Chapter 8 - Calliope

The wind howls like a wounded beast, biting through the thin fabric of my cloak, numbing my fingers where they clutch the front of Arvoren’s coat. The chill is relentless up here in the mountains, a merciless force that steals my breath and makes my teeth chatter against my will. Every jarring step of the horse beneath us rattles my bones, and every muscle in my body aches with the effort to stay upright.

As one particularly violent shiver runs through my body, I hear Arvoren bark out a short, malicious laugh. I feel the vibration of it run through his chest and into mine, and I burn with rage and hate, and even that burning is not enough to warm my exhausted, frozen body.

I hate this. I hate him.

But the king’s body is so warm against me, a furnace of heat that I can’t help but lean into, shame burning through my veins. I would rather freeze than seek comfort from this … monster. Yet my traitorous chest draws closer to his back, trembling from the cold, even as my mind screams to push away—and my arms tighten around him even as my mind howls its fury.

“Still so stubborn, little one?” His voice rumbles through me, mocking and smooth.

The horse crests a ridge, and he reigns it in sharply, bringing us to a halt on a narrow path overlooking a sheer drop.

The cliffs rise like jagged teeth around us, their tops swallowed by fog. Beneath us, a long ravine in the ice and rock stretches down into the darkness, so deep I cannot see the bottom.

He shuffles in the saddle. “Or are you finally reconsidering your pride?”

My fingers tighten in his coat, my nails biting into the leather. I’m so cold I can no longer feel my face as I speak.

“Why did you bring me here?” Pathetic . I’m pathetic. My words are sharp, but they come out weak and breathless. The air is too thin, too cold. The wind stings my face, icy needles prickling my skin. “To show me how vast your prison is? To make me beg for warmth?”

He laughs softly, a low, menacing sound. “Perhaps. Or perhaps I wanted to show you the view. Isn’t it beautiful?”

If there is one thing the high mountains surrounding Millrath aren’t, it’s beautiful.

I didn’t ask to come here. I didn’t ask for any of this. I was woken in the early hours this morning, dragged from my bed by more of those silent, near-invisible maids who seem to appear from the very walls when I least expect them. I was dressed in this impossibly thin frock, barely thick enough for one to tolerate the moderate warmth of our country’s summers, then pushed by guards to the stables in the courtyard of the castle and my chains momentarily undone.

My wrists have been bound in their place, though. And I’m so cold I can barely move. I couldn’t run if I wanted to.

Besides, the king has brought me to an isolated mountainside. Where could I go?

Helplessness bowls me over. I’m so very cold and so very tired, and there is nothing, less than nothing, I can do to seek comfort. Beautiful? It’s a wasteland of rock and snow, where the ground falls away into a yawning chasm that could swallow us both. The sky is a bruised shade of gray, the clouds roiling like smoke. There’s no beauty here, only desolation.

“Take me back,” I demand, hating the way my voice trembles.

Arvoren shifts in the saddle, turning his head slightly so I can see the dark curve of his smile over his shoulder. “What’s wrong, little bird? Are you frightened?”

“I’m not.” I bite out the words, though the truth is far more complicated.

It’s not the cliffs or the height that scares me. It’s him. The way he toys with me, the way he seems to find pleasure in my discomfort. The way I am utterly and completely at his mercy. The way he could do anything to me, and I could not fight back.

“Liar.” He clicks his tongue and urges the horse forward again, the beast picking its way along the treacherous path as if it has no more care for life and death than its master.

The wind whips at my hair, tangling it around my face, and I shiver uncontrollably, wishing desperately for the furs he refused to let me take.

“Let me go, Arvoren,” I whisper through chattering teeth. “Or at least untie my hands.”

He doesn’t slow. If anything, he picks up the pace, forcing the horse to climb higher, until we’re nearly at the peak. My wrists strain against the bindings he’s wrapped around them, rope cutting into my skin as I struggle to keep my balance. But I won’t give him the satisfaction of asking for more. Not yet.

As a biting front of wind hits us, I cling tighter to him, searching desperately for his warmth. I find myself almost crying with the force of my shame, my fury.

“You wanted to explore, didn’t you?” he asks mockingly. “To be free? To know your boundaries? Consider this your introduction.”

I grit my teeth, refusing to look down at the dizzying drop beside us. “My boundaries,” I repeat. “You mean your boundaries.”

He shrugs, as if it’s all the same to him. “I thought perhaps the cold might teach you humility, but I see you’re as prideful as ever.”

He pulls the horse to a stop again, this time at the very edge of a cliff. The wind screams around us, and I can barely see the ground below through the swirling mist.

My heart pounds in my chest, a wild, frantic rhythm. “I’m cold, you bastard. I’m no dragon like you. If you’re going to kill me, just do it and be done.”

Arvoren twists in the saddle, and for a moment, I think I see something like amusement in his gaze. Then he reaches out, his fingers brushing against my cheek—a touch that is almost tender. Almost.

My breath hitches, and I jerk back, but there’s nowhere to go. Nowhere to escape.

“I’m not going to kill you,” he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous. “But if you don’t start showing me the proper respect, I might let you fall.” He tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “Would you like that, Calliope? To be free of me?”

“Yes,” I snap.

The word is out before I can stop it, hot and fierce. For a moment, something flashes in his eyes, something dark and unreadable. Then his expression smooths into that infuriating mask of indifference once more.

“Then go.” He slips from between my bound arms, then gestures to the edge I’m suspended over, to the empty space beyond. A sheer drop. I’d be dead the moment I hit the icy ground. “Throw yourself off. If you’re so eager to be free, prove it.”

I stare at him, my throat tightening. He means it. I can see it in his eyes, in the way he watches me—expectant, curious, as if daring me to do it.

But I won’t. I won’t give him that satisfaction.

“You’re a coward, Arvoren,” I say softly, with as much venom as I can muster. “You can’t even kill me yourself.”

His lips curl into a smile, and I brace myself for his retort, but it never comes. Instead, he dismounts in a single fluid motion, his boots crunching against the frost-covered ground. Before I can process what’s happening, he reaches up and yanks me down from the saddle, my bare feet slipping on the icy rocks.

I gasp, my knees buckling, but he holds me upright, his grip firm and unyielding.

“Walk,” he commands, his voice cold. “We’re not done.”

“Where are you taking me?” I hiss, trying to wrench free. But his hold tightens, fingers digging into my arm as he forces me to follow him along a narrow ledge that hugs the cliffside. The wind is stronger here, tearing at my clothes, pushing me back, and I stumble, struggling to keep my balance.

“Farther,” he replies. “Until you understand.”

“Understand what?” I spit, shivering uncontrollably. My boots slip on a patch of ice, and I nearly go down. Arvoren catches me easily, hauling me up as if I weigh nothing. The casual display of strength makes my stomach twist with a sick, shameful thrill—a reminder of how helpless I am in his grasp.

“That you belong to me,” he says softly. “That no matter how far you run, how high you climb, you will never escape me.”

I open my mouth to retort, but the words die on my tongue as my foot slips again—this time on a hidden patch of ice. I cry out, my body pitching forward, and suddenly—

I’m falling. Wind roars in my ears as I topple through open air from the edge.

Sky, ice, rock. Stark, bright colors wash the world white around me. Everything spins. I brace for impact as the ravine’s jaws lunge up around me and I tumble through the air.

So much for promises. So much for remaining unbroken. At least this fall will break me like Arvoren never could.

A sudden gust of wind catches me as I fall, tearing at my body and twisting me in the air. Just as the rocky teeth below leap closer, a shadow falls over me, immense and dark, blocking out the pale gray sky. Through the whirl of snow and wind, as time seems to slow around me, I see it—an enormous, terrifying shape descending from above, wings spread wide as mountains, a blaze of red cutting through the clouds like fire in the frost.

Arvoren, in dragon form.

His scales glisten like molten rubies, casting a faint, otherworldly glow across the rocks as he dives, powerful muscles rippling beneath the polished armor of his hide. Golden eyes, bright as dawn breaking over the mountains, are fixed on me as he plummets in a controlled, graceful dive, vast wings snapping and curving to adjust his path. His presence blots out the cliff face and chasm alike, each beat of his wings a thunderclap that resonates through my bones.

One massive, clawed foot reaches toward me, and before I can brace myself, I feel the strength of his grip wrap gently but securely around my body, lifting me from freefall. My breath catches, the world tilting sharply as he pulls me close to his scaled chest, where I can feel the rhythmic rumble of his heartbeat, steady and constant, grounding me. For the first time in what feels like ages, warmth engulfs me, spreading through my frozen limbs.

He rises, powerful wings straining against the air, and with a smooth arc, he lands us on the ledge, the impact reverberating through the ground. He sets me carefully on the rocks, lingering for a moment—a flicker of warmth in his gold-flecked gaze—before his form begins to shift, shrinking and reshaping in a swirl of dark smoke and shimmering red light.

Arvoren, the man, emerges where the dragon stood, breathing hard, his eyes still glinting with that same feral brightness. He reaches for me to hold me steady, hands on my arms, body pressed close to mine.

We’re both silent, chests heaving, our breath misting in the cold air between us. For a heartbeat, I forget the cold, the pain, and even the fear. There’s only the thunderous rush of blood in my ears and the faint, residual warmth of his arms steadying me, his gaze intense and unreadable.

For a moment, the only sound is the wind howling around us, as wild as my own heart.

“There,” he murmurs, his voice surprisingly gentle as it rumbles through him. “I’ve got you.”

I look up at him, startled, and for the first time, I see something like concern in his eyes. Not cruelty. Not triumph. Just … concern.

“Why did you—” I choke on the words, swallowing hard. “Why did you catch me?”

Arvoren’s gaze holds mine, and something flickers there, something I can’t quite decipher.

Then his expression hardens, and he steps back, releasing me so abruptly that I almost stumble again. We stand, facing one another, on the narrow ledge, suspended high over the entire white world. Snow has begun to fall around us, swirling through the thin air, and far underneath us, the faint lights of the city miles below begin to vanish in the blizzard, blinking out one by one as white snow fills the air.

“Because,” he says quietly, “you’re mine. And I don’t lose what’s mine so easily.”

I stare at him, my heart still racing. He saved me. He could have let me fall, could have let me die—but he didn’t.

I don’t understand. And I hate that I don’t understand.

But more than that, I hate the way my chest aches at the memory of his arms around me, strong and steady, keeping me safe. Because I know, deep down, that no matter how much I want to deny it … somewhere, in the dark, twisted recesses of my heart, I wanted him to save me.