Page 66 of King of Flames and Shadows

My brother always did have perfect timing.

I rise from my throne, descending the dais with measured steps. "How long?"

"Hours at most, Your Majesty. They're moving fast, staying low to avoid detection. And there are reports of more gathering in the foothills—House Bellrose, House Morwen…"

"Your Majesty!" Another interruption, this time a guard, practically tripping over himself in his haste as he staggers into the underchamber. "The people … they're gathering at the castle gates, at the moat. Demanding sanctuary. They say if we won't protect them in the streets, we must at least offer them shelter."

Before I can respond, I feel her presence.

Calliope appears at the top of the stairs that descend into the chamber, a strange vision in deep green silk, her chains catching the torchlight as she descends.

Every head turns to watch her approach, and I see the way my commanders straighten, the way their hands drift to their weapons.

"The catacombs," she says simply, her voice carrying in the hollow chamber. "Let them shelter there."

I bark out a harsh laugh. "The catacombs are sealed for a reason. The tunnels run too deep, too far. They're impossible to properly defend—"

"They're safer than the streets." She moves closer, and despite myself, I'm drawn to her like iron to a lodestone. "Your people are dying, Arvoren. Children are being torn from their beds. Would you deny them this small mercy?"

"Mercy,"I spit the word like poison. "Mercy is what gets kings killed."

But even as I say it, I see the truth in her eyes. See the way she looks at me—not with fear or hatred, but with somethingdeeper, more understanding, a penetrative stare. It makes my chest ache.

"Sometimes," she says softly, "mercy is what keeps kings alive."

A beast screams somewhere in the city, closer this time. The sound mingles with distant shouts, the clash of steel, the beating of massive wings against the mountain winds.

"The dragons are coming," Darian says quietly. "We'll need every soldier on the walls, every archer in the towers. We can't spare men to protect the civilians in the streets."

I look at Calliope, at the way the torchlight plays across her face, catching in her eyes like banked fire. Last night's passion is still fresh in my mind—the taste of her skin, the way she came apart beneath me, the soft sounds she made as pleasure took her. How she stared at me in the dark afterward, wordless, as I denied her all she asked of me.

"The catacombs are extensive," she continues, her voice steady. "They run deep beneath the castle, protected by stone and earth. The young, the elderly, the infirmed—they'll be safe there while your men defend the walls."

Another roar echoes in the far distance, amplified by the ring of the mountains around the lake, and this time I recognize it: the battle-cry of a rival dragon, drawing closer with each passing moment. Only a day away now, certainly.

My people might hate me, might curse my name in the streets, but they're still mine to protect.

"Very well." The words taste like ash. "Open the catacombs. But only the tunnels nearest to the castle. Any who venture deeper will be left to whatever horrors lurk in the dark."

Sheer, intense relief flickers across Calliope's face, so brief I almost miss it. She inclines her head gracefully, chains clinking as she moves. "I'll help organize them. The people trust me more than your guards—that goes to show how deeply they distrust your guards, doesn’t it?”

"You'll do no such thing." The words come out sharper than I intend. "You'll remain in the upper chambers where I can—"

Another messenger bursts into the underchamber, cutting me off. "Your Majesty! House Vos's mages have been spotted crossing the southern ridge, fifty miles away, approaching fast. Their dragons fly ahead of the main force."

The chamber erupts in a flurry of movement and voices. My commanders huddle over maps spread across the great table, arguing strategy, while runners dash in and out with fresh reports. In the middle of it all, Calliope stands like a statue, watching me with those storm-gray eyes.

"Let me help," she says again, softer this time. "Please."

Something in her voice makes me pause. There's an urgency there, an intensity I haven't heard before. But before I can question it, Darian approaches with a fresh report of beast attacks in the Eastern Quarter.

"Fine," I growl, waving her away. "But take guards with you. Those people wanted you dead mere days ago—many still do. And do not”—I catch her arm as she turns to go, pulling her close enough to whisper—"do not make me regret this."

She meets my gaze steadily. "Of course."

I watch her leave, the sight of her chains dragging against the stone floor oddly comforting. She is still mine, still bound. Still safe.

The next hours pass in a blur of reports and preparations. House Draven's dragons are visible on the peaks now, dark shapes wheeling against the gray sky, testing our defenses. By daylight, they know they will be shot down if they descend upon the city. They await nightfall. The beasts in the city grow bolder, and the sounds of fighting echo through the streets almost constantly. Screams echo into the underchamber, and I feel like a boy again, listening to the screams of my dying family.

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