Page 11 of The Dragon King's Pregnant Mate

For now, our survival means playing Ulric's game. Appearing grateful, cooperative, while I gather my strength and look for a way out.

I've survived one dragon's cage—I'll survive his brother's, too.

But as darkness falls outside and the temperature continues to drop, I can't shake the feeling that I've traded one form of imprisonment for something far more dangerous. At least with Arvoren, I always knew where I stood. Ulric's motives are as shifting as the shadows that fill this ancient tower, and I fear I've only glimpsed the edges of his true plans.

The tea sits forgotten on the table, growing cold in the gathering dark.

***

Hours pass, marked only by the slow dimming of light through the arrow slits and the gradual dying of the fire. I doze in and out of sleep, so exhausted and worn that time takes on an elastic consistency, moving strangely around me. A servant appears at dusk—a thin draconic woman who refuses to meet my eyes—bearing bread, cheese, and a bowl of steaming stew.

Ulric follows shortly after, moving to stoke the fire.

"You really should eat," he says without turning, silhouetted against the flames in the grate. "The servants tell me you haven't touched a thing since you woke. Not even my tea."

In the firelight, his resemblance to Arvoren is almost painful. They share the same proud profile, the same predatory grace, but where Arvoren's features are hewn from stone, Ulric's seem carved from ice—similarly beautiful, but with none of the underlying warmth I'd eventually discovered in his brother. I find him repulsive, somehow. This strange mutation of the man I know, the man I…

I think suddenly, achingly, of quiet moments in the castle, of Arvoren's rare, unguarded smiles. Of the way he would watch me when he thought I wasn't looking, his expression caught between possessiveness and something softer, something he couldn't quite allow himself to show. For all his cruelty, all his need to control and possess, there had been moments of tenderness I couldn't deny.

"You're thinking of him." Ulric's voice cuts through my reverie. "I can see it in your face. Tell me, Calliope—do you miss your cage? I wonder often whether you regret it, any of it."

"You don't know anything about us," I say, but the words sound hollow even to my ears.

"Such conviction." His laugh is soft, almost gentle. "You really believe he loves you, don't you? That somewhere beneath the monster lies a man worth saving?"

The food's aroma makes my stomach clench painfully. I reach for the bread, if only to avoid answering immediately, but then cannot bring myself to take a bite. "You talk about him as if he's irredeemable, but look at yourself. How many people died so you could find me? How many bodies lie in your path to power, Ulric?"

"Ah, but I never claimed to be good." Ulric settles into the chair opposite me, watching as I eat. "I simply want change. Real change. And that child you carry—dragon's blood and Windwaker magic combined—could be the key to everything. It isn’t a play, nor ploy. It’s a fact."

Something cold settles in my chest. "My child is not your weapon."

"No?" He leans forward, shadows dancing across his face. I have to resist the urge to shudder. "Then what is it? My brother's heir? Another link in the chain of his tyranny? Your tenuous tie to the King? Or perhaps..." His voice softens dangerously. "Perhaps it could be something new. Something that breaks the cycle entirely. Don’t tell me that doesn’t excite you, Calliope. It is in your blood to crave a good storm." He laughs, gesturing to the walls, beyond which the wind howls furiously.

I rest my hand protectively over my stomach, feeling that familiar warmth. Despite everything, despite even Ulric’s terrifying presence and prescience, I find myself thinking of Arvoren again—not the King, not the dragon, but the man who would sometimes wake in the night just to pull me closer, who struggled so visibly between his need to possess and his desire to love.

The implications turn my stomach, but I force myself to think past the fear. He's revealing too much, too quickly. Either he's more unstable than he appears, or…

"You're trying to frighten me," I realize aloud. "You believe that will stoke the storm, is that it? You’re hiding in the floorboards of your brother’s kingdom, even now. A rat in all but form. You wish for a storm that will conceal you until you have possession of my child.”

Something flickers in Ulric’s expression—surprise, maybe, or respect. "Clever girl. But not quite right. I'm trying to make you see that thereareno good options. My brother would cage you, use you and that child to secure his power. I'm merely offering…an alternative. I don’t want to kill you, Calliope. It would be a horrible waste."

"An alternative where you use us instead?"

"An alternative where you have choices." He gestures to the food. "Starting with whether or not you eat. Though I should warn you—starving yourself will only harm the child. And we wouldn't want that, would we?"

The threat is clear beneath his solicitous tone. I look at the food again, weighing my options. He's right—I need to keep up my strength if I'm going to find a way out of this. And the child...

I fumble with the bread in my hands, tearing off a small piece. Ulric's smile widens.

If it is poisoned or drugged, I risk my child’s life. But without food, they’ll die anyway. Plaintively, I miss the castle for a moment, with a desperation so intense I can hardly breathe through it.

I chew a piece of bread to stave off my sadness.

"There. Was that so difficult?" Ulric settles into the chair by the fire, watching me eat with unsettling intensity. "You know, I've always wondered what my brother saw in you. Beyond the obvious political advantages of a powerful bloodline, of course. He's never been one for…attachment. After he had you dragged out of that dump out by the river, I remember nothing he’d ever done had confused me more. He knew not what you were. Why, then, his obsession?”

I chew slowly, using the time to choose my words. "You don't know him as well as you think."

"Don't I?" Something dark passes across his face. "I grew up in his shadow, watching him take everything that should have been shared between us. The throne, our parents' love, the respect of the Houses, the heads of our family’s murderers…. He is a creature of possession, nothing more. Whatever he claims to feel for you is just another form of ownership."