Ignis's POV:
That evening, Ignis stood at the tall arched window of his private study, one clawed hand braced against the stone frame as the last crimson light bled from the sky. The final trade documents had been signed earlier that afternoon with crisp efficiency. The human delegation would depart at first light, carrying with them treaties that secured generations of peace. He should have felt the deep, bone-settling relief of a ruler who had fulfilled his duty.
Instead, a restless tension coiled low in his chest, tight as a drawn bowstring.
A soft knock broke the silence.
"Enter."
Ash stepped inside, dressed for the farewell banquet in deep minty silk trimmed with silver thread that caught the lamplight like starlight on water. The color made his green eyes striking, almost luminous against his porcelain skin. He looked every inch the polished prince—composed, diplomatic, untouchable. Yet Ignis noticed the faint shadows beneath those eyes and the slight tension in his jaw. Another sleepless night, then.
"Lord Ignis," Ash said, offering a respectful bow. "I hoped to speak with you before the banquet. Privately."
Ignis's tail stilled completely behind him. "Regarding?"
"Seraphina." Ash straightened, meeting his gaze without hesitation. "I'd like to invite her to visit Seiena with the delegation. As my personal guest. The journey would allow us to deepen the personal ties between our houses, and she expressed genuine interest in seeing the human capital."
The silence that followed was thick enough to taste.
Ignis turned slowly from the window, golden eyes narrowing. The obsidian horns crowning his head caught the light, gleaming like polished blades. "You wish to take my daughter away from the palace."
"Not away," Ash corrected gently, though his voice carried quiet steel. "To visit. Few weeks at most. She would have a full draconic escort, every courtesy of the Seienan court, and my personal protection. It would be a powerful gesture of trust between our peoples."
Ignis studied him. Too long. The air between them thickened with memories neither would name.
"And this invitation," Ignis said, voice dangerously even, "has nothing to do with continuing your...courtship?"
Ash didn't flinch. "It has everything to do with it. She deserves to see my home. To know the kind of life she might share there. I care about her, Lord Ignis. Deeply. I want her happiness more than anything."
The words landed like stones dropped into still water, rippling outward.
He cares about her. Of course he did. That was the point of all this—the elegant solution Ash had arrived with months ago. Marry the princess. Bind the empires. Prevent war. Ignis had known the shape of this future from the moment the human delegation crossed his threshold.
Yet the thought of Ash and Seraphina together—laughing in Seiena's sunlit squares, walking arm-in-arm through moonlit gardens, building something real—sent a vicious, possessive spike through his chest.
His tail twitched once, sharply, betraying him.
Ignis forced his voice into calm authority. "I will consider it. Seraphina's happiness is my foremost concern. If she wishes to go, and if proper security arrangements are made, I will not stand in her way."
Ash's shoulders eased by a fraction. "Thank you. I swear she'll be safe."
"See that she is." Ignis's claws flexed at his sides. "You may go."
Ash lingered for half a heartbeat, lips parting as if to say something more. The charged silence stretched—thick with everything unsaid: the window, the hedge, the kiss that still haunted both their dreams. Then he bowed again and left.
The door clicked shut.
Ignis let out a low, frustrated growl that rattled deep in his chest. His claws scored fresh grooves into the windowsill beside older ones.
He is taking her with him.
Seraphina would go. She would bloom under Ash's attentive charm, see new wonders, and return with stars in her eyes for the human prince who made her laugh so easily. And Ignis would remain here, alone in this vast palace that suddenly felt cavernous and cold, pretending the hollow ache beneath his ribs was nothing more than ordinary paternal concern.
He pressed his forehead to the cool glass, horns resting against the frame. This was what duty demanded. An alliance. His daughter's joy. Stability for his people. So why did it feel like something vital was slipping through his claws?
****
The farewell banquet that night was a lavish affair, as befitted the sealing of such historic treaties. Long tables groaned under roasted game, spiced fruits, and crystal decanters of dragonfire wine. Braziers cast dancing blue and gold light across obsidian pillars, while musicians played soft, haunting melodies.
Seraphina sat beside Ash, radiant in a gown of sunset crimson and gold that complemented her flame-red hair. She glowed with excitement, leaning close to whisper about the upcoming journey—how she wanted to ride the great sky-ships of Seiena and taste human pastries at dawn markets. Ash listened with warm attentiveness, smiling at her enthusiasm, occasionally brushing her wrist in that gentle, calculated way of his.
Ignis presided at the head of the table, regal and remote in robes of deepest midnight threaded with silver. He appeared the perfect Dragon Lord—composed, gracious, untouchable. His golden eyes rarely strayed toward the couple. Yet every time they did, his gaze shifted towards a certain human like a physical touch: heavy, scorching, possessive in a way that made heat crawl down his spine.
He barely tasted the food. Every bite turned to ash in his mouth. Seraphina's laughter was bright and genuine; she fed bits of honeyed fruit to the small three-eyed creature that had somehow snuck under the table again. She was happy. She was safe. This was the plan he had clung to since the beginning.
So why did victory taste so bitter?
Across the table, Ignis lifted his goblet. Their eyes met for one suspended second. Something raw and unspoken passed between them: memory of sweat-slick skin, desperate hands, the way Ignis's powerful body had arched and shuddered beneath him. Ash's fingers tightened around his own cup until the metal creaked.
Later, as the banquet began to wind down and guests drifted toward music and dancing, Seraphina excused herself briefly to speak with a visiting elder. Ash rose as well, intending to step into the cool night air, only to find Ignis suddenly beside him in a shadowed alcove near the tall windows.
"Lord Ignis," Ash said quietly.
The Dragon Lord's tail flicked once. "You leave at dawn."
"Yes."
A heavy pause. The music and laughter felt distant now.
"If any harm comes to her—" Ignis began, voice low and rough.
"It won't," Ash interrupted softly. "I meant what I said. I care about her happiness." He hesitated, then added, barely above a whisper, "Even if… other things complicate that."
Ignis's golden eyes darkened.
Seraphina's voice called out from across the hall, bright and seeking. The moment shattered. Ignis straightened, the Dragon Lord once more, and stepped back.
"Safe travels," he said, cold and formal.
Ash bowed. "Until we meet again, Your Excellency."
As he walked back toward Seraphina, Ignis's the weight of that golden stare burning into his back. Tomorrow they would leave with his daughter. As they planned. As the alliance needs.
Yet with every step, the victory felt heavier. Because part of him already ached for he was leaving behind, and for the proud, devastating dragon who watched him go with claws curled tight and a heart he refused to name.