Page 26 of Ash and Burn

Except last night had erased every defense he'd constructed and proved this had never been only about the mate bond.

Sharing his dinner with Arvid, watching her eyes soften as they talked about loneliness and the lives they'd built around work instead of connection, feeling the walls between them dissolve as naturally as breathing—that intimacy had undone him completely. Then she'd kissed him, and the world had rearranged itself around the taste of her lips and the sound of his name in her voice when she came apart in his arms.

Now he couldn't deny the truth that terrified him more than any territorial conflict or political crisis he'd ever faced.

He wanted her in his life. Not just for the mate bond, though that pulled at him with increasing intensity. Not just for the incredible chemistry that made his skin burn whenever she was near. He wanted to wake up beside Arvid every morning, wanted to share more meals and conversations and quiet moments by the fire. He wanted to learn every scar on her body and every story behind her guarded expressions. He wanted to trust someone again with the parts of himself he'd locked away after too many losses.

The realization should have sent him into full retreat. Instead, it felt like the most honest thing he'd ever experienced.

His dragon stretched beneath his skin, pleased by the admission and eager to return to their mate. The bond tugged persistently toward the medical district where Arvid worked with Dorn today, a magnetic pull that grew stronger with each step he took through Ashvorn's morning bustle.

"Your Majesty?"

Calix turned to find Jorik, an elderly merchant whose fruit stall occupied a corner of the Commons market, approaching with obvious concern creasing his weathered features.

"Is everything well? We haven't seen you walking the districts in weeks."

The observation hit harder than it should have. For the past month, Calix had barely left his office except for essential council meetings and brief visits to the medical facilities. He'd buried himself in reports and strategic planning, convinced that controlling information would somehow give him control over the outbreak itself.

"Just checking on everyone," Calix replied, clasping the older man's shoulder. "How are you holding up, Jorik? Any concerns I should know about?"

Relief flooded the merchant's expression. "Ah, all is well. Though it's good to see you out among us again. The people need to see their king, especially during difficult times like these."

They talked for several minutes about market conditions and family updates, and Calix found himself genuinely engaged in the conversation for the first time in weeks.

When had he stopped connecting with his people like this? When had duty become synonymous with isolation?

As Jorik returned to his stall, Calix continued through the Commons district, stopping to speak with other citizens who approached him. A young mother worried about her daughter's persistent cough—not Ash Fever, but anxiety was making every symptom terrifying. A blacksmith concerned about supply shortages affecting his work. An apprentice healer excited to share news about her recent certification.

Each conversation reminded him why he'd chosen to rule Ashvorn rather than simply inherit the crown. These people weren't subjects or political calculations—they were family, in the way that only a tight-knit territory could create. Their trust in him wasn't just about bloodline or tradition. It was earned through presence, through caring about their individual struggles and triumphs.

"Your Majesty, might I have a word?"

Calix recognized Vera, a seamstress whose shop sat near the border between the Commons and Hearthring districts. Her expression held the careful politeness that usually preceded difficult conversations.

"Of course. What's on your mind?"

"It's about the new human scientist," Vera said, lowering her voice despite the empty street around them. "People are talking, wondering if it's wise to trust an outsider with something so important. Especially after Elder Cevryn expressed concerns."

The criticism of Arvid sent a sharp spike of protectiveness through Calix's system. His dragon stirred, ready to defend their mate against any perceived threat, but Calix forced himself to respond with diplomatic calm.

"Dr. Jasper has expertise we desperately need," he said carefully. "Sometimes an outside perspective sees patterns that familiarity might miss."

Vera nodded slowly. "I suppose that makes sense. It's just... we've lost so many people already. The idea of depending on someone who doesn't understand our ways feels frightening."

"I understand the concern," Calix replied, meaning it completely. "But I've seen her with our medical team and our patients. She cares about helping people, regardless of where they come from. That's what matters most right now."

The seamstress seemed reassured by his confidence, and they parted on positive terms. But the conversation lingered in Calix's mind as he continued through Ashvorn. How many other citizens harbored similar doubts about Arvid? How much of Cevryn's political maneuvering was influencing public opinion?

The mate bond pulsed stronger as he moved closer to the Hearthring district, and Calix found his steps unconsciously quickening. Through their connection, he could sense Arvid's emotional state—focused determination layered over persistent confusion and a deeper current of want that she was clearly trying to suppress.

That last emotion gave him hope. Whatever had made her flee his chambers last night, whatever fear had driven her to say "I can't stay" when he'd asked her not to leave—it wasn't because she didn't want him. The mate bond made her desire impossible to hide, but it also carried her fear rooted in something deeper than simple attraction.

Was Arvid afraid of trusting him? Afraid of letting him close?

The realization stopped him in the middle of a busy intersection, dragon shifters moving around him as he stood frozen by understanding. This wasn't about the attraction being too much too fast. This was about whatever had happened in her past that made trusting people feel dangerous. Calix thought about her military background, the steel that entered her voice whenever her authority was questioned or challenged. Something had broken her trust.

The pain struck without warning—a vice crushing Calix's chest, stealing breath from his lungs like someone had torn the air itself from Ashvorn's atmosphere. He staggered against a building, the pyrestone beneath his boots suddenly unsteady as the world tilted sideways. But the sensation wasn't his own. Through the mate bond, terror and fury crashed through his system in waves that left him gasping.