Page 71 of The Dragon King's Pregnant Mate

Calliope's magic shifts with the seasons. The storm that followed her across the continent gentles day by day, her power finding balance as our child grows stronger within her. Sometimes I wake in the night to find frost dancing across our bedchambers, delicate as lace—not from fear or pain now, but from dreams that make her smile in her sleep. Her unconscious magic plays like a child testing boundaries, and I find myself mesmerized by these small displays of joy.

Watching her heal is like watching spring return to a land long frozen. The shadows beneath her eyes fade slowly, replaced by a glow that has nothing to do with magic and everything to do with life growing within her. She moves more carefully now, one hand often pressed to her swollen belly, but there's a sureness to her steps that speaks of someone who knows exactly where she belongs.

The Lords will arrive within days to begin negotiations for a new peace. Ravens bring messages of cautious hope, of desire for change, of willingness to try something different than endless rivalry. My brother's death seems to have broken something loose in the kingdom—some terrible tension that held us all rigid with fear and pride.

But those are thoughts for another hour. Right now, in the gentle light of early morning, I have more immediate concerns.

"You're brooding again." Calliope's voice draws me from my thoughts. She stands in the doorway of our chambers, wrapped in a robe of deep blue silk that makes her skin glow like moonlight. Her dark hair falls loose around her shoulders, still damp from bathing.

"Not brooding," I counter, though steam curls from my mouth with the words. "Planning."

She crosses to where I stand by the window, bare feet silent on ancient stone. When she slips under my arm, fitting herself against my side, I feel her shiver slightly at my fever-warmth. Even now, these casual intimacies catch me off guard—how easily she chooses to be close, how naturally we fit together.

"Tell me," she says simply.

I gather her closer, one hand splaying over her belly where our child's magic pulses in time with her heartbeat. Through our bond, I feel her contentment, her quiet joy at this moment of peace.

"The Houses will want guarantees," I say finally. "If we want stable peace—real peace this time—we need to make a lot of promises. They need to know I am…generous.”

"Aren't you, though?" But there's no accusation in her voice—only that gentle wisdom that still leaves me breathless sometimes. "Isn't that exactly why you can change things? Because you know what it means to rule that way, and you've chosen something different?”

I press my lips to her hair, breathing in the crisp sweetness that always clings to her skin. "When did you become so wise?"

"I've always been wise." She elbows me gently. "You just weren't listening back then."

The simple truth of it makes me laugh, though steam still curls from my mouth. She's right, of course. She usually is, about the things that matter most.

Through the window, across the dark water, I watch the sun climb higher over my city. Merchants have begun setting up their stalls in the market square, their voices carrying faintly on the morning breeze. Here and there, patches of green show through melting snow—the first hints of grass this land has seen in months.

Calliope follows my gaze, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my chest. Through our bond, I feel her own quiet amazement at the changes happening around us.

"Will you come to the gardens today?" I ask, though I already know her answer. Since that day when Ulric took her, since I killed my own brother to keep her safe, she's made it her mission to reclaim that space. To turn fear into something beautiful.

"Mmm." She stretches like a cat in sunlight. "The hellebores are blooming. And I need to check on the herb beds—some of the hardier plants survived the winter. With luck, we might have fresh medicines by summer."

The casual way she speaks of the future catches in my chest. Not so long ago, she couldn't imagine staying here, couldn't see past the chains I placed on her. Now she plants roots both literal and metaphorical, making this place her own in ways I never could have forced.

"Take guards," I say, because I have to, because the memory of her being taken still haunts my dreams. "Just in case."

"Just in case," she agrees easily. Then, with that slight smile that still makes my dragon blood sing: "Though I think we both know I can protect myself now."

I capture her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm where magic still dances beneath her skin. Through our bond, I feel her pleasure at the gesture, her love for me tangled with amused exasperation at my protective nature.

"I know you can," I tell her. "But humor me?"

She rises on tiptoe to kiss me softly, then pulls away before I can deepen it. "Always so demanding," she teases. But her eyes are soft when she adds: "I'll take guards. And I'll be careful. I promise."

I watch her dress for the day, marveling at how naturally she moves through our chambers now. She chooses a gown of pale green silk that makes her look like Spring incarnate, though she grumbles good-naturedly about how none of her clothes fit properly anymore. When she struggles with the back, I move to help her, my fingers careful against silk and skin.

"The Lords arrive tomorrow," she says as I work. "Are you ready?"

"No," I admit, because I can be honest with her now, can show weakness without fearing she'll use it against me. "But I will be. We will be."

She turns in my arms, her expression serious despite her smile. "Together then?"

"Together," I agree, and seal the promise with a kiss that tastes of spring sunlight and endless possibility.

Some changes come slowly, like ice melting from ancient stone. Others happen in an instant, like the moment you realize you've become someone different than you were. I'm learning to welcome both kinds, learning to trust that transformation doesn't always mean loss.