The Fallen Princess

Thirty Four & One Half

Zaria lay tucked against her dragon prince, her cheek pillowed over his heart, listening to the steady, heavy thud of it beneath her ear. A satisfied sigh slipped from her lips before she could stop it.

“Was it that good?” Callen teased, his voice low and rough with contentment. He brushed a stray lock of white hair back behind her pointed ear, fingers lingering there as if reluctant to leave her skin.

“It was far better than just good,” she murmured, tipping her chin up to meet his gaze. He wore a boyishly smug grin, golden eyes still soft from the afterglow. The expression made her heart squeeze.

“I’m sorry about this…” he said, the grin fading as his attention shifted. His thumb brushed over the top of her breast where a small red mark was blooming. “I tried my best, but your skin is so…” His voice trailed off, regret painting his features.

“I was wondering why you were being so… moderate,” Zaria said, hunting for the right word. “Moderate?” he repeated with a short laugh. “I would hardly call what I did to you ‘moderate.’” He punctuated the claim by tickling her side. Zaria giggled and twisted under the covers, laughing breathlessly as she squirmed away.

The sound filled his chest with warmth, pushing back the shadows that always lurked at the edges of his thoughts. When they settled, she touched the small mark lightly with her fingertips and exhaled.

She gasped softly as a warm glow shimmered beneath her skin. When she lifted her hand, the mark had vanished. Callen sat up sharply, frowning in astonishment as he inspected the spotless skin with his fingers. “What was that?”

Zaria smiled, pleased by his wonder. “Light,” she said simply. “A healer has been teaching me how to use it properly. I’ve been doing it wrong my whole life.”

Callen’s breath hitched. Not from fear, but from the sting of everything he had missed. Months of her learning, growing, discovering pieces of herself without him there to see it. It lodged in his throat like a stone.

He swallowed the ache, smoothing his features before she could read too much in them. “I can do this too,” she added. She raised her hand. Tiny orbs of soft, glowing light unfurled from her palm, drifting lazily toward the ceiling like floating stars.

They glimmered above them, casting a gentle radiance over his scars, her pale hair, the sheets tangled around their legs. With a quiet snap of her fingers, the lights winked out one by one. She turned eagerly to see his reaction, expecting awe, pride, delight... Instead she found pain.

Her heart pinched. “I’m sorry,” she whispered at once, reaching for him. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” “Don’t be,” he said quickly. He took her hand and pressed a kiss to the center of her palm, then to the delicate skin of her wrist.

“It’s incredible, Zaria,” he said quietly. “You’re incredible. I only wish I’d been there the day you discovered it.” Oh. Understanding settled over her chest like a soft, heavy blanket. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t fear. It was grief.

“I want to know everything,” he said, his voice turning earnest. “Tell me everything you’ve learned.” She laughed, some of the tightness easing from her shoulders. “That’s nearly everything already.”

He lay back on the pillow, propping himself on one arm as he watched her, inviting, attentive. Zaria rolled onto her side to face him, tucking her legs comfortably against his.

“Oh! I’ve learned about the Mystics,” she said, excitement brightening her eyes. “Where my mother was from. The conditions up north are so harsh that some of them develop abilities; light, sight, strength. It’s where my gift comes from.”

She ended the sentence with a small, proud tilt of her chin. “And Zakai,” she continued, unable to keep the fond exasperation from her voice, “he can camouflage. Not completely invisible, but he mirrors what’s behind him. And he can hear better than most too. But don’t tell him I told you.”

Callen pressed a hand to his heart. “My lips are sealed.” Zaria smiled, she straddled him suddenly, her earlier sadness replaced with a glimmer of desire. “I’d much prefer your lips unsealed,” she teased.

His eyes darkened immediately. His hands slid up her thighs, resting at her hips. “Are you sure?” he murmured. “I don’t want to...” “Our baby is very happy,” Zaria said, leaning down until her lips brushed his. “We both are.”

Callen’s mouth curved into a wicked smile. “Is she now?” “She?” Zaria teased softly. “Confident, are we?” “It’s a personal preference,” he said smoothly, running his palms up her sides. “I’ll love either.” Zaria lowered herself onto him, and whatever words he meant to say dissolved entirely.

Their bodies moved together. No rush, no frantic edge... just deep, unhurried closeness. He traced his mouth along her throat, her shoulders, her breasts, kissing every inch of skin, as if he could memorize her with his lips alone.

She cradled his face with her hands, fingers threading through his hair each time they drew close enough to breathe the same air. He held her as if she were the only thing anchoring him to this world. She held him as if letting go for even a second might send him back to the sky.

They moved until every part of them was soft. Until pleasure melted into warmth, and warmth melted into exhaustion. Callen gathered her against him afterward, his hand resting protectively over her stomach. Her last conscious sensation was the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear.

Hours later Zaria was jolted awake by the sound of a fist hammering on the door. “You can’t stay in there all day, Zaria! You have to eat... you’re growing a child!” Zakai’s voice boomed down the hall. She groaned, rolling onto her back. Muscles she didn’t even know could ache were pleasantly sore.

“I just woke up! Stop yelling!” she shouted back, voice hoarse. Callen laughed into the pillow beside her. “You’re being a terrible mother... I shouldn’t have to tell you when to eat!” Zakai called again.

“Don’t listen to him,” Callen murmured, turning toward her. He brushed his knuckles lovingly along her cheek. “You’re a perfect mother.” He kissed her forehead, then slid his hand down to rub gentle circles over her belly with a tenderness that nearly undid her.

“But,” he added reluctantly, “he isn’t wrong about the food. Get dressed. I’ll make you something to eat.” Zaria blinked at him. “You know how to cook?” “Of course not,” he said solemnly. “But how hard can it be?” She snorted. “Famously dangerous last words.” He just winked and swung his legs off the bed.

The two days passed far too quickly, yet they were as close to perfect as anything Zaria had ever known. In the morning, they walked the shoreline barefoot, the sea cool and greedy around their ankles.

Callen and Zaria fished together in the shallows, Callen pretending not to sulk when Zaria caught three small fish before he caught a single one. Later, they cooked the fish over a small fire pit behind the house.

Zaria stood in front of the flames, hair twisted into a loose knot at the nape of her neck, turning the skewers with care. Callen hovered at her side like an overprotective hawk who had suddenly decided he knew everything about seasoning.

“You’re oversalting it,” he muttered. “I haven’t even salted it yet,” she replied, exasperated. “I can feel you thinking about oversalting it,” he argued. She shoved him lightly with one hip. “Go sit down, Your Highness.”

Afternoons were for hunting. Zakai joined them then, and Callen watched from the tree line as Zaria moved with practiced ease, drawing and loosing arrows with steady precision. Each time she made a clean shot, joy lit her face from within.

When they weren’t hunting or fishing, they simply sat on the warm sand... Zaria nestled between his legs, her back against his chest, his arms caging her loosely as they watched the waves. She told him everything she could think of: the way the Isles smelled at dawn, how Mercy braided her hair, how River had bought her trousers, how the dolphins had raced the ship.

He listened to every word like it was scripture. For a brief, stolen span of hours, there were no kings, no schemes, no arranged marriages looming over them. Just Zaria and Callen and the gentle feel of her stomach beneath his hand. Their child. The future they should have had.

But time, predictably, was cruel. On the last day, the air felt heavy, as though the sea itself knew they were about to part. “Take this,” Callen said, tightening the buckle on her saddlebag. His hands moved with precise efficiency that only barely disguised the tremor beneath his skin.

He pressed a small leather pouch into her hand. It clinked with weight. “What’s this for?” she asked, frowning. “For you,” he said simply. He took the pouch back before she could argue and buried it beneath a folded cloak inside the bag himself, tying the flap securely.

“Hide it somewhere safe. Somewhere only you know.” “I’ll give it to Zakai,” she said automatically. “He’ll know what to do with-” “No,” Callen cut in sharply. She blinked. He softened his tone but not his conviction.

“He already receives money from Christian,” Callen explained. “This is yours. Not his. For anything you need whether you’re with River or… after. Don’t tell anyone you have it.” Zaria swallowed hard and nodded, her throat too tight for words.

Callen wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her easily onto Apollo’s back. Once she was settled, he stepped closer and tugged her down just enough to kiss her. It was a slow, lingering kiss, heavy with everything he couldn’t say and everything they didn’t have time to fix.

“I will try to see you before the…” he began, then faltered. “Before what, Callen?” she asked softly, searching his face. He hesitated. “Before his second wedding,” Zakai supplied bluntly as he rode up beside them.

Callen shot him a murderous glare. Zakai only shrugged, unapologetic. “She has a right to know.” “Oh…” Zaria breathed, the word fragile. The reality pressed down on her chest like a stone. Callen reached up and placed a steadying hand on her thigh.

“My heart is only yours, Zaria,” he vowed quietly. “Now and forever.” Her vision blurred. She nodded, because if she tried to speak, she knew she would break. He stepped back, letting his hand drag from her leg as long as possible before it fell away completely.

Zakai clicked his tongue; Apollo started forward. Callen stood there, watching as the woman he loved rode away, toward a life she did not choose and a man she did not love. He stayed rooted to the sand until she was only a small white blur against the distant road, and even then, he did not move. He couldn't. His body might have remained on the beach, but his heart rode away with her.