Page 47 of The Dragon King's Pregnant Mate
"How I like them cooked. Not too rare." A ghost of a smile touches her lips. “Toward the end, you used to have the kitchen staff prepare them specially. I never asked you. But you knew."
The memory hits unexpectedly: Calliope in our chambers in Millrath, those days after we first started to see eye-to-eye when I was still learning her preferences, still trying to win her trust through small kindnesses even as I kept her chained. How young we both seem now, looking back. How foolish I was, thinking I could cage something as wild as her heart.
It was mere months ago, but it could be lifetimes away from us now.
"Here." I hand her a portion, carefully cooked through. "You need to keep up your strength."
She eats slowly but steadily, and I feel some of her exhaustion ease through our bond. The food seems to calm the magic within her, too—the air grows noticeably warmer around us, the endless winter relaxing its grip just slightly.
We rest through the afternoon, conserving energy for the journey ahead. I check her wounds; the spirit guardian's burn is healing slowly but cleanly, and no infection has set in. Small mercies.
The sun begins to set, again bathing the snow in shades of amber and rose. Calliope dozes against my chest, one hand resting over her belly. Through our bond, I feel the child's magic pulse in time with her heartbeat—a rhythm that both terrifies and awes me.
"Tell me about Millrath," she says suddenly, her voice soft in the gathering dark. "What I might find when we return."
If we return, her tone implies. If we survive this journey. If you don't lock me away again, and I can see the city,trulysee it.
I choose my words carefully. "The Lords were circling when I left. Bellrose especially—they've always wanted the throne. But Darian will hold them off as long as he can."
"And if he can't?"
"Then we'll rebuild. Find somewhere to live on." The words come easier than I expected. "Whatever we find when we return—the kingdom, the castle, all of it—none of it matters as much as keeping you both safe."
I almost mean it. She can tell I’m lying, but she can also tell I wish I wasn’t.
She shifts to look up at me, firelight catching in her dark eyes. “You’re kinder than you used to be, Arvoren.” A simple sentence, rich with implication, rich with what she will not say.
I touch her cheek, marveling that I'm allowed this simple intimacy now. "I hope I am.”
When we make love that night, it is achingly slow and tender, not a frenzy of impossible passion and desire. I take my time, savoring every moment with her. Calliope's body is softer now, frail from all she went through but growing with pregnancy, a testament to the new life we've created between us. The lifeshehas held, despite it all. Her skin feels like warm silk under my fingertips as I trail them along her curves, memorizing each dip and swell. I want to etch these contours into my very bones, never forgetting how she feels in this moment.
She undresses me just as unhurriedly, her fingers brushing against the rough fabric of my shirt before it pools at my feet. The chill air bites at our bare skin but we don't care; all that matters is the heat between us. Our breath mingles in the frigid air as our lips meet.
I go slow, exploring, considering. Calliope's lips part with a soft gasp as I trail kisses down her neck, savoring the quickening pulse beneath my lips. She arches into my touch, a quiet moan escaping her as I cup her fuller breasts. They're sensitive now, and I'm careful as I lavish attention on them with gentle caresses and feather-light kisses.
Her fingers tangle in my hair, urging me lower. I oblige, mapping the swell of her belly with reverent touches. I press a tender kiss there before continuing my journey downward.
Calliope's thighs part for me as I settle between them. The scent of her arousal is intoxicating.
“I love you,” I promise her. I’ve never meant anything more.
As I ravish her, she moans high in the back of her throat, head tipping back, legs shaking. I bring her to climax twice as her fingers thread gently through my hair, holding me as if she can't bear to think of me hurt, even now. Even despite everything.
As the last tremors of pleasure fade, Calliope's body relaxes against mine. I gather her close, cradling her head against my chest. Our skin is flushed and damp despite the chill air, a sheen of sweat glistening in the dying firelight. I pull the furs over us, cocooning us in warmth.
For a long while, we simply breathe together. I listen to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, feeling it slow in time with mine. Her fingers trace idle patterns on my skin, following the lines of old scars and newer marks. The calluses on her hands catch slightly as they move, reminding me of all she's endured, all the strength that lies within her seemingly fragile form.
The sun sets fully, stars wheeling overhead in ancient patterns. Tomorrow we'll continue south, seeking paths through these treacherous peaks that might lead us home. But for now, in this moment, I hold everything that matters in my arms.
I press my lips to her hair and settle in to watch the night.
Chapter 23 - Calliope
The following day passes in fragments, like shards of broken ice catching sunlight. Each step blurs into the next as Arvoren carries me through endless white. My protests grow weaker as the hours stretch on. I drift, caught between sleeping and waking, aware only of Arvoren's fever-warmth against the bitter cold.
Memories and sensations surface and submerge, fish moving beneath frozen water, mere shadows: the crunch of boots on snow, the whisper of wind through ancient pines, Arvoren's voice rumbling in his chest as he speaks to me, though I can't make out the words. At some point, we pass the bleached bones of some massive creature half-buried in snow. Dragon bones, perhaps, or something older still. I try to ask, but exhaustion drags me under before I can form the question.
The brief moments I'm fully conscious paint a stark picture of our journey. Arvoren's jaw is set with determination as he picks our path through treacherous terrain, though I feel his own exhaustion through our bond. His clothes bear fresh tears and bloodstains—evidence of skirmishes fought against wolves and beasts while I slept. Once, I wake to find him arguing with a group of shadows that might be spirits, might be memories. His voice carries on the wind:"She needs rest. Please."