Page 60 of The Dragon King's Pregnant Mate

"My king." He hesitates, which sets off more warning bells. Darian never hesitates. "The queen…it seems she's not in your chambers. Or anywhere in the castle that we can find."

The maps beneath my hands begin to smolder. "What do you mean, you can't find her?"

"The guards say she left the royal wing shortly after dawn. But she hasn't been seen since, and none of the usual places…"

He trails off as I grip the table hard enough to splinter the wood beneath my hands.

"And you're only telling me this now?" My voice drops to a growl that's barely human.

"She's been gone less than an hour." Darian keeps his tone deliberately calm, reasonable. "And she is free to move about the castle now. Perhaps she simply wanted to explore—"

"She would have told me." Through our bond, I reach for her, seeking that familiar pulse of magic and life. The connection feels strange—muted somehow, tinged with something that might be fear. "Something's wrong."

"My king—"

But I'm already moving, my partially transformed state letting me cross the chamber in two strides. "Search everything. Every room, every passage. Send riders to check the city—"

"Arvoren." Darian catches my arm, a liberty only decades of friendship allow. He looks at me flatly—not an unkind or scolding look, just a hard, level stare. "Forgive my tongue, my king, but…remember what happened last time you tried to cage her. She chose to return to you. Chose to trust you. Don't throw that away over simple paranoia."

The words hit like physical blows. Because I know he's right. I remember too well how my desperate need to possess, to control, drove her away before. Remember the look in her eyes when she came here. She knew from the very start that her pretty cage was still a cage. She knew how the game worked, and she played it. And torturously, I remember waking to find her gone, taking half my soul with her.

But this feels different. Through our bond, that thread of unease grows stronger. Something's wrong. I know it in my bones, in my blood, in the very air that crackles with tension around me.

"Ulric's still out there." The words emerge in a snarl. "Wounded, humiliated, but alive. You really think he's given up? That he won't try to take what he sees as his?"

"All the more reason to trust her to protect herself." Darian's voice gentles slightly. "She's not the same woman you first brought to this castle. She's stronger now. Wiser. And she carries your child—"

"Exactly." Smoke pours thicker as my control slips. "She's carrying our child. If anything happened to either of them—"

The bond between us flares suddenly, sharp with fear that isn't mine. An image flashes through my mind—stone walls, shadows moving where they shouldn't, a familiar scent that makes my dragon blood howl with protective fury.

I shove past Darian, already half-transformed. "Search the castle. But do it quietly. I don't want the Lords' spies catching wind of this."

"And you?"

"I hunt." The word comes out garbled as my throat reshapes itself, scales rippling across my skin in waves of ruby red. "Whatever's frightened her, I'll find it. I'll tear it apart."

I don't wait for his response. The window before me shatters as I complete my transformation, wings spreading wide as I launch myself into the dawn-painted sky. Below, the city spreads like a map of black stone and iron, its streets beginning to fill with morning crowds. Somewhere in that maze of buildings and shadows, my wife needs me.

I'm coming,I think fiercely, hoping she can feel it through our bond.Whatever's happening, wherever you are, I'm coming.

The hunt begins.

Chapter 29 - Calliope

The herbs slip from my fingers as the first stick strikes my shoulder.

"Witch!" The word rings across the meadow, sharp as the pain blooming beneath my skin. "Look at the little witch, gathering her poisons!"

I know better than to run. Running only excites them, like wolves scenting blood. Instead, I kneel carefully, gathering the scattered yarrow and feverfew back into my basket. My hands don't shake—I won't give them that satisfaction. Won't let them see how my heart hammers against my ribs, how fear turns my tongue to lead.

They’re just boys, I know. Boys throwing twigs. They won’t hurt me.

Thomás emerges from the tree line first, flanked by his usual pack. The tanner's son stands head and shoulders above other boys his age, all bulk and meanness, taking after his father in the worst ways. His cronies spread out behind him—smaller boys eager to prove themselves through cruelty, their faces flushed with the thrill of cornering acceptable prey.

"Picking flowers for your spells?" Thomás scoops up another stone, tossing it between his hands. "Going to curse the village like your grandmother?"

"They're medicines." My voice comes out steadier than I expect. Grandmother's lessons echo in my head:Keep your chin high. Show no fear. They can only hurt you if you let them see you're afraid. "For your sister's fever. Your father asked—"