Page 17 of The Dragon King's Pregnant Mate

Let them watch. Let them laugh. I'll burn the world to find her.

***

The storm grows teeth as we ride north.

Wind howls between ancient pines, driving snow and ice sideways with enough force to strip bark from trunks. Even my powerful blood can barely keep the cold at bay. The men fare worse—I can smell their exhaustion, their fear. Twice already we've had to stop to warm them before the frost could claim fingers or toes.

"We should transform," Kestrel suggests during one such stop, his voice barely audible over the wind. As my youngest warrior, he's the only one who still dares make such obvious suggestions to his king. "We'd cover more ground in dragon form."

"And announce our presence to every enemy scout within fifty leagues." I don't bother hiding my irritation. "The Houses have eyes everywhere. The moment they confirm I've left Millrath—"

"They'll move against the throne," he finishes. "But surely should you propose that finding the queen is worth—"

"Enough."The word comes out sharp enough to make him flinch. "Ready the horses. We move in ten minutes."

In all truth, I know transforming would lead us to her faster. But I dare not indicate to my enemies that she may indeed be in the north. Should they reach her first…

My mouth is sour once more. I rub my eyes hard enough to hurt.

As he hurries to comply, I catch Darian watching me with that knowing look I've come to hate. He's been my shadow since we were boys, the only one who truly remembers what I was before the crown's weight twisted me into this creature of iron and frost.

"Say it," I growl, turning away to check my mount's tack.

"You're not sleeping."

"I'm fine."

"You haven't slept properly since we left the city." He moves closer, lowering his voice. "The men notice. They whisper about your midnight wanderings, about the way you speak to the wind—"

"Let them whisper." My hands tighten on the reins until the leather creaks. "They're not here to judge their King's sanity."

"No. They're here because they're loyal. Because they believe in you." He pauses, choosing his next words carefully. "But they also believe you're being driven by something beyond mere duty. These dreams you keep having—"

"Are nothing." The lie tastes like ash on my tongue. "Tricks of an exhausted mind."

But even as I say it, I feel that familiar pulse beneath my ribs—that impossible sense of connection that grows stronger with each league we travel north. Sometimes I swear I can feel echoes of emotions that aren't mine: fear, determination, a bone-deep weariness that makes my chest ache. And underneath it all, that strange warmth I can't explain, like a candle flame cupped against the wind.

Madness, perhaps, but if it is, I am mad enough indeed to cling to it. To hope beyond hope that somewhere in the sensation, she lies.

We ride on as the day bleeds into the endless twilight of northern winter. The horses struggle through drifts that reach their chests, their breath freezing in the air. Around us, the forest grows older, darker. These ancient pines have stood witness to centuries of winters, their branches heavy with ice and secrets. Darian is sleepless with determination. Kestrel is forever cleaning our weaponry, sharpening our blades. Atticus, one of my longest-serving soldiers, a man who I might have even called a friend once, often tries to encourage me to sleep, though it’s a fruitless endeavour.

Something watches us from those shadows. I've felt it since we crossed the border of my regular hunting grounds—a presence that makes the dragon in me want to bare its teeth. Not a threat exactly, but…interest. As if we've drawn the attention of forces that normally slumber through the long dark of winter.

She passed this way,the wind seems to whisper.The one who carries new magic in old blood. She hungers for you.

I shake my head sharply, trying to clear it. The cold must be getting to me, making me imagine things. And yet…

"My king." One of the scouts materializes from the whiteness ahead, his face grave. "Tracks, less than a day old. A large party passed through here, heading northeast."

My heart kicks against my ribs. "Show me."

The tracks are partially filled with fresh snow but still readable to draconic eyes: at least twenty horses, moving fast despite the weather. Merchants wouldn't dare these roads in winter. Refugees would be on foot. Which leaves…

"Ulric's men." Darian voices what we're all thinking. "They're hunting her too."Or perhaps they have her. Perhaps they have truly taken her.

The rage that surges through me is almost enough to trigger transformation. Almost. I force it down, forcing myself to think past the dragon's need to destroy any threat to what's mine.

"Break camp," I order, already turning my horse northeast. "We ride through the night."