Page 13 of The Dragon King's Pregnant Mate

It has been some years since I last carried out an interrogation myself.

Now, as I descend the worn steps into that eternal darkness, each torch I pass flares higher, responding to the rage that simmers beneath my skin. The guard at the interrogation chamber door snaps to attention, but I barely notice him. My focus has narrowed to a knife's edge, honed by weeks of frustration and fear.

The spy hangs suspended from iron chains, his feet barely touching the floor. He's young—probably no more than twenty-five—but his eyes are old, hardened by whatever training turned him into this tool of the Houses. Despite three days without food or water, he watches my approach with unnerving calm.

"Let's not waste time with preamble," I say, keeping my voice conversational though smoke curls from between my teeth. "We both know how this ends. The only question is how much pain you endure before we get there."

The spy's laugh is dry as dead leaves. "You know how this ends, my king. Kill me now, if you are so merciful. At least these dungeons retain some warmth.”

I pace the length of the chamber, my boots echoing on stones worn smooth by generations of my bloodline. Various implements of persuasion are laid out on a table, though I doubt I'll need them. Sometimes the oldest methods are best.

"You were caught trying to access sensitive diplomatic correspondence. Letters between myself and Lord Sturmsen regarding troops’ movements in the north." I stop directly in front of him, letting him see the dragon in my eyes. "Why?"

He stares back, unflinching. His resolve would be admirable if it weren’t so infuriating.

"The north holds many interests these days, Your Majesty." His voice is steady despite his cracked lips. "What with the endless winter and all. They say the storm follows your witch queen like a loyal hound."

My claws emerge involuntarily, scoring deep marks in my palms. "Careful."

"Why? Going to kill me for speaking the truth?" A smile splits his dry lips. "The whole kingdom knows she's fled. Knows you can't control her. Can't even find her."

The urge to tear his throat out is almost overwhelming. I turn away, moving back to the implements of persuasion. My fingers trail over them, considering options. "You seem very interested in my wife's whereabouts."

"Me? No." He coughs, the chains rattling with the movement. "But others…well. Let's just say there are those who'd pay handsomely for information about the Queen. Especially given her supposed…condition."

I go very still. "What condition?"

"Oh." His laugh turns into another wet cough. "You don't know? Now thatisinteresting."

Moving faster than human eyes can track, I grab his throat. Scales ripple beneath my skin as I fight the urge to transform fully. "Speak plainly, or I'll tear the words from you piece by piece."

"Your brother sends his regards."

The words hit like a physical blow. I tighten my grip, feeling his pulse flutter beneath my fingers. "Ulric is dead."

"Is he?" The spy wheezes out another laugh. "Then who leads the army gathering in the northern mountains? Who rallies the dissatisfied Lords to his banner? Who shelters your runaway queen?"

"Youlie."

But even as I say it, doubt creeps. The reports from the north have been confused, contradictory. Scant facts reach us here in the south, where at least we can still move, may still travel upon the frost-hardened roads.

And Calliope…

I release his throat, stepping back. "My wife would never align herself with a traitor."

"Wouldn't she? After what you did to her?" The spy's voice is raw but triumphant. "Face it, my king. You're losing everything. Your kingdom fractures, your queen runs wild, and your brother rises again. How long before—"

His words cut off in a gurgle as my claws open his throat.

Blood sprays across the stones in an arc of crimson. For a moment, the only sound is that eternal dripping of water, keeping time with the spy's weakening heartbeat. Then silence.

I stare at my bloodied hand, at the scales that have emerged fully now, glinting red in the torchlight. The spy's final words echo in my mind, feeding doubts I've tried to bury since Calliope fled.

Would she truly ally with Ulric?

After everything he did, all his lies and manipulations? But then…after everything I did, all my attempts to cage and control her, would I blame her if she did?

A sour taste rises in my mouth. I feel strange, lightheaded, like a sort of fever.