Page 15 of The Dragon King's Pregnant Mate

Something dark flashes across his face. "My brother's soldiers are trained dogs, nothing more. These men? They know of the old ways. The true ways." He gestures to our surroundings. "This tower stands on the bones of the first dragons' strongholds. The very stones remember what real power feels like."

I've noticed how the tower seems to respond to my presence. Frost patterns appear on windows I pass, spreading like delicate lace. Temperatures drop in chambers where I linger. Sometimes, late at night, I swear I can hear the stones whispering in voices that sound disturbingly like my grandmother's.

The child grows stronger too. I feel them moving more now, responding to my magic in ways that both thrill and terrify me. Their power mingles with mine, making it harder to control but also more potent.

One morning, after a particularly vivid nightmare about Arvoren, I wake to find my entire chamber encased in ice.

Ulric finds me there, huddled in the center of the frozen room. His breath fogs in the air as he picks his way across the rime-covered floor.

"Remarkable," he murmurs, reaching out to touch one of the ice-sculptures that have formed from the furniture. "Do you see now? This is what he fears. What he'd destroy if he found you."

"You're wrong about him." But the words sound hollow even to my ears.

"Am I?" He crouches beside me, his voice gentle. "Then why did he chain you? Why did he never tell you about your own power, your true heritage? He knew what you were, Calliope. Knew what you could become. And he tried to keep you weak, contained."

I think of the cursed chains around my ankles, the way Arvoren would watch me with equal parts desire and wariness. Had he known? Had he sensed the magic growing in me and chosen to keep me ignorant?

"His armies move north," Ulric continues softly. "Did you know? Burning villages, torturing anyone who might have seen you. He claims it's to protect you, to bring you home safely. But we both know what happens to threats to his power."

"Prove it," I challenge, though my voice shakes.

His smile is sad now, almost pitying. "Come with me."

He leads me through the tower's twisting corridors to a chamber I've never seen before. Maps cover the walls—detailed renderings of Kaldoria and its territories. Markers show troop movements, colored pins indicating different Houses' forces. And there, spreading north from Millrath like a crimson stain, are Arvoren's armies.

"Reports come in daily," Ulric says, handing me a stack of papers. "Eyewitness accounts, military dispatches, letters between commanders. Read them yourself."

I do. For hours, I pore over accounts of villages searched, refugees questioned, suspected sympathizers executed. The pattern is clear, methodical, terrifying. Like a noose slowly tightening.

“How can I know this is real?" I ask finally, my throat tight.

“I respect you enough not to lie to you, Calliope.” He places a hand on my shoulder, and it takes all my willpower not to flinch away. "That child you carry? It could reshape our world. Break the cycle of violence and control that's ruled Kaldoria for centuries. Or…" He lets the words hang in the air.

"Or become another weapon in the king’s arsenal," I finish.

"Precisely." He squeezes my shoulder once before letting go. "Think about it. About the future you want for your child. We'll talk more later."

When he leaves, I stay in the map room, tracing the paths of armies across paper territories. The child shifts restlessly within me, responding to my turmoil. I press my hand to my stomach, feeling that precious warmth.

"He's lying," I whisper, though I'm not sure which 'he' I mean anymore. "Or at least…not telling the whole truth."

Because that's the key, isn't it? Ulric's words are too perfect, his evidence too convenient. He's playing a game—a game where my child and I are merely pieces to be moved across the board. But this time, I won't be the naive village girl swept up in dragons' schemes. This time, I'll be smarter.

I turn back to the maps, memorizing details, noting inconsistencies. I'll learn his game, learn its rules and rhythms. I'll let him think he's winning, let him believe his honeyed words have swayed me. And when the moment comes…

"We'll win," I promise the child, my voice barely a whisper in the tower's eternal twilight. "Whatever it takes, whatever I have to do. This time, we'll win. I’ll be smarter than I was in Millrath.”

But as I make my way back through the tower's impossible geometry, I can't shake the feeling that I'm being watched by more than just Ulric's silent servants. The very stones seem to hold their breath, waiting to see which dragon's game I'll choose to play.

Chapter 8 - Arvoren

I wake with her name caught in my throat, the remnants of the dream still clinging to my skin like frost.

She was alone in an endless expanse of white, her dark hair whipping in a bitter wind, scarred face stark against the darkness. Snow had soaked through her thin shoes, leaving bloody footprints in her wake. I could feel her exhaustion, her bone-deep cold, as if it were my own. When she stumbled, I tried to reach for her, but my hands passed through her like smoke. She looked right through me, her eyes glazed with fever and fear.

The vision was so vivid I can still taste the ice in the air, can still feel the phantom touch of snowflakes on my face. This isn't the first such dream, but it's the clearest yet—and the most haunting. They're getting stronger, these nighttime visitations. More real. Sometimes I wake convinced I can feel her presence like a physical ache beneath my ribs, though I know that's impossible.

Madness,whispers the rational part of my mind.You're going mad with obsession.