Page 4 of The Dragon King's Pregnant Mate
Lord Caddell, likewise, is silent. The sole human present, he is the slightest and shortest of the Lords, a middle-aged man I have not spoken with personally in years and would not care to. He has the unkempt, wispy look of the Caddells about him, but his eyes are set upon me, and he does not appear nervous. I feel a miniscule thread of approval within me at the bravery of that, but it is near silent beneath my rage.
"Where is she?" Morwen demands, sharp voice cutting across the room and echoing. Unlike his fellow Lords, he makes no attempt at courtesy. "Where is the queen? If she's truly contained as you claim, then surely—"
"Mywife," I say, emphasizing the word, "is safely confined within the castle, recovering from wounds sustained during your ill-conceived rebellion." The lie tastes like ash on my tongue, but I deliver it with perfect coldness. "She poses no threat to you or your lands. Some Houses are older than others, Lords, might I remind you.Somecities can weather a harsh winter."
"If you speak the truth, produce her." Bellrose's pale eyes narrow. "Let us see this claimed confinement with our own eyes. Surely you understand our concern? The commonfolk grow restless. They blame this endless winter on dark magic—on her. If she truly is as you say, perhaps allowing us to verify—"
"You would make demands of your king?" I rise from the throne in a single fluid motion, letting my presence fill the room like smoke. The torches flicker, and I know my eyes have begun to glint with that inner fire that marks my bloodline. "After your treachery? After I showed you mercy when I should have taken your heads?"
The Lords take an involuntary step back—all except Bellrose, who merely inclines his head in a gesture that manages to be both respectful and mocking. "Of course not, Your Majesty. We merely thought to offer our assistance in these…difficult times."
"Your assistance?" A bitter laugh escapes me. "Like the 'assistance' my dear brother offered you in forming the coalition, Bellrose? If I didn’t know better, I might suspect he is your favoured heir of my House.”If I didn’t know better, I might suspect you know where he is now.“I don’t suppose you have anything of value to say?”
The question hangs in the air, the frosty snap of a winter’s morning. Impossibly present and yet desperately fragile. No one speaks.
We all know Ulric vanished during the chaos of that final battle, when Calliope's power transformed the night into day. His body was never found among the dead, though the burns she inflicted should have killed him. Some say he fled north, gathering allies among the outlying settlements. Others whisper that he was consumed entirely by her magic, reduced to less than ash.
I know which possibility I vastly and eternally prefer.
"Your brother's treachery is not our concern," Lord Vos finally says, though his voice wavers slightly. "We speak only of the present danger. This winter—"
"This winter will pass," I cut him off. "Like all things. Until then, I suggest you focus on keeping your own lands in order. Unless you'd prefer another demonstration of why my family has held this throne for centuries?"
The threat in my voice sends a visible shiver through a couple of the Lords.
But Bellrose holds his ground, his pale eyes like chips of ice. "We doubt nothing, Your Majesty. We merely seek to protect our interests. The people suffer. Trade routes are closed. Rumors that the winter will not…will not end, my King."
"Rumors?"I bare my teeth in what might technically be called a smile, but would not be by any sane man. "Like the rumors that my queen has escaped? That she runs wild in the north, gathering power? That your king is weak, unable to control his own wife?" I step down from the dais, my boots ringing against stone as I approach them. "Tell me, my Lords—do you believe these rumors?"
They exchange glances, no one quite willing to answer. I look each of them in the eye. Sturmsen and Caddell are the only lords capable of holding my gaze. No surprise there.
Finally, Morwen speaks, his voice carefully neutral. "We believe only what we see, Your Majesty. And what we see is a kingdom sliding into chaos while its king…grieves. All present parties have committed grave errors, my king. But the future is unwritten. And your people freeze—they freeze as we speak."
The words hit like a physical blow, though I don't let it show on my face. "I don't recall asking for your assessment of my state of mind."
"Nevertheless—" Bellrose begins, but I've had enough.
"Leave," I command, my voice dropping to a growl that's more dragon than human. "Now. Before I reconsider my previous mercy."
They bow—some deeper than others—and file out, their footsteps echoing in the vast chamber. I catch fragments of their whispered conversations as they go, though they think themselves too quiet for my hearing.
Perhaps they are. Perhaps the whispers are my own madness, finally realised, finally leering up from inside me into my dull and harried senses.
"—lying, obviously—"
"—the witch has escaped—"
"—cannot be trusted—"
"—brother was right about him—"
When the heavy doors finally close behind them, I allow my rigid posture to crack. My hands shake as I run them through my hair, almost dislodging my crown. The irony isn't lost on me.
"My king?" Darian emerges from the shadows where he'd stood guard throughout the meeting. His face is lined with concern, though he tries to hide it. "Are you—"
"Any word?" I cut him off, unable to keep the desperation from my voice. "Any trace of her?"
He hesitates, which is answer enough. "A troop of soldiers has frozen to death fifty miles from Fort Caddell, not far from the foothills of the Peaks. The latest scouts from the area report strange weather patterns in the northern forests. Storms that appear and disappear without warning. But the trails are all dead ends. She has not been seen in many days, not reported anywhere. And none of the prior reports have yielded substantial leads.”