Page 66 of The Dragon King's Pregnant Mate
The mountain seems almost to shudder beneath us, ancient stone groaning like a living thing. Ulric's massive form blocks out the weak sunlight, his scales catching what little light remains and turning it sickly, wrong. Steam rises where his claws touch the sacred ground, as if the very mountain rejects his presence here.
"You feel it too, don't you?" His dragon-voice fills the air with smoke. "The power in this place. The old magic." He laughs, and the sound sets my teeth on edge. "Did my dear brother take you here, little bird? Did he want to grind you into dust just like I do? We’re one and the same, Arvoren and I.”
I feel sick. I struggle against my bonds, but the cursed metal holds firm. Still, I feel myself growing stronger by the second, my magic returning to me like an old friend. I cannot be held for long.
"He would do this," Ulric continues, circling closer, voice monstrously contorted by the transformation. His massive tail sweeps across carved stone, scattering centuries of ice. "If it were he that lost. If he had been the brother left alone in this world. He’d want you dead, too. It’s the creature he is—it’s what the world made us. And you’ll be living with it forever, Calliope. You can’t deny it.”
"Your parents loved you.” The words emerge sharp as broken ice. "Is that why you hate him so much? Because he grew into the good man they raised him to be, and you didn’t?”
His roar shakes snow from the peaks, but I see the blow strike home. Scales ripple faster across his body as rage wars with old grief.
"You know nothing of that day!" Flames gather in his throat, turning his words to steam. "Nothing of what it means to watch everything you love burn while your perfect brother does nothing—"
"Or did they choose him over you?" I press harder, knowing I'm prodding an open wound but unable to stop. Every moment I keep him talking is another moment closer to salvation. "Did they see the monster in you even then?"
The fire comes fast and terrible, but something rises to meet it—another wall of pure winter, drawn not from my weakened magic but from the very air around us. Ice and flame collide in an explosion that rocks the mountainside, sending ancient snow cascading down distant slopes.
The old ones remember,whispers a voice like grinding stone.The sacred ground remembers.
I suspect the Windwakers have known this land for a very, very long time.
Ulric rears back, genuine fear flickering in his massive eyes as the ice beneath us pulses brighter. The air grows impossibly thick with power—not just the gods now, but the weight of centuries of ritual and sacrifice upon this land. Of oaths sworn in blood and fire, kept and broken.
"They're here," I breathe, understanding finally what this place truly is. What Ulric's rage has awakened. "You can’t hurt me. They’rehere.”
"Lies!" But there's panic beneath the fury now. Steam pours from his jaws as he speaks, melting the ice that tries to claim his claws.
The pacts remain.This voice burns like frost, ancient and merciless.The bonds endure. Brother against brother, blood against blood. Some sins cannot be forgotten.
The wind rises, carrying voices that sound almost human—screams of the sacrificed, prayers of the faithful, oaths sworn and broken across centuries. Snow swirls around us in patterns that hurt to look at directly, forming shapes that shift between dragon and storm and something else entirely.
Our child moves within me, their magic responding to the ancient power that fills the air. I feel them reaching, connecting with forces I barely understand. The runes carved into the stone begin to sing, harmonizing with the storm in ways that make my bones vibrate.
"Enough!" Ulric's voice cracks like breaking ice. "Your gods can't save you. Your magic can't protect you. You'll die here, Windwaker, where so many others—"
The mountain itself cuts him off. Stone groans beneath us as ice spreads faster, crawling up Ulric's legs despite the heat pouring from his scales. The voices in the wind grow louder, more insistent, speaking in languages that taste like lightning on my tongue.
The child must live,they whisper.The blood must continue. The storm must break. A new day for the kingdom.
"You feel it, don't you?" I meet Ulric's massive eyes, seeing the fear beneath his rage. "What this place truly is. What you've done by bringing me here. By threatening your own blood."
"My blood?" His laugh sounds strangled now. "You think that thing you carry is my blood? My family? It's an abomination. A mistake. Something that never should have—"
But his words fade as something changes in the air—a shift in pressure, a new current in the endless wind. Through our bond, I feel Arvoren's presence like approaching thunder, like the promise of dragon-fire and fury.
My husband is coming. And all of Ulric's madness and magic won't save him from what follows.
Ulric's massive head snaps toward the horizon, scales bristling at some sound I can't yet hear.
"He won't reach you in time." His dragon-voice shakes loose more snow from the peaks, but I hear the lie in it. His tail lashes against sacred stone, scattering centuries of ice. "I'll finish this now—"
"Did you know," I say, keeping my voice steady despite my fear, "that Arvoren comes here sometimes? To speak to them?" The words feel right, though I don't know how I know them. "To beg forgiveness for what happened to your parents?"
"Lies!" But Ulric's wings mantle with agitation, stirring the strange mists that have begun to gather around us. "He never cared. Never mourned. Never—"
"He mourns them every day." The truth of it hits like physical pain—I see it now in my memory, all those times I caught him staring at nothing, hands clasped halfway to a prayer, lost in thoughts he wouldn't share. "Just as he'll mourn you, when this is over. When he has to—"
"Enough!"His roar splits the air like thunder, but there's something broken in it now. Something almost human beneath the dragon's fury. "You think you know him? Think you understand what he is? What he's done?"