Page 20 of The Dragon King's Pregnant Mate

"A natural result of bearing such powerful blood." He's closer now, too close. "Dragon-King and Windwaker both. An unprecedented combination."

I take a step back, but my heel hits the desk. He follows, pressing closer until I can smell wine on his breath. One hand comes to rest on the wood beside my hip, caging me in.

"You've grown very important to me, Calliope." His voice drops to something approaching tenderness. "More important than you know."

"I'm flattered," I manage, though my skin crawls. "But I belong to your brother—"

"Do you?" His other hand comes up to brush my cheek. I fight the urge to flinch. "The same brother who kept you in chains? Who tried to break your spirit? Who even now hunts you across the continent?"

I think of Arvoren's fierce protectiveness, of the way he would watch me when he thought I wasn't looking. Of the growing warmth in my dreams that feels more real with each passing night.

But I can't let Ulric see any of that. Can't let him glimpse the truth buried beneath my careful façade.

"I don't know what to believe anymore," I whisper, letting my voice catch.

His smile widens fractionally. "Then let me help you believe in something new. Something better." His thumb traces my lower lip. "We could be extraordinary together, you and I. Could reshape this kingdom into something worthy of your power."

Every instinct screams at me to pull away, to call the storm that howls against the tower walls. Instead, I force myself to stay still, to look up at him with wide, uncertain eyes.

"I…I need time," I say softly. "To think. To understand what you're offering."

For a moment, I think he'll push further. But then he steps back, that knife-edge smile never wavering.

"Of course. Time is something we have plenty of, after all." He returns to his desk, dismissing me with a wave. "You'll dine with me tonight. We can discuss the future then."

The guards escort me back to my chambers, where a meal already waits. The same sweet smell rises from the soup, making my head spin. I eat it anyway, knowing I need to keep up my strength. Knowing my child needs the nourishment, whatever poison Ulric might be feeding us.

As evening approaches, exhaustion crashes over me like a wave. My limbs feel leaden, my thoughts moving through molasses. I barely make it to the bed before darkness claims me.

And then I dream.

He's there again, more clearly than ever before. Arvoren stands in swirling snow, his face lined with exhaustion and worry. When he speaks my name, it resonates through my bones like dragon-song.

Wait for me, he says, and this time I'm certain it's real.

I try to reach for him, to tell him about the baby, about Ulric's plans. But the dream is already fading, leaving only the lingering warmth of his presence.

I wake with tears frozen on my cheeks and winter howling at my window. The connection is growing stronger, I can feel it. But will he find me in time? Before whatever Ulric has planned comes to fruition? Before the poison in my food does its work?

Touching my stomach, I feel the child's presence—steady and warm despite everything. They're strong, like their father. Like me.

"We'll survive this," I whisper, though I'm no longer sure who I'm trying to convince. "Whatever it takes, whatever I have to do. We'll survive."

But as night falls properly and the temperature plummets, I can't shake the feeling that time is running out. That Ulric's mask of charm conceals something darker than I've yet glimpsed.

The storm rages on, and somewhere out there, Arvoren is coming for me. I just have to stay alive long enough for him to find us.

I just have to survive.

***

The silent servants come for me at dusk. My limbs feel like lead as I follow them through the tower's twisting passages. That strange sweetness lingers in my mouth from the soup, making the edges of my vision blur. Each step requires more concentration than the last. Something is definitely wrong with me, beyond the usual drains of pregnancy and winter magic.

The dining chamber they lead me to is smaller than I expected—intimate, with shadows pooling in the corners despite the dozens of candles that float impossibly in mid-air. Their flames don't flicker, even when wind howls through the arrow slits. Like everything else in this cursed place, they feel wrong somehow. Suspended between one moment and the next.

Ulric rises as I enter, ever the gracious host. He's dressed for dinner in deep blue velvet that makes his golden hair shine like a crown. The resemblance to his brother is stronger in this light, but there's something off about it—like looking at a painting done by someone who'd only heard Arvoren described.

"You look pale, my dear." He pulls out my chair, his fingers lingering too long on my shoulder as I sit. "Are you not feeling well?"