Page 56 of The Dragon King's Pregnant Mate

Let Ulric run. Let the Lords plot. Let winter rage beyond our walls. Nothing can touch us here, in this moment of perfect peace. Nothing matters except the miracle of her choosing to stay, to trust, to love.

I press my lips to her hair and settle in to guard her sleep, smoke curling gently from my mouth as I watch our future approach with the dawn.

***

Morning light falls strangely in my study, filtering through narrow windows set high in ancient walls. The beams catch on dragon skulls that watch from shadowed alcoves, their empty eyes holding centuries of secrets. This deep into the castle, the air always tastes of copper and old magic, thick with the weight of ritual and sacrifice.

I find Darian already waiting, his armor gleaming dully in the strange light. He doesn’t look cold despite the lingering chill—like all dragonborn, his blood runs hot against the lingering winter chill. He stands before the war table, studying maps and missives spread across its scarred surface like fallen leaves.

"The city quiets," he says without looking up, ever-practical even now. "Most of Ulric's supporters have either fled or sworn new oaths. The rest…" He trails off, but I catch his meaning. The rest won't trouble us again.

I move to stand beside him, scanning reports written in hands I recognize—commanders from the outer reaches, lords of distant holdings, all scrambling to declare their loyalty now that the battle's done. Smoke curls from my mouth as I read, scales rippling beneath my skin at some of the more flowery proclamations.

"Vultures," I growl, though we both know such promises are necessary. "Yesterday they'd have seen me dead. Today they write of eternal devotion."

"They write of survival." Darian's voice holds careful neutrality. "And of hope."

I glance at him sharply. In the strange half-light, his expression gives nothing away. But we've known each other too long for such careful masks.

"Speak plainly, old friend."

He considers his words with the same precision he brings to battle strategy. "The queen's return changes things. Her power, her condition…the Houses will see opportunity there. They know she is powerful. They will either wish to persuade you of their acquiescence or their threat. Who knows what the future holds. Perhaps they await word of Ulric’s death.”

But Ulric is not dead. They haven’t found him. In my gut, I know they won’t.

I grip the edge of the table. "They will not touch her."

"No," Darian agrees simply. "But they will watch. And wait. And wonder…."

He trails off again, but this time I hear the question he won't voice. The same question that haunts my own dreams, though I try to bury it beneath certainty and love.

"She'll stay." The words emerge rougher than intended. "She chose to return."

"She did." Darian begins sorting reports with methodical care. "Just as she chose to flee before."

Smoke pours thicker as my control slips. "That was different. I was different."

"Yes." Now he does look at me, and there's something like approval in his expression. "You were. You are." A pause, heavy with meaning. "But is it enough?"

The question hangs in the air that grows warmer by the moment. Through our bond, I feel Calliope still sleeping peacefully in our chambers above, her magic gentle as the falling snow. So different from the desperate storm that once raged within her.

"It has to be," I say finally. "I won't cage her again. Won't try to possess what can only be freely given."

Darian nods, as if I've confirmed something he already knew. "Then perhaps that's all the answer we need."

We work in silence for a while, sorting intelligence and planning next steps. The underchamber grows lighter as morning climbs, sun-shafts moving across ancient stone like measured breaths. This place has seen so much—marriages and murders, oaths sworn and broken, power claimed and lost. The very walls remember.

"She's different too, you know," Darian says eventually. "Stronger. She seems more like your wife now than she ever did here, if you’d permit me to say it.”

"I know." I trace the line of the Dragonspine Peaks on a map before us, remembering how she faced down my brother on those sacred peaks. "She's everything I never knew I needed. Everything this kingdom needs."

“She reminds me of your mother sometimes.”

I hum. I don’t deny it. Darian looks like he’s considering saying more, but stops himself.

"The Houses will want guarantees," he says instead, ever-practical. "Proof that things truly can be different."

"They'll have it." I straighten, decision crystallizing like frost on glass. "Summon them all—every Lord who claims loyalty to the throne. Let them see what we might build together. What she might help us become."