles with the back, I move to help her, my fingers careful against silk and skin.

"The Lords arrive tomorrow," she says as I work. "Are you ready?"

"No," I admit, because I can be honest with her now, can show weakness without fearing she'll use it against me. "But I will be. We will be."

She turns in my arms, her expression serious despite her smile. "Together then?"

"Together," I agree, and seal the promise with a kiss that tastes of spring sunlight and endless possibility.

Some changes come slowly, like ice melting from ancient stone. Others happen in an instant, like the moment you realize you've become someone different than you were. I'm learning to welcome both kinds, learning to trust that transformation doesn't always mean loss.

Outside our window, Millrath wakes to another day of gentle thaw. Soon I'll need to be King again, need to face the challenges that come with rebuilding a broken kingdom. But for now, I hold my wife close and watch sunlight paint our city gold, knowing that whatever comes next, we face it as one.

The rest of forever stretches out before us, bright as morning.

My study echoes with memory as I review the latest messages from the Houses. Sunlight streams through windows that haven't known clarity in months, catching on ancient tapestries in ways that make the thread-of-gold dragons seem to move. The throne that once felt like an extension of my power now sits empty more often than not—I prefer the war table these days, where maps and missives spread like fallen leaves across scarred wood.

They’re still crafting Calliope’s matching throne down in Brittletale. It wouldn’t feel right to take mine without her at my side.

Darian sorts through reports at my side, his armor gleaming in the morning light. Steam rises where our hands touch parchment, dragon-warmth meeting cool air. Neither of us has quite adjusted to the thaw; our blood still runs hot against the lingering chill.

"House Morwen sends terms," he says, passing me a scroll sealed with white wax. "Lord Morwen writes that he’ll represent his son's interests personally, given his youth, but that he intends to ascend soon. He seems…cautiously optimistic."

I have learned to exercise endless caution with the hardy people of Whiteraid—sharp as a blade and twice as dangerous, but fair in their own way. Now, they’re crippled by the famine the winter brought.

But they’re going to recover. We’re going to send help. Calliope insisted, and I know she’s right for a lot of reasons.

"And Bellrose?"

"Still demanding reparations for losses during the freeze." Darian's voice carries his careful neutrality, ever-present. "Though they've softened their stance somewhat. The latest letter mentions possible trade agreements rather than gold."

Progress, however small. I scan the documents before me, noting the subtle shifts in tone from each House. Where once they wrote with barely concealed hostility, now their words carry notes of genuine desire for change. Perhaps they learned from Houses Caddell and Sturmsen. Perhaps they're merely being pragmatic—better to ally with a strong throne than risk another civil war. But something tells me it's more than that.

The sound of laughter drifts through open windows—clear, bright notes that make my scales ripple beneath my skin. In the gardens below, Calliope works with her new apprentices, teaching them the properties of herbs that have somehow survived the endless winter. Through our bond, I feel her contentment, her quiet joy at passing on her grandmother's knowledge.

I find myself drawn to the window, watching as she guides a young woman's hands in harvesting hardy winter herbs. Her guards maintain a respectful distance, alert but unobtrusive. They've learned to read her moods almost as well as I have, to recognize when she needs space and when she welcomes protection.

"She's good with them," Darian observes, coming to stand beside me. "The common folk trust her. Even the ones who once feared her magic."

"She understands them," I say quietly. "She knows what it means to be powerless. To need hope."

Memory rises unbidden—Calliope in chains, defiant and terrified all at once. The man I was then seems like a stranger now, though I know better. Know that the capacity for cruelty still lives in my blood, held in check only by choice and love and endless vigilance.

A knock at the chamber door draws me from darker thoughts. One of the younger guards enters, bowing deeply.

"My king. The advance riders from House Sturmsen approach the city gates."

Of course they're early. The Lord of Fjordmarse has always been punctual to the point of aggression. I nod, already reaching for the formal mantle I've barely worn since retaking the throne.

"Have rooms prepared in the east wing," I tell him. "And inform the kitchens—Lord Sturmsen prefers his meat barely cooked. It should practically still have a pulse if he’s to eat it."

The guard withdraws, and I turn back to Darian. "Send word to Calliope? She'll want to prepare for—"

"Already here." Her voice carries amusement as she enters the room, bringing with it the scent of crushed herbs and morning dew. Despite the dirt under her fingernails and the simple cut of her dress, she moves like the Queen she truly is—graceful and assured, power held in perfect check.

Through our bond, I feel her quiet excitement. She enjoys these diplomatic dances more than I ever have, seeing the subtle ways people reveal themselves through word and gesture. Where I was taught to rule through force, she understands the power of gentle persuasion.

"Lord Sturmsen brings his daughter," she says, joining us at the table. "The message mentioned she's interested in healing arts. Perhaps while you discuss borders and trade routes, she and I can speak of more practical matters."

I catch her meaning immediately. The young lady's interest provides a perfect cover for building less formal relationships between our Houses. Personal connections that might outlast political convenience.

"Clever," I murmur, and feel her pleasure at the compliment through our bond.

"I try." Her hand finds mine beneath the table, fingers twining with mine. Through the touch, I feel our child's magic pulse in time with her heartbeat—dragon-fire and winter storm in perfect harmony.

Darian clears his throat discreetly.

"I'll see to the guard rotations," he says, gathering scrolls with practiced efficiency. "Make sure everything's in place for our guests."

We watch him go, and I'm struck again by how much has changed. Months ago, my commander would never have left us alone together, fearing what I might do to my unwilling bride. Now he trusts us both—trusts me to be better than I was, trusts her to handle me when I'm not.

"Quiet,” Calliope observes, bumping her hip against mine.

"Reflecting," I correct, pulling her closer. She comes willingly, fitting herself against my side as if she was made to be there. Her skin holds lingering warmth from the morning sun, and frost patterns dance where my fingers brush her arm.

"On what?"

I consider my answer carefully, watching dust motes dance in rays of sunlight. "How far we still have to go."

She hums thoughtfully, one hand drifting to her swollen belly. Through our bond, I feel her own contemplation—not just of the past, but of the future we're building together. The kingdom our child will inherit.

"We'll get there," she says simply. "Not quickly, maybe. Not easily. But we will."

I press my lips to her hair, breathing in that crisp sweetness that always clings to her skin. "If I could live a life without such endless menial meetings, just us in the tower, some days I find myself thinking I might just do it.”

Calliope gives a mock gasp, laughing in the back of her throat. “How would you keep me in the style to which I’ve become accustomed?” And she twirls in her skirt, giggling.

Before I can respond, another knock sounds at the door.

More messengers, more preparations, more steps toward the future we're trying to build. Still now, Calliope squeezes my hand once before stepping away, already settling into her role as queen.

"Shall we?" she asks, and there's something in her voice that makes my dragon blood sing with pride and possessiveness and love.

"Together," I agree, and seal the promise with a kiss that tastes of herbs and sunlight and endless possibility.

Lord Sturmsen arrives like a storm front, his massive form casting shadows across the courtyard as guards scramble to attention. Even in human form, his draconic nature bleeds through—scales rippling beneath skin that holds the blue-white sheen of glacial ice, steam rising where his boots touch stone still warm from morning sun. His daughter follows in his wake, all arctic grace and careful poise.

I meet them at the castle steps, deliberately without crown or ceremony. Let them see that things truly have changed in Millrath. That their king can welcome them as equals rather than subjects.

"My Lord Sturmsen." I incline my head just enough to show respect without subservience. "Welcome to a warmer Millrath than has been typical of late."

His laugh holds notes of breaking ice. "Indeed, Your Majesty. Though some of us prefer the cold." His pale eyes track to where Calliope approaches, her simple green gown a stark contrast to the formal attire of our guests. "Your Queen has brought interesting changes to our realm."

Through our bond, I feel Calliope's amusement at his choice of words. She dips into a perfect curtsey, though we both know she'd rather not bow to anyone. "The seasons change as they will, my lord. We merely adapt."

Young Lady Sturmsen steps forward then, all of sixteen years but carrying herself with the gravity of ancient ice.

"Your Majesty." Her curtsey puts Calliope's to shame. I can feel that Calliope already likes her, though they couldn’t have been raised more differently. "I've heard such tales of your healing gardens. Might I…?"

"Of course." Calliope's smile holds genuine warmth. "Though I'm afraid you'll find them rather humble compared to Fjordmarse's famous glass houses."

They withdraw together, already deep in discussion of herbs and tinctures. Through our bond, I feel Calliope's quiet satisfaction—she's been planning this since we received word of the girl's interests. Trust her to forge alliances through shared knowledge rather than political maneuvering.

"Clever woman, your queen." Sturmsen watches them go, steam curling from his nostrils. "She understands what so many forget.”

We walk together through corridors that seem to remember their ancient purpose, gold light streaming through windows that once stayed shuttered against endless storms. Servants bow and withdraw, though I notice they no longer scramble away in terror. Another change I owe to Calliope's influence.

In my private study, where dragon skulls watch from shadowed walls, Sturmsen settles his bulk into a chair that creaks ominously. I pour wine without asking his preference—some courtesies are remembered in the blood.

"You've surprised us all," he says finally, studying the dark liquid in his glass. "When word reached Fjordmarse that you'd married a witch…well. We expected fire and chaos. The end of days, perhaps." His smile shows teeth sharp as icicles. "Instead, we find peace. Growth. Peace talks with the Caddells have been going well for the first time in…well. Centuries. They seem to believe she signals a real future for their people. They no longer anticipate cruelty at all junctions."

Steam rises from my own glass as I consider his words. "I was that king once," I admit, because we both know it's true. "The one who would have crushed her, claimed her power for my own. A king that would have burned Fort Caddell to the ground should they have angered me. Sometimes I still am. But change comes, and we must grow. Or the world will leave us behind."

Sturmsen sets his wine aside, leaning forward. He looks at me with a plain, unembellished smile, seeming to mean it. "That's what matters, in the end. The choice to be better than what we were made to be."

Through our bond, I catch glimpses of Calliope in the gardens with young Lady Sturmsen. They kneel together beside a bed of newly sprouted herbs, the girl's eyes wide as Calliope demonstrates some simple magic, teaching her that power can heal as easily as harm.

"The other Houses will need more convincing," I say, turning back to Sturmsen. "Bellrose especially—they've always wanted the throne."

"They've always wanted what comes with the throne," he corrects. "Power, security, control. Give them that through peace and commerce, they'll sing a different song." His expression grows shrewd. "Especially once word spreads about the child."

My scales ripple faster at the mention of our baby, protective instincts surging. But I force them down, reminding myself that this is precisely why we need allies. Why we must build a kingdom worthy of the future they'll inherit.

"A child of dragon and Windwaker blood," Sturmsen muses. "The old powers wake in their presence, or so I'm told." He pauses, watching steam curl from my mouth. "They say the gods themselves take interest."

"The gods can watch," I mutter, though I know he speaks truth. We've both felt their presence growing stronger as Calliope's pregnancy progresses. "But they will not touch what's mine."

His laugh fills the chamber, sharp with genuine amusement. "There's the dragon I remember! But peace, my king. I didn't come to threaten, only to observe." He rises, frost crackling beneath his feet. "And what I observe gives me hope. Real hope, for the first time since your father's death. I knew him well. He was a good man.”

I appreciate it. I sense that he knows that.

"Come," I tell Sturmsen, already moving toward the door. "Let me show you what else has changed in Millrath. What we might build together, if you're truly interested in more than observation."

His smile shows teeth again, but there's respect in it now. Maybe even the beginnings of trust. "Lead on, my king. Lead on."

We walk together through corridors that grow warmer with each passing day, discussing trade routes and border treaties and all the mundane matters that peace is built upon. Through our bond, I feel Calliope's quiet pride, her certainty that we're moving in the right direction.

One step at a time, one choice at a time, we build something new from the ashes of what was lost. Together.