Page 74 of The Dragon King's Pregnant Mate

My scales ripple faster at the mention of our baby, protective instincts surging. But I force them down, reminding myself that this is precisely why we need allies. Why we must build a kingdom worthy of the future they'll inherit.

"A child of dragon and Windwaker blood," Sturmsen muses. "The old powers wake in their presence, or so I'm told." He pauses, watching steam curl from my mouth. "They say the gods themselves take interest."

"The gods can watch," I mutter, though I know he speaks truth. We've both felt their presence growing stronger as Calliope's pregnancy progresses. "But they will not touch what's mine."

His laugh fills the chamber, sharp with genuine amusement. "There's the dragon I remember! But peace, my king. I didn't come to threaten, only to observe." He rises, frost crackling beneath his feet. "And what I observe gives me hope. Real hope, for the first time since your father's death. I knew him well. He was a good man.”

I appreciate it. I sense that he knows that.

"Come," I tell Sturmsen, already moving toward the door. "Let me show you what else has changed in Millrath. What we might build together, if you're truly interested in more than observation."

His smile shows teeth again, but there's respect in it now. Maybe even the beginnings of trust. "Lead on, my king. Lead on."

We walk together through corridors that grow warmer with each passing day, discussing trade routes and border treaties and all the mundane matters that peace is built upon. Through our bond, I feel Calliope's quiet pride, her certainty that we're moving in the right direction.

One step at a time, one choice at a time, we build something new from the ashes of what was lost. Together.

Epilogue - Calliope

Our daughter arrives with the first true heat of summer, when the air hangs heavy with the scent of roses and even the ancient stones of Millrath remember warmth. The healers tell me she fought her way into the world like a storm breaking—all the windows broke when she first screamed into the warm air of our chambers, little lungs working as magic cascaded out against the walls. I remember only fragments: pain that felt like it might kill me, Arvoren's fever-hot hands clasping mine so tight it made my bones creak, the sound of his voice around my name.

"She's strong," the healers whispered as they placed her in my arms. "She’s healthy. Your daughter.”

Now she sleeps against my chest, impossibly small and terrifyingly perfect. Her skin burns with her father's heat, but I can see already that she looks like me. She’ll be slight for a draconic shifter. But already I can feel her magic pulsing like a second heartbeat—something intent and dual, something perfectly harmonized. The power that runs through her blood should be impossible, should tear her apart. Instead, she exists in perfect equilibrium, as if the ancient magics that warred for so long were only waiting for her to show them how to dance together.

"Look what she does when she dreams," I murmur to Arvoren, who hasn't left my side since the labor began. Tiny snowflakes spiral above our daughter's sleeping form, catching sunlight like diamonds before melting in the warm air.

He leans closer, one hand spanning our daughter's tiny back while the other traces idle patterns on my arm. Steam rises where his skin meets the cool air, but his touch stays gentle, controlled. Through our bond, I feel his fierce joy warring with bone-deep fear—not of her power, but of failing her somehow. Of not being worthy of this miracle we've created together.

"I never thought…" He breaks off, smoke curling from between his teeth. "When you first came here, when I first saw you in that village…"

"We were different people then." I catch his hand, pressing it over our daughter's back where her tiny heart beats steady and strong. "Both of us."

Sunlight streams through tall windows, painting patterns across the massive bed where I rest. The chamber that was once my prison now feels like sanctuary, filled with the scent of summer blooms that my apprentices bring fresh each morning. Even the dragon skulls that watch from shadowed walls seem to smile, as if they, too, have been waiting for this moment.

A knock at the door makes Arvoren tense, scales rippling beneath his skin, but it's only Mari, my most dedicated apprentice. She carries a basket of fresh herbs, their sharp green scent cutting through the sweeter flowers.

"The gardens send their blessings, Your Grace," she says softly, setting her burden aside. "The yarrow bloomed this morning, and the roses—you should see them. It's like they're celebrating too."

I smile, remembering those first days after reclaiming the throne, when Mari helped me restore the castle gardens from winter's ravages. "Thank you. Would you like to meet her?"

Mari approaches cautiously, her eyes widening as she takes in the frost patterns still dancing around our daughter.

"She's beautiful," she breathes. "Like summer and winter all at once."

I think she’s right.

"She needs a name," Arvoren says after Mari withdraws. "Something worthy of both her bloodlines."

I study our daughter's face, memorizing each perfect detail. She has my dark hair but Arvoren's sharp features, softened by sleep and innocence. When she opens her eyes, they shift between storm-gray and dragon-gold, unable to decide which parent to favor.

"Aurelie," I say finally, testing the shape of it on my tongue. "It means—"

"Golden light." Arvoren's voice holds wonder. "Like sunrise after endless night."

"Yes," I agree softly. “Our little light.”

He kisses me then, tasting of smoke and summer air. Through our bond, I feel everything he struggles to express—love and gratitude and endless devotion, tempered now by wisdom hard-won.