The Fallen Princess

Thirty

Zaria and Zakai’s final day in the Western Dragon Kingdom had arrived, and to her own surprise, Zaria found herself looking forward to seeing the Isles. They would travel two days by ship.

Beneath the grief and fear sitting heavy in her chest, a smaller, quieter part of her was genuinely curious, what it would feel like to ride the waves, to sleep with nothing but sea and sky in every direction, to feel the world sway beneath her instead of stone.

She leaned against the balcony rail and closed her eyes, letting the western wind slide through her hair and cool her cheeks. “Zaria?” She jumped, spinning toward the voice. River stood just inside her room.

“I apologize for letting myself in,” he said, hands raised slightly in a placating gesture. “I knocked several times and received no answer.” She pressed a hand to her racing heart. “The wind must have swallowed the sound,” she replied, offering him a faint, apologetic smile.

“No matter.” He crossed the room to stand beside her, his gaze following the sweep of distant mountains and glittering rooftops. “When we reach the Isles,” he said after a quiet moment, “we’ll be married within the week. I didn’t wish to do you the discourtesy of a formal proposal, it would put you in an impossible position, but I still wanted you to have this.”

He held out a small ring box. Zaria took it slowly, the velvet cool under her fingers, and lifted the lid. Inside lay a marquise-cut emerald, bright as new leaves, set in a thin gold band. “It’s beautiful, River,” she said softly, lifting it from the cushioning.

“Allow me.” He took the ring and slid it onto her finger with careful reverence. She turned her hand, watching the stone catch the light. “Do you like it?” he asked, a thread of anxiety creeping into his normally even voice. “I do,” she said, forcing another gentle smile.

He let out a relieved breath, the boyish honesty of it softening something in her chest despite everything. “May I kiss you?” he asked. She hesitated, just for a heartbeat, then pushed her own tangled feelings aside. “Yes.”

She turned her cheek to him. River stepped in and placed a soft, respectful kiss there. “Thank you,” he murmured, eyes meeting hers. There was real warmth there. Real hope. She had no idea what to do with it.

“We’ll be leaving within the hour,” he said at last. “I’ll let you prepare.” “Thank you again,” Zaria replied, glancing down at the emerald on her hand. River brushed his fingers through a lock of her hair, gentle and almost affectionate.

“Of course, my wife,” he said tenderly. “This is only a glimpse of what’s to come.” He left, and the door clicked shut behind him. Zaria exhaled slowly and moved back into the room, setting the empty velvet box on the vanity.

The maids had already taken almost everything: trunks, dresses, books. Only her riding clothes and boots remained, folded neatly over a chair. “Perhaps I’ll change now,” she murmured, reaching for the ties of her gown.

A knock sounded at the door. “Come in,” she called. The door eased open and Prince Christian poked his head in. “Oh, thank the gods you’re alone,” he said, then immediately disappeared back into the hall.

Zaria blinked… then chuckled under her breath. Whatever he was up to, subtlety wasn’t part of it. When the door opened again, an older woman stepped through... the healer-witch from the central forest.

“She’s here to give you a once-over, make sure you’re well,” Christian said. “I brought her as fast as I could.” “How will you be able to tell?” Zaria asked as the woman approached.

“Magic,” the witch replied simply.

Her hands, cool and steady, rested on Zaria’s shoulders, then moved slowly downward: over her chest, her ribs, and finally her lower stomach. A light tingling spread beneath Zaria’s skin, like a faint ripple of starlight.

She glanced at Christian. He only lifted a shoulder, as though to say, Don’t look at me, this is her domain. The older woman’s mouth curved into a knowing smile as she lifted her hand away. “You, my child,” she said, “are carrying a dragon’s child.”

Christian’s eyes widened. “I didn’t actually expect you to be pregnant,” he blurted. “Nor did I,” Zaria whispered. One hand flew to her abdomen. The words felt distant, unreal, as if they’d been spoken to someone else.

“Are you certain?” she asked. The woman nodded. “You are a healer as well. See for yourself, child.” “I’m not a healer,” Zaria protested. “You must be mistaken.” “Give me your hand,” the witch said impatiently.

Zaria hesitated, but the woman took her wrist and pressed Zaria’s palm against her own lower stomach, beneath the older woman’s hand. A strange sensation fluttered through her. A faint, almost imperceptible pulse. Barely there. Almost nothing. Yet unmistakably alive.

“How…?” Zaria breathed, eyes wide. “Dragon embryos are unlike elven young,” the witch explained. “Their hearts begin beating after only a week. That is the pulse you feel.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Zaria stammered. “How could I feel it?” The woman clicked her tongue. “You have a healing light. I am not a teacher, child... merely a witch.” She turned to Christian. “Do not give her those herbs.”

With that, she swept from the room, leaving the door to thud shut behind her. “She’s a bit ornery today,” Christian said lightly. “Well. Every day, really.” Zaria barely heard him. Her mind spun in tight circles around a single truth. A child. His child.

“Zaria,” Christian said gently. Her gaze dragged up to his. “I have to go,” he told her. “And I may not get another chance to see you before you leave.” A fresh wave of sadness rose in her chest.

“Thank you, Christian… for everything,” she said honestly. Gratefulness, fear, and wonder tangled so tightly together she could hardly breathe. He stepped forward and pulled her into an awkward, almost brotherly hug.

“You’ll be fine. Remember everything I told you,” he said. “We’ll meet again—probably sooner than you expect.” His eyes flicked once to her stomach. “I’m sorry I can’t stay longer,” he added. “There’s someone I need to speak to. Be well, Zaria.” Then he was gone too.

Zaria sat down heavily on the edge of the bed and laid her hand over her belly. The world felt too large, too loud, too bright. “It’s just you and me now, little one,” she whispered. Tears spilled down her cheeks. She scrubbed them away with her sleeve. “I should change.”

She slipped out of her gown and paused in front of the mirror. There was no difference. No visible change. No soft curve to give away the life inside her. Only her heart felt transformed... opened, raw, aching in a new, terrifying way.

She pulled on the traveling clothes River had provided: sturdy trousers that moved easily with her legs, a simple blouse, and a fitted jacket. She smoothed her palms over the fabric as if to anchor herself in the present, then reached for her boots.

She was tugging on the second boot when a commotion rose from outside, a chaotic mix of shouting and hurried footsteps echoing through the stone halls. “One moment,” she called, half-hopping to the door, fighting the boot as she dragged it on.

She wrestled the heavy door open. Zakai stood there, posture rigid, eyes alert. “What’s happening?” she asked, craning her neck to peer into the corridor as the shouts grew louder.

“Just a dragon throwing a temper tantrum,” Zakai said dryly. “Is it Callen?” she blurted, trying to slip past him.

Her brother promptly pushed her back inside by the forehead and shut the door behind him. “Zaria, stay inside. You can’t get involved right now.” She rubbed her brow, narrowing her eyes at him. “I heard the good news,” he added more gently. “How are you feeling?” Zaria stared at him.

“Prince Christian only just left a few moments ago... how did you-?” “I passed His Highness Prince Christian in the hall,” Zakai shrugged. “He told me.” She nodded slowly. That seemed as reasonable as anything else today.

“I know this is a difficult day,” he went on, eyes flicking over the half-emptied room. “But are you prepared to leave?” “I am,” she said, lifting her discarded dress and laying it carefully across the bed.

“What’s this?” Zakai asked, snapping open the ring box on the vanity. Zaria raised her left hand. The emerald flared brightly in the light. “A gift from Lord River.” “Very nice,” Zakai said, turning the empty box between his fingers. “That’ll fetch a fair bit of coin if we ever find ourselves desperate.” She huffed a short, shaky laugh.

“Zakai, when the healer was here, she said my light was-” A harsh scrape from the balcony cut her off. Like claws against stone. Zakai’s entire body sharpened. “Stay here, Zaria,” he ordered, drawing his sword in one swift motion.

He stalked toward the balcony, shoulders tense, and tugged the curtain aside. Zaria caught only a flash of something enormous and gold and scaled before instinct propelled her forward. “Zaria-!” Zakai snapped, but she was already running, slipping past him.

A dragon filled the balcony. Two great golden horns swept back from its skull. Each scale was the size of her hand, layered like metal shields. Its shadow swallowed half the room, golden eyes burning like twin suns.

“Callen?” she whispered. The dragon lowered its massive head toward her. One molten eye fixed on hers, ancient and familiar all at once. “You’re magnificent,” she breathed. She stepped forward as though drawn, laying her palm against his snout. Smooth, cool scales met her touch, like polished steel, yet alive with warmth wherever his breath touched them.

She traced along the curve of his muzzle, awed. “Zaria!” someone shouted behind her, but the sound felt distant and muffled. She looked deeper into that golden eye and knew with absolute certainty: it was him.

“We are going to have a child, Callen,” she whispered. Her free hand slid instinctively to her lower stomach. Tears blurred her vision and spilled freely down her cheeks. “Your child.” She stroked along the strong line of his muzzle, smiling through the ache in her chest. Her fingers drifted upward toward one of his horns... Strong hands seized her and yanked her back.

“No!” she cried, twisting in Zakai’s grip. She tore herself free and ran straight back to the dragon, ignoring every rule, every danger. She threw her arms around the thick column of his neck as far as they would reach, pressing her cheek to his scales.

“I love you, Callen,” she told him, voice breaking. “I will be just fine until you come for me.” Her words trembled into the air. “And you better come for me,” she added fiercely, clutching him tighter.

“Zaria.” She turned at her brother’s voice. River stood just inside the room with Mercy at his side, several elves clustered behind them. Eyes wide, faces pale, all of them staring. Zaria turned her back on their shock, resting her forehead once more against the dragon’s neck.

“Be well, my love,” she whispered softly. “Until we meet again.” She let her hand linger against his scales as his massive body started to shift away. Talons scraped against the stone as he eased his weight back from the balcony. For one horrible, breathless heartbeat, Zaria thought he might fall.

She rushed to the edge, A tremendous gust slammed into her as he unfurled his wings, the force nearly knocking her off her feet. Air roared around her as the golden dragon surged upward into the sky.

Her hair whipped wildly around her face as she watched him climb higher and higher, a blazing shape against the pale day. One hand stayed pressed over her heart, the other over the tiny, impossibly brave little life beating just beneath it.