Page 29 of The Dragon King's Pregnant Mate

The king's warriors have found us at last.

Chaos erupts in the fort. Guards pour in from all directions, scrambling across and over and under still-falling rubble, shouting orders and drawing weapons. The dragons land with earth-shaking force in the cold, dusty light, their wings spreading to block any escape. They’re huge. They’reterrible.

My ears ring, and my eyes burn, and I hold in my heart a relief so strong and desperate it almost brings me to my knees.

Battle breaks out mere moments later. I press myself against the wall. The first clash of steel on steel rings out like a bell, echoing off ancient stones. One of Ulric's men charges forward, sword raised, only to be caught by massive talons and torn nearly in half. Blood sprays across ice-covered walls as more guards rush to engage. Dragon-fire fills the air, turning the chamber into an inferno. The heat is so intense that the frozen stones crack and shatter.

And there, in the center of it all, a humanoid figure drops from the ruined ceiling like death given form.

Arvoren.

He lands in a crouch, snow swirling around him like a cloak. When he rises, his movements are pure predator—all lethal grace and contained violence. His formal clothes have been replaced by worn leather and steel, and his crown is missing, but he's never looked more like a king than he does in this moment. Steam rises from his skin where snow touches him, and his eyes burn with an inner fire that marks his bloodline.

"Find her," he snarls to his men, his voice more dragon than human. Smoke curls from between his teeth as he speaks. "Kill anyone who stands in your way."

The battle explodes around us like a storm breaking. Steel rings against steel, dragon-fire casting strange shadows on ancient walls. The air fills with smoke and steam and the copper tang of blood. Screams echo off stone as Ulric's men fall to tooth and claw and blade. Through it all, I remain frozen in my alcove, unable to look away from my husband's terrible fury.

Then his head turns, and his eyes lock with mine.

Time seems to stop. The sounds of combat fade to a distant roar as we stare at each other across the chaos. His expression is dark with rage, but there's something else there, too. Fear, maybe. Uncertainty. The same desperate longing I've felt in our shared dreams.

For a moment, I see him as I did that first night in Millrath: the Dragon King in all his terrible glory, beautiful and deadly and alien. The connection between us flares stronger than ever, cutting through whatever drugs Ulric has used to keep me weak, cutting through my fear and sorrow. I feel his fury, his peril, his bone-deep need to protect me.

I see his lips form the shape of my name.

Before either of us can move, a familiar laugh cuts through the din, over the sounds of battle.

"Welcome home, brother." Ulric's voice carries easily over the combat. He stands at the end of the corridor I just emerged from, hair catching the firelight from the burning tapestries. Blood still stains his face where my magic threw him, but his smile is triumphant. "I was wondering when you'd finally find us. Though I must say, your timing is…inconvenient."

I stagger backward blindly, hands raised before me, tripping and scrambling over the rubble at my feet.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Arvoren's expression goes cold as winter itself. He begins to stalk toward us—Ulric sweeps forward, planting himself between me and my husband, standing in the rubble with his arms raised, a false prophet. A tyrant through and through.

"I've been taking good care of your wife." Ulric's smile is sharp as broken glass. "Though I'm not sure she wants to leave. Do you, little bird? You can’t truly wish to return to Millrath. Not when you fought so very hard to escape.”

My husband's gaze snaps to me, uncertainty flickering in those dark eyes I have dreamed of for so long. Despite everything we've shared through our dreams, through our connection, doubt creeps in. Did he truly believe I might choose Ulric over him?

The fighting continues around us, but it feels distant, unreal. In this moment, there are only the three of us—husband, wife, and the serpent who came between them. The ancient tower groans around us, magic crackling through its stones like lightning through storm clouds.

And in that frozen moment of choice, everything changes.

Chapter 14 - Arvoren

The ancient stones groan beneath my feet as I storm through the ruins of the demolished ceiling. On the walls of the chamber all around I see flames licking up tapestries and turning ice to steam. Bodies litter the floor at my feet as the battle rages around me—both my men and Ulric's, their blood freezing almost instantly on the frost-covered stones. The battle rages around me in a chaos of steel and scale and fire.

But I barely register any of it. My focus has narrowed to a knife's edge, every instinct trained on the woman standing amid the destruction.

Calliope.

She's thinner than I remember, more fragile, dark hair falling in tangles around her scarred, too-pale face. The fine dress she wears hangs loose on her frame, and there are shadows beneath her eyes that speak of exhaustion. But gods, she's still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Even weak and afraid, her presence fills the space like smoke, like storm clouds gathering before lightning strikes.

Our connection flares stronger than ever, cutting through my rage, then sitting in the burning center of it. I feel her exhaustion, her fear, but also a fierce determination that makes my blood sing with recognition. Something else pulses between us too, strange and warm, but before I can identify it, movement catches my eye.

Ulric stands in the rubble between us with the posture of a serpent rearing, loosed from its den, brushing dust from his fine clothes with casual grace. Blood stains his face and coats one side of his golden hair, but his smile is triumphant as ever. Looking at him—at the brother I trusted once, so very long ago—makes something twist painfully in my chest.

"I must say, brother," he calls over the din of battle, "you're losing your touch. I expected you days ago. The Lords must be keeping you busy indeed."

Smoke rises between my teeth. "Not too busy to deal with traitorous ghasts like you."