Page 35 of The Dragon King's Pregnant Mate

Darian must know some madness of mine has abated with her presence. I can see it on his face. He’s relieved, but grim.

He eyes Calliope's wounds, then the treacherous landscape around us. "My king, you cannot stay out here alone. Let me help you get her back to the city—"

"She's too weak to hold on to me, and I won't risk carrying her in this weather." The thought of trying to navigate the bitter winds with her in my talons or on my back, of dropping her into the endless white below… "No. I'll get her back on foot. But someone needs to hold the castle until we return."

"Arvoren." He uses my name rarely, and only when he needs me to really listen. "The kingdom needs its king."

"The kingdom needs its queen." The words come out fiercer than intended. Calliope stirs slightly against me but doesn't wake. "I won't lose her again, Darian. Not to Ulric, not to the storm, not to anything. Whatever she's been through, whatever lies he fed her…" I trail off, smoke curling from my mouth. "I have to make this right."

Even if she’ll never trust me. Even if this can’t be fixed. I have to try.

Darian studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he bows, wincing slightly at the movement. "As you command, my king. I'll return when I can, with aid."

He limps out into the darkness, and soon I hear the sound of massive wings beating against the storm through the impenetrable gloom. I pull Calliope closer, breathing in the crisp sweetness that always clings to her skin. Through our bond, I feel her magic pulse in time with that strange warmth deep inside her.

Whatever happened in that fortress, whatever game she played to survive, I know one thing with bone-deep certainty: she is still mine. My wife, my queen, my heart's greatest weakness. And I will burn the world to ash before I let anyone take her from me again.

The storm rages on, and somewhere in the endless dark, my brother plots his next move. But for now, in this small circle of firelight, I hold what matters most. Everything else—the throne, the kingdom, even vengeance—can wait.

I press my lips to Calliope's hair and settle in to watch the night, dragon-fire burning in my blood to keep her warm.

Chapter 17 - Calliope

Dawn bleeds silver through the pines, turning frost to diamonds on bare branches. I wake to find Arvoren exactly where he was when exhaustion finally claimed me—sitting against a massive trunk, one arm still curved protectively around my shoulders. Steam rises faintly where snow meets his heated skin. The fire smolders, smoking but barely there. He hasn't slept; I can tell by the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes track every shadow in the pale morning light.

For a moment, I let myself remember other mornings, back in Millrath. How he would watch me then, too. Something has changed, but I cannot describe or understand quite what it is. The difference makes my chest ache in ways I can't quite name.

"The storm's dying," he says when he notices I'm awake. His voice is rough from disuse, but gentler than it was last night. "We should be able to cover more ground today."

I sit up slowly, wincing as my body protests. Everything hurts—the spirit's burn on my arm, the lingering weakness from Ulric's poison, the deep bone-weariness of pushing my magic too far. I haven’t felt truly comfortable in months. The child's presence pulses steady and warm within me, but I can feel their magic taking its toll, too, draining what little strength I have left.

"Where are we going?" I ask, though I already know the answer.

"Millrath." When I stiffen, he adds quickly, "The castle is the only place I can properly protect you. At least until we deal with Ulric—"

"I won't be locked away again." The words come out sharper than intended. "I can't."

He looks away, smoke curling from between his teeth. "You really think I would…after everything that's happened, you still believe I'd treat you like that?"

"I don't know what to believe anymore." I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hide how my hands shake. "You saw me in that fortress and assumed the worst. Didn't even try to understand—"

"Because it looked like you'd chosen him!" Real pain edges into his voice. "My own brother, who tried to kill us both. Who would have torn apart everything we—" He breaks off, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "How was I supposed to trust what I saw?"

"Arvoren, how am I supposed to trustyou?Even—" I stop, pressing my lips together. Even now, I can taste the sickly sweetness of the tea, feel the fog that clouded my thoughts for weeks. "You see betrayal everywhere you look because that's all you expect to find. Perhaps you gave me the habit. I can’t trust that you’ll be the husband I need you to be, not until you show me it’s true."

Something flickers across his face—hurt, maybe, or recognition. But before he can respond, a sound cuts through the morning quiet: branches snapping, something large moving through the underbrush.

Arvoren is on his feet instantly, pushing me behind him as shadows detach themselves from the murk beyond the trees.

They move like liquid darkness, these creatures. Bigger than wolves but wrong somehow—too many joints, too many teeth gleaming wetly in the pale light. Magic ripples across their shadowy forms like oil on water. I count five, then seven, then lose track as more emerge from the forest, moving around us, flowing synchronously. Their eyes glow with an inner fire that speaks of ancient power and hunger. I feel them watching.

I cannot yet tell whether they’re hostile. Whether they want us dead.

"Stay close," Arvoren growls, scales rippling beneath his skin as his dragon nature rises to the surface. "If they're Ulric's—"

"No." I recognize the magic radiating from them—older than Ulric, older than kingdoms or crowns. "These aren't his. They feel…different. They’re wild."

This is wild magic. I know it as well as I’d know my own flesh and blood.