Page 16 of The Dragon King's Pregnant Mate

Perhaps I am. But I can't shake the certainty that she needs me. That she's out there somewhere in the endless northern winter, cold and afraid and mine.

Dawn hasn't yet touched the sky when I summon Darian to my war room. My commander arrives looking grave, as if he already knows what I'm about to say.

"Gather six of your best men," I tell him, studying the map spread across my desk. Tiny markers show the latest reported sightings of Calliope, forming a scattered trail leading north. "We ride within the hour."

"My king." Darian's voice carries the weight of decades of faithful service. "Your enemies gather like vultures. If you leave now—"

"They'll make their moves regardless." I trace the path north with one claw, scoring the parchment. "My presence here only delays the inevitable."

"And what of the throne? Your responsibilities to the kingdom?"

"What kingdom?" The words come out as a snarl, smoke curling from between my teeth. "The Houses plot rebellion. The people whisper of revolution. Winter tightens its grip with each passing day." I turn to face him, letting him see the dragon in my eyes. "Without her, without her power to prove the strength of my bloodline, how long before they tear it all apart?"

"All the more reason to stay and fight." He steps closer, daring to lay a hand on my arm. "Send more search parties. Double the patrols. But you cannot abandon your post—"

"Cannot?"The temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees. "Choose your next words carefully, old friend."

To his credit, Darian doesn't flinch. "The other Houses will see it as weakness. They'll move against you the moment you're beyond the city walls. And if Ulric's forces truly gather in the north…"

As if summoned by his brother's name, a courtier bursts into the room, face flushed with urgency. "My King! Lord Bellrose demands an audience. He says it cannot wait—"

"Tell him his king rides north." I buckle on my sword belt, already striding toward the door. "If he wishes to discuss matters of state, he can direct his concerns to my court.”

The courtier pales. "But sire, the Lords are already gathering in the great hall. They demand answers about the queen's whereabouts—"

"Then let them demand." My patience, already threadbare, snaps entirely. "I'm done playing their games while my wife freezes in the wilderness."

"Your Majesty—" Darian tries one last time.

"Enough." The word emerges as a growl that silences them both. "I've made my decision. Gather the men. We ride in an hour."

They exchange glances but know better than to argue further. As they leave to carry out my orders, I return to the map, memorizing the terrain we'll need to cover. The northern reaches are treacherous even in summer. In winter, they're deadly.

Good. Let them be deadly. Let them try to keep her from me.

Movement catches my eye—the courtier hovering nervously in the doorway. "What is it?"

"The priestess Varya sends word, my king. She says the gods are restless. That your absence will doom us all."

I bare my teeth in what might technically be called a smile. "The gods have never cared for my happiness before. Why should I care for theirs now? And Varya should be dead. If she should demand my ear, tell her I shall flick her like a bug off this earth if she should dare speak of gods in my presence again.”

An hour later, I stand in the courtyard as my chosen warriors assemble. They're my finest: seasoned dragonborn soldiers who've proven their loyalty a hundred times over. Even so, I see the doubt in their eyes as they prepare their mounts. They think this mission is folly—a king abandoning his throne to chase ghosts through the snow.

Let them think what they will. None of them can understand the drive that burns inside me, the need that claws at my chest with every breath. None of them wake in the night reaching for her, convinced they can feel her fear and loneliness like a physical wound.

"The horses are ready," Darian reports, leading my stallion forward. His tone makes it clear this is his last attempt to change my mind. "But the storm grows worse by the hour. If we wait until it passes—"

"No more waiting." I swing into the saddle, ignoring the way the guards along the walls shift nervously. They can probably smell the coming chaos on the wind. "We've wasted enough time already."

As if to punctuate my words, a horn blast echoes from the city walls—the signal that riders approach. More lords coming to demand answers I won't give. Let them come. Let them find my throne empty and cold.

"Remember your orders," I tell Darian as we ride out. "Keep the peace however you must. But find her. Whatever it takes."

The city gates groan open, revealing a world of swirling white. Snow drives sideways through the air, thick enough to obscure the road ahead. But somewhere beyond that curtain of white, I swear I can feel her. Can sense her presence pulling me forward like a lodestone to true north.

I'm coming, my wife,I think, hoping somehow she can feel it through whatever mad connection has grown between us.Wait for me.

We ride out into the storm, out past the city’s borders, and somewhere in the endless white, I swear I hear distant laughter—the gods, perhaps, watching and waiting to see what chaos I'll unleash in my desperation to reclaim what's mine. Or perhaps it is my sorry ancestors, watching, baying like hounds, vicious and cackling.