Page 53 of The Dragon King's Pregnant Mate

"Or what?" Ulric rises from the throne, his own dragon nature beginning to show. Steam rises where his boots touch stone. "You'll kill me? Your own blood? Like you might well have killed our parents?"

The accusation hits like a physical blow. Through our bond, I feel Arvoren's surge of grief and fury. "I did not—"

"No?" Ulric's laugh is cruel. "You certainly didn’t seem to mind how it worked out. Power, glory, blood—that was what their deaths gave you. You won the day."

"You dare?" The words emerge as a roar that shakes dust from the rafters. "You, who tried to murder your own brother? Who would have killed your queen?"

"I would have freed her." Ulric's gaze finds mine again. "Would have shown her what true power means, without your chains and control. Would have given her child a proper father—"

The last word is barely out of his mouth before Arvoren moves. One moment he stands beside me; the next, he's across the room in a blur of scales and fury. His clawed hand closes around Ulric's throat, lifting him off the throne as if he weighs nothing.

"Choose your next words carefully, brother," Arvoren snarls. "They may be your last."

Ulric's laugh sounds wet, choked. "You won't kill me. You never could.”

Magic crackles through the air as Ulric breaks his brother's grip, transforming partially to match Arvoren's state. The brothers circle each other like wolves. The temperature in the underchamber seems to rise sharply in the span of half a second. The watching courtiers scramble back, pressing against the walls, eyes blown huge and fearful.

"The throne is mine by right," Ulric hisses, sharpened teeth glinting in the dull light. "The people chose me. Chose stability over your chaos, chose peace over your endless war—"

"Peace?" Now it's Arvoren's turn to laugh, the sound sharp with dragon-fury. "Is that what you call this? Betraying your blood? Threatening my wife? My child? This city will become a necropolis under your rule, Ulric, and we both know it.”

Ulric's eyes widen fractionally at those last words. “You’re so small-minded, brother, even now. You have no idea what I can make your city into—what I could make your wretchedruntinto.”

He doesn't finish. Arvoren's fist catches him in the jaw, sending him staggering. Ulric recovers quickly, retaliating with a strike of his own. The brothers crash together like storm fronts, magic crackling around them as they battle for dominance.

I step forward, ready to help, but Arvoren's voice cuts through the chaos: "Stay back!"

Faintly, I register fighting all around me, in all directions. The Fjordmarse and Fort Caddell forces battling back castle guards, restraining traitors against the walls. But I have eyes only for my husband.

His shouting holds all his kingly authority, but I hear the fear beneath it—fear for me, for our child, for what Ulric might do if he gets too close.

But I am not the same woman who fled this castle in terror.

Our child's magic pulses within me, strong and sure, reaching for its father. I feel ancient power stirring in my blood, responding to the dragon-fury that fills the air. Frost spreads beneath my feet in delicate patterns, climbing the walls like deadly lace.

The temperature plummets back down violently as my magic rises. The unnatural blue flames in the braziers sputter and die, replaced by an eerie white glow that emanates from the frost itself. Servants and courtiers gasp, pressing closer to the walls as ice creeps across the floor.

Ulric and Arvoren break apart, both breathing heavily, steam rising from their partially transformed bodies. Blood drips from Ulric's split lip, freezing before it hits the ground. His eyes find mine, and something like real fear enters his expression.

"You see, brother?" He takes a step back, his smile wavering. "Your queen has grown stronger than either of us. If she isn’t snuffed out, Kaldoria will freeze solid. No nation can live in this eternal winter. Better that she be snuffed out mercifully. Betteritbe raised by someone who understands true power—"

"You will never touch them." The words emerge in a snarl that's barely human. Arvoren's transformation completes in a surge of magic, his massive dragon form filling half the chamber."Never."

People flee toward the doors as Ulric's own transformation takes hold, his scales catching the strange light. The brothers face each other in their true forms, equally huge, equally terrible, looming above me in the massive space.

I raise my hands, ice crystals dancing between my fingers as I prepare to defend my husband, my child, my crown. Whatever comes next, we face it together.

The real battle is about to begin.

The brothers collide with enough force to crack the ancient stones beneath their feet. Dragon-fire fills the air, gold flame meeting black in explosions that shake the very foundations of the castle. Their roars echo off the walls—primal sounds that speak of betrayal deeper than blood, of wounds that will never truly heal.

Through our bond, I feel Arvoren's fury and grief warring with each other. Every strike against his brother costs him something precious, every wound he inflicts tears at his own heart. But beneath that pain burns something fiercer: the need to protect what's his, to end this threat to his family once and for all.

It will hurt him if he kills his brother today, I know. But he won’t regret it.

Ulric is the quicker of the two, using his smaller size to dart beneath Arvoren's guard, scales flashing as he lands strike after strike. But Arvoren's greater bulk gives him raw power that his brother can't match. When his claws connect, they leave deep gouges that steam in the frozen air.

I press myself against a wall as their battle rages, one hand curved protectively over my stomach. Our child's magic pulses wildly, responding to both dragons' power. The air grows thick with competing magics—Arvoren's formidable strength, Ulric's desperate fury, my own winter storm rising beneath my skin.