Page 69 of King of Flames and Shadows

He studies me for a long moment, head tilted slightly. "Someone who understands the price of tyranny better than most."

Before I can press further, horns blare from above—a signal that the outer walls are under attack.

The crowd surges again, panic rising. Through the confusion, I see more of Linus's men moving into position, weapons appearing from beneath cloaks.

"It's starting," he says, satisfaction dripping from every word. "The dragons will keep him occupied while we—"

"While you what?" My voice sounds strange to my own ears. "Murder him in his own home? Is that justice, or just revenge?"

His eyes flash. "Is there a difference?"

"There should be."

"Such noble sentiments." He reaches up, brushing a strand of hair from my face. The gesture is almost tender, but his touch is cold as ice. "You could have been a great queen, you know. If only you'd been given to a better king."

I jerk away from his touch. "And you think you know what makes a better king?"

Something shifts in his stance, in his bearing. “No more, Calliope. No more.”

I chew my lip hard, until I can taste blood in my mouth.

“I’ll destroy you if you betray me,” I promise. I mean it. “I’ll tear you apart.”

Linus only nods briskly, consumed by what he came here to do. When he pushes away into the crowd, swallowed by shadows, I watch until he’s gone for good.

Chapter 33 - Arvoren

Dragonfire rends the night sky above the mountains like lightning, sickly green against storm-black clouds. My wings cut through smoke-laden air as I circle higher, watching rival dragons wheel and dive around Millrath's peaks. Their scales flash silver and gold in the intermittent blaze of combat—House Draven's forces testing our defenses, searching for weakness.

They will not attack yet. Even as night falls, they wait. They intend on starving us out just a little longer.

I dive, twisting above a hail of arrows from the castle walls, and release a torrent of flame that catches one of Draven's youngest in the wing as he dives too close to the city. The dragon screams, the sound echoing off the mountain peaks that cradle my city like ancient teeth. He spirals away, trailing smoke, but two more take his place, their shadows passing over the emptied streets below like death's own herald, trying to herd me and my men back toward the lake.

My people have fled underground, hiding in cellars and catacombs while their world burns above them. Through the chaos of battle, I catch glimpses of the destruction—buildings aflame, walls scarred by claw marks, the twisted corpses of beasts littering the streets. The Gods' creatures still prowl below, seeking prey, though most have retreated from the dragonfire that rains from above.

A flash of movement below catches my eye—something that doesn't belong.

There, on the ruined edge of the sanctum, stands Calliope. Even now, amid all this ruin, she commands attention like a flame in darkness. Her chains glint in the firelight as shewatches the battle unfold, her hair whipping in the wind that howls between the peaks.

She holds up one hand toward me, seeking my attention—in her fist, a bright sphere of magic crackles, emanating white light across the broken glass of the sanctum.

I bank sharply, avoiding another dragon's attack, and spiral down toward her, signaling for the other shifters of Millrath to take point and hold off the horde. The transformation takes me as I land, scales melting to skin, wings folding away until I stand human once more, breathing hard as though I'd fought my way back to her.

She turns at the sound of my landing, and the look in her eyes steals my breath more surely than any battle. Sorrow mingles with steel in her gaze, beautiful and terrible, a blade in moonlight. Around us, the sanctum's blackened, shattered walls hold memories of our binding ceremony, of power unleashed, something broken that can never be repaired. This place is an open wound between us.

Before I can stop myself, I cross the space and pull her into my arms, holding her as though I could keep her here by force of will alone. She's warm against me, though her chains press cold between us at our feet, an ever-present reminder of the barriers I've built.

When I pull back, our faces are close enough that I feel her breath against my skin.

"Calliope," I murmur, the word nearly lost in the wind. "If I thought … if I could believe you wouldn't run from me the first chance you had, I'd—"

Her hand lifts to my cheek, silencing me with a touch that burns like ice.

"Arvoren," she says softly, her voice carrying an edge of something that cuts straight through my defenses. “If you ever hope to understand love, you have to believe in it first. Love means believing someone will return to you … even when they don't have to."

The words strike deeper than any blade. My throat tightens as shame floods through me.

"I don't know if I'm capable of that," I murmur. "I know what I am. You've seen it.”

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