Page 58 of The Dragon King's Pregnant Mate

Her face lights up, then falls just as quickly. "I…I'm just a gardener, Your Grace. The master herbalist…"

"Fled with my brother-in-law's supporters." I wave away her hesitation. "And frankly, I trust someone with dirt under their nails more than all his fancy theoretical knowledge. You know these plants. Know how they grow, how they heal. That's worth more than any number of fancy titles. I grew up selling herbs in my village. It’s work anyone can do, with a little care.”

She stares at me for a long moment, hope warring with generations of knowing her place. Finally, she nods. "I'd be honored, Your Grace. Shall I have the beds cleared for spring planting?"

"Not yet." I shake my head, remembering my grandmother's lessons about the rhythm of seasons. "Let the earth rest a while longer. Some things need time to heal. But come back tomorrow—we'll start planning what to plant where. How to make this garden serve the whole city, not just the castle."

Mari withdraws with another curtsey, but there's a new lightness in her step. I watch her go, thinking about changes big and small, about how rebuilding a kingdom sometimes starts with something as simple as planting herbs.

The sound of boots on gravel makes me smile. I know those footsteps like I know my own heartbeat.

"I thought I'd find you here." My husband’s voice carries equal measures of affection and concern. When his arms slide around me from behind, I lean back against his chest, letting his warmth settle upon me, settle into my very bones. His skin burns fever-hot even through layers of cloth. I could sink and drown in that feeling. I think I’ll always feel that way. "You should be resting."

"I've rested enough." But I cover his hands with mine where they rest over our child. Through our bond, I feel his fierce protectiveness, his constant worry that I'm pushing myself too hard. The connection between us grows stronger each day, letting me sense not just his surface emotions but the deeper currents beneath—love and fear and desperate hope all tangled together. "How went the meetings?"

He makes a sound somewhere between a growl and a sigh, steam curling from his mouth. "House Bellrose sends renewed oaths of fealty, for whatever those are worth. Their ravens arrived this morning—pages and pages of flowery language about eternal loyalty, as if they hadn't been ready to support my brother's claim just days ago."

"They're scared." I trace patterns on the back of his hand, feeling scales ripple beneath his skin at my touch. "All the Houses are. After what happened…they need to know where they stand.”

"Where they stand is at our mercy." But there's less heat in the words than there would have been months ago. "Morwen and Vos suggest a grand council to 'discuss the future of the realm.' As if I don't know what that means—they want concessions. Guarantees. Promises written in blood and sealed with magic. There is only so much they can demand. They know what to fear." Unspoken:you.

"Would that be so terrible?" I turn in his arms to face him, studying the new lines that worry has carved around his eyes, sedimented there. Dark circles beneath them speak of too many sleepless nights, too many hours spent poring over reports and negotiations. He’s hardly rested since we got back to the city "The Houses aren't our enemies, Arvoren. Not anymore. They're part of the kingdom we'll build together—the kingdom our child will inherit."

His jaw tightens, scales rippling beneath his skin. "They turned on me once. Supported my brother's bid for power. How can I ever trust them again?"

"The same way I learned to trust you." I touch his face, thumb tracing one of those new worry lines. "By choosing to believe in the possibility of change. Of growth. Of something better than what came before."

For a long moment he just looks at me, and I see the battle in his eyes—the need to protect warring with the desire to grow, to change, to become the king his people truly need. I can tell he’s remembering all I’ve told him, the warnings I gave him when we were alone in the frost.

Finally he sighs, pressing his forehead to mine.

"House Morwen arrives next week to begin negotiations," he says. "Vos and Bellrose the week after. Their ravens say they're bringing their families this time—wives, children, their whole courts. As if that proves their peaceful intentions."

"Or as if they truly want to start fresh." I smooth my hands down his chest, feeling his heartbeat strong and steady beneath my palms. "Will you let me help? Not as your prize or possession, but as your queen? Your partner?"

The word makes something warm unfurl in his chest. I feel it through our bond, eternal sunrise after endless night. "You know I value your counsel more than anyone's now. But the Houses…I fear they may not be ready to hear wisdom from the heretic."

"Then they'll learn." I smile, letting a hint of winter steel enter my voice. "As you did. As we all must."

He laughs—a real laugh, not the sharp bark of dragon-fury I grew used to in those early days. "Sometimes I forget how fierce you can be, little bird. Even now."

"I'm not so little anymore." I gesture to my swollen belly with mock indignation, and am rewarded with another laugh. Through our bond, I feel his joy and terror mingle as our child kicks, strong enough for us both to feel.

"No," he agrees softly, hand spanning my middle. "You've grown into something far more magnificent than I ever imagined. Than I ever deserved."

"Arvoren…" But before I can protest this self-recrimination, another kick interrupts me. His eyes widen, and through our bond I feel his awe overshadow everything else.

"They know their father's voice," I say, covering his hand with mine. "They always move more when you're near. Can you feel how their magic reaches for yours?"

Arvoren’s hand trembles slightly where it rests against my belly. For all his power, all his strength, nothing undoes my husband quite like these small reminders of the life we've created together. Through our bond, I sense him reaching with his own magic, dragon-fire meeting winter storm in the space between heartbeats.

"I never thought…" He breaks off, smoke curling from between his teeth. The air around us warms noticeably, snow melting in a perfect circle where we stand. "When you fled, when I couldn't find you…I thought I'd lost everything. But you came back. You chose—"

"I chose us," I finish for him, remembering dark nights and darker choices. "Chose to believe we could build something better than what we were. I chose to trust that you could become the man I needed you to be. And I’m beginning to believe I was right."

He kisses me then, gentle as falling snow. I melt into him, savoring the way his arms tighten around me—protective but not possessive, strong but not crushing.

We've both learned so much about the difference between holding and containing.