It was raining lightly outside, and Zayn's office was dimly lit. It had a calm, quiet atmosphere while he leaned back in his cushioned chair late in the night. He didn't go home very often, nor did he sleep. He was reviewing the case that Duchess Scilivar had brought up abruptly, yet he couldn't keep his mind from wandering toward his human. Luca had left for the evening and was most likely working late in his apartment. Zayn couldn't stop him from doing that, since Luca always managed to be stubborn, persistent, and overly joyous all at once.
Scovina wanted Luca, but he didn't want her. And although it may have appeared as if Luca had a choice, he didn't.
Zayn didn't have a choice.
He had been in a meeting with his father earlier. Silas had mentioned the fact that Scovina had made an appearance at TSL, and that Zayn couldn't refuse her demands under any circumstances. He had argued with Silas and told him that Luca didn't wish to solve this case. Zayn knew it was true. He didn't need Luca to confirm it.
Silas had shrugged and casually told him to find a way, and that if the human didn't wish to do the case, then he would get laid off.
The counter-sigil had formed a bond between him and Luca, so Zayn would feel anything that happened to him and vice versa. Because of that, Zayn reinforced his emotional suppression to another level. Luca wasn't aware of it yet, as it wasn't yet the time to let him know.
Zayn would either tell him in the future or never. As long as Zayn quietly found a way to rid his body of the cursed sigil, Luca would never have to know.
Zayn tapped his fingers lightly against his desk in the dead silence, reading Scovina's demands. She hadn't asked for much. There were two demands: Luca and the recovery of the siren dukedom's eternal chorus, which she had claimed had been hijacked by the elves.
Zayn rumbled deeply—a sound he usually kept to himself. The sound was deep enough to make the ground beneath him shiver.
Then, he heard a knock on his door before he could read the rest of her document.
He waved his hand, and the door opened slowly and cautiously. It was an assistant. His eyes didn't meet theirs but instead met their hands. They were holding something at their side. A letter.
"Director Vyserion, this letter with your name etched on its surface has been delivered to HQ."
The assistant seemed to shiver as they held the letter out to him. Zayn checked the temperature of the room; it wasn't cold. It was warm. He scrunched his brows and slightly inclined his head until he remembered to suppress his mana—he didn't suppress it when he was alone, and it tended to be far too intimidating for regular people to handle. Weirdly, the assistant only seemed further concerned at that.
After suppressing his mana, Zayn took the envelope and dismissed the assistant who hurriedly scurried away, still intimidated. The corners of his lips twitched as if he were about to smirk.
Zayn's eyes returned to the sealed envelope. It was sealed with dragon wax. He already knew what it was before he opened it and nearly incinerated the letter during the process. It may have been intentional.
"Dear flame,
You already knew who I was before opening the envelope; there is no need for an introduction. The council has requested me to remind you of the fact that the continuation of the Vyserion lineage remains your responsibility. See that you take actions accordingly. If you ignore this, then I will pester you. You hate that.
-Lovely King, Silas Vyserion.
A subtle vein popped somewhere in Zayn's skin as his eyes turned reptilian for half a second. He remained silent, folded the letter once, and set it aside as though it were nothing more than a routine memo.
Rain tapped steadily against the tall windows of his office, the sound soft but persistent. The city lights beyond the glass blurred into streaks of gold and silver.
He glanced once more at the envelope before sliding it farther away across the desk with two fingers.
He scoffed. Annoying.
His attention returned to the documents spread before him. Scovina Scillivar had been very clear in her request. The siren dukedom's eternal chorus had gone silent. Their ancient mana network—something that had existed long before TSL itself—had been disrupted. And conveniently, the scent of Lunar Lily had been found near the source.
Zayn leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing. It was too convenient.
If the elves had truly done it, they would never have left such an obvious trace. They were far too meticulous for that, which meant one thing. Someone wanted the elves blamed. But who?
Zayn could feel his calm fluctuating. He could've figured this out easily if he had more time on his hands, but, of course, a dragon prince didn't have spare time.
Despite the silence of the room, something tugged faintly at the back of his mind. It wasn't a thought, but a feeling—the bond.
Luca was still awake. Of course he was. And he was exhausted—Zayn felt that. Zayn exhaled through his nose. He was working late again, despite Zayn's best efforts at teaching him to be more responsible for himself.
Zayn could almost picture it without seeing it: Luca hunched over a desk cluttered with notes. scribbling down theories with that ridiculous focus he had when choosing a lead persistently and stubbornly, completely unaware that half the supernatural world would use him as a bargaining chip.
Zayn's gaze dropped back to Scovina's file. Silas wasn't bluffing. If Luca really refused, Silas would do everything in his power to remove him from TSL, even though it was Zayn's company.
His fingers stopped tapping. Silas really believed that would force Luca into compliance. He was wrong. Luca would work on his case even if he were fired, even if that was illegal. Nothing could stop that man when he made up his mind. That was one of the things about him that Zayn admired—a trait that resembled one of numerous dragons, including Zayn himself.
Zayn leaned forward slowly, steepling his fingers. A quiet thought formed in the back of his mind, an unpleasant but effective one.
"If that human refuses the case," Silas had murmured under his breath, "then he must be convinced."
Convinced. Silas was a nuisance and a joke. He was perfect on the outside, yet wickedly cruel on the inside.
Zayn glanced toward the doors of his office. The next morning, Luca would walk into HQ like he always did—smiling at people and pretending the world was far simpler than it actually was.
Zayn granted himself the liberty of smiling at that. No one was watching.
For a time, the office remained completely still as Zayn thought.
Then, the royal transponder device embedded in the office wall beside his desk flickered. A pulse of silver light spread through the magical device like the fire running through his veins. Zayn did not look up immediately. Few people possessed the authority to activate that channel.
When he finally lifted his gaze, the rune burned brighter, forming a single symbol in the air: the dragon crest. His expression flattened.
"Of course," he thought. "Less than a minute after the letter."
Zayn raised his hand, and the rune expanded into a thin projection of text.
"Summon issued: Prince Zayn K. Vyserion. Your attendance is required at the High Dragon Council chamber immediately."
Zayn stared at the message for a long moment before letting his hand fall back to the desk. He sighed. "So soon," he murmured. He had wanted to ignore it for a while longer. But of course, some dragons were allergic to fun, and this was what Silas had meant by pestering him.
The letter from Silas Vyserion remained sitting beside the file, untouched. He already knew what this was about. The council didn't summon dragons for casual conversation. Not when lineage was involved. And especially not when Zayn was involved.
Zayn rose from his chair, calm and graceful.
The rain outside had grown heavier now, streaking the glass in long silver lines as he stepped toward the window. The city below shimmered beneath the storm. He lingered for a moment, watching.
"You could have waited longer than a day," he said to the empty office.
But patience had never been the council's strongest trait. And with Zayn, the word "patience" didn't take part in their dictionary.
With a flick of his fingers, the lights in the room were extinguished.
The Scovina file stayed open on his desk, and the letter remained beside it. Without another word, Zayn stepped through the door as it opened before him.
The council was waiting.
***
The chamber doors closed behind Zayn with a heavy thud. The council hall was vast, with the ceiling arching high above like the inside of a cathedral carved from obsidian. Stone pillars rose toward the ceiling, lost in shadow, carved with the names of monarchs long turned to dust. High above, three thrones stood on the elevated dais, and to the side, Silas sat in the very front row on the bleachers with his usual sly smirk and hands clasped above his knee. There were few other trusted and important noble dragons present, and that usually meant that whatever they spoke of here would quickly start rumours or, in some cases, be kept quiet until given permission to share.
"How on earth could mother fall in love with such a joke?" Zayn thought.
Seated on the thrones were the dragon elders. Elder Vaereth sat at the centre, ancient eyes sharp with expectations and clad in a prestigious white court uniform. To his right, Elder Kaelith sat tall with his fingers steepled together as if already calculating the outcome of the summon with his eyes as dark as night. And to the left—silent and unreadable—was Elder Soryn.
Zayn stopped at the centre of the chamber, silently irritated but composed.
Elder Vaereth spoke first. "Prince Vyserion. Welcome back to the council after…" he rubbed his chin. "A millennium, if my memory serves me right."
Zayn inclined his head slightly. "So, which one of you decided my night wasn't peaceful enough?" he asked evenly.
The elders didn't smile. Instead, Vaereth leaned forward slightly. "The council didn't summon you for entertainment, Flame."
A pause settled between them. Then Zayn spoke again. "You summoned me less than a day after sending a letter through Silas."
Because they knew that if they were to send the letter themselves, Zayn would never open it.
Vaereth's gaze hardened. "A millennium," he said. His words echoed through the hall. "A millennium of freedom was granted to you by your father, King Silas. Do you consider that insufficient? No heir before you has ever been given such an elongated period of freedom."
Zayn's expression didn't change. He slid his hands into his pockets, unmoved. "I consider it generous enough."
"But?" Vaereth pressed.
"But generosity does not obligate immediacy."
A faint sound came from Kaelith—something like an amused exhale. "Practical as always," he said smoothly. "However, this isn't merely a familial matter. Your position within The Sovereign Ledger places you at the centre of supernatural diplomacy. Your marriage would stabilize several alliances."
"Your solution is marriage," Zayn said flatly.
Kaelith didn't hesitate. "Yes."
Whispers erupted, and Vaereth ceased the noise with a wave of his hand. Zayn lifted his silver eyes. He felt as if they had cut a fragile string from within his body. "And if I'm not interested in stabilizing them in that way?"
For the first time, Soryn spoke. His voice was low and quiet. "You have delayed this question… for centuries."
Centuries, indeed, and Zayn had intended to keep delaying it for eternity.
Vaereth leaned forward slightly. "The council has already selected a suitable candidate."
Zayn already knew that was coming ever since the very first message he received from Silas.
Still, Zayn asked. "Have you?"
Vaereth nodded once. "You will meet her now." He gestured toward the shadows lining the chamber wall. "Step forward," he said.
From the dim light near one of the pillars, a figure moved. Zayn's eyes widened. Seraphyne stepped calmly into view. She had been there the whole time, simply observing.
Her gaze met Zayn's for only a moment. Cool and measuring and curious.
Vaereth spoke again, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Lady Seraphyne," he announced. The sound of cameras snapping filled the background, but Zayn had tuned it out.
A faint smile appeared on Zayn's face. It wasn't warm or amused but something cold. He looked back at the elders. "You have selected a wife for me."
The tension and calm atmosphere in the chamber dropped drastically. It was as if the room had gained its own, deep, dangerous pulse. The air pressure heightened, and for a fleeting second, the ground shook. Elder Kaelith pinched his nose. Zayn had let his guard slip for half a second. He quickly ceased the effects, clearing his throat. This did not affect him.
Then, Kaelith corrected him smoothly. "We have selected stability for the realm."
Zayn exhaled slowly through his nose. "I see," he said flatly. "And here I was hoping you had summoned me for something original."
A faint crease appeared between the brows of Elder Vaereth. "This is not a matter for mockery."
"We made sure you would be… compatible," Kaelith added proudly.
Zayn's gaze flicked once more to Seraphyne. She was tall, fair-skinned, and curvy. She wore a long, silky red dress, which symbolized bravery and viciousness, but Zayn didn't care. She didn't react to the discussion of her future. It was as though it concerned a contract rather than her life. Interesting.
Soryn spoke again, even quieter. "Your father agrees with the arrangement."
That was the real blade. The room seemed colder all of a sudden. Zayn's silver eyes, which had now turned reptilian-like with his pupils elongated and slit, flickered over to Silas, sitting all innocently.
"Asshole." Zayn sent a mind-com to him. Silas didn't move, but his smile grew wider. Zayn's eyes returned to the elders after standing still for a long moment. "If my father wishes to discuss my future," he said evenly, "he can do so himself."
Vaereth's claws tapped the armrest of his throne. "He will."
Kaelith clasped his hands, quietly demanding attention. "Flame, the council believes the throne requires stability," he said. "And stability requires alliances... and an heir."
Zayn's chest sank. "And if I decline?"
Vaereth narrowed his golden eyes, and his answer came without hesitation. "You will not."
"The continuation of the Vyserion lineage lies in your hands," Kaelith added.
Zayn's eyes darkened. "It doesn't. Is Semyra here for decoration?"
He hadn't intended to say that out loud.
Soryn braced his face, as if Zayn had said something illegal. Vaereth's eyes widened in offence. But what Zayn had said hadn't been false. Semyra was still a Vyserion—so what if she didn't inherit the throne?
"Your sister isn't the next ruler. You are," Kaelith replied evenly.
"Your decision does not amuse me, elders."
"It isn't only for the future of the Vyserion lineage but also for your own sake and growth as the next king," Vaereth replied.
"Growth, you say," Zayn thought. In reality, he knew that this was for their own gains and for their own reputations as elders.
"I am taking my leave," Zayn decided. Though, it did not matter what conclusion he came to with the elders.
***
The massive doors of the council slammed shut behind Zayn with a heavy echo that rolled through the stone corridors. He no longer had any concern about making his eyes appear regular. They glowed and burned in an unnatural way and slit like a cat's.
His footsteps were sharp and fast against the marble floor as he strode away from the chamber, with the braziers lining the hallway flickering faintly in his wake. Some nosy nobles took it as an opportunity to snap pictures of him, and he didn't spare them a glance.
The air around him was hot. Not visibly so—but the magic beneath his skin stirred with quiet irritation. Of course they had already chosen a bride. Of course. They had planned his marriage without bothering to ask for his consent. They wanted an heir. A throne he had deliberately stayed away from for centuries. The council had truly outdone themselves.
The audacity of it all simmered beneath his composure like a restrained fire.
Zayn pushed open the tall balcony doors at the end of the corridor and stepped out into the cold night air. Rain fell in thin silver threads over the citadel, the storm clouds low and heavy over the city, lightning occasionally flashing somewhere beyond the mountains. The wind tugged lightly at his coat as he rested his hands against the stone railing, and cold droplets of rain soaked into his dark hair and slid down the sharp lines of his jaw, but he didn't seem to notice. The capital glittered below like a sea of scattered lights.
For a moment, he said nothing. His thoughts were chasing him like cats and dogs, and he let out a deep rumble that he had been keeping in.
Behind him, the balcony doors opened again, and slow, unhurried footsteps approached behind him. Zayn didn't turn.
"You have always lacked in subtlety," he said flatly.
Silas H. Vyserion stepped onto the balcony, the storm barely disturbing his composed appearance. "Leaving the council mid-discussion is also lacking in subtlety, Flame."
Zayn let out a quiet breath through his nose. "You arranged that spectacle."
Silas joined him at the railing, looking out over the city as if they were discussing the weather rather than the future of a kingdom. "Wine?" he offered.
Zayn scoffed, grabbing the glass in frustration.
"I merely arranged a reminder, my son."
Zayn turned his head slightly, his wet hair soaking his suit. "A reminder."
"Yes," Silas's voice remained calm, almost patient. "That your time of freedom was never meant to be permanent."
Rain struck the stone between them, filling the silence with a steady rhythm. Zayn's eyes darkened. "You think forcing a marriage will solve your problems."
Silas didn't hesitate. "Of course. Several."
Zayn straightened from the railing. "And if I refuse?" he said slowly. Lightning flashed faintly in the distance, illuminating the balcony for a split second. He raked a hand through his hair, waiting for Silas's response.
Silas looked at him then, certainly. "You won't, Flame." The confidence in his voice was absolute.
Zayn smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "You have begun making decisions for me again, Silas."
Silas tilted his head slightly. "I never stopped," he chuckled. "And I am 'father' to you."
Zayn ignored him, feeling a sense of emptiness settle in his chest. "How is mother?" he gritted out, his face feeling a tad bit too heavy all of a sudden.
Silas's expression brightened, and he stepped closer to him. Zayn stiffened; he didn't want that man anywhere near him.
"Nirila is doing wonderfully; she says she misses her little Flame." Silas had left out the other part. The way he had worded it, he was telling Zayn to visit his mom, and he didn't have a choice. She still saw him as the little boy—the one who hadn't experienced the beginning of Silas's rigorous, never-ending training and discipline. Zayn was no longer "little"; he was the opposite, yet his mother's perception did not bother him.
"I will visit when I have time."
"Very well," Silas replied, glancing over at his watch. "I will make sure the nobles don't spread any rumours after what has been said at the council, and you will be compliant with the elders' demands."
Zayn took a sip of his wine. "We will see, Silas."
Silas smirked, with the light bouncing off his sharp features. Anyone could tell Zayn was his direct offspring. "I am doing this for you. You are my perfect heir, Flame. I have forged you into a weapon far better than I am, but your only flaw is your lack of obedience to your wielder."
"Shut up, Silas," Zayn said flatly, shooting a burst of silver flame right at him. He was spouting nonsense again. Zayn hated nonsense.
Silas stiffened and then relaxed. He extinguished the flames and began laughing. "You never cease to amaze me."
"And you should have released me into a towel."
Silas froze, his expression darkening almost immediately. Zayn smirked in satisfaction. "Caught you off guard?"
He stayed silent for a moment, as if calculating his response. "Yes."
"Just like the way you caught me off guard with the bullshit you pulled off with the elders today, Silas."
"You are having a tantrum, Flame," Silas said, with the fact that his patience was thinning in his voice. "You have changed since we last met. It's not like you are in love with another, are you?"
Zayn strained his neck, blinking away his frustration. With Silas, he wasn't afraid to unleash his silver flames because, as much as he liked to deny it, he and Silas were the same. Heartless, ruthless, vigilant, and selfish.
Zayn glared over at Silas, stepping closer to whisper at his face. "You think I am capable of love?"
"You are capable of things far worse," Silas bit back, hands in his pockets. He was going to let Zayn take everything out on him, and that is what pissed him off the most.
"Worse? So, what is Mother to you? Is this the kind of scene where you confess that your heart is made of coal rather than stone?"
Silas swallowed, his silver eyes slitting in response to Zayn's provocations. "I don't have a heart, yet Nirila has found a way to make something in my empty chest find its own unique rhythm made just for her," Silas said, digging his index into Zayn's forehead. "You foolish boy, I am well aware of whichever secret you think you are keeping from me. Tell me, why do you think I am rushing you into marriage? Merely because of the throne?" He now had Zayn pinned against the railing, his eyes burning with silver flames as the last bit of his composure flew out the window.
"What do you know about me, Silas? You don't know anything aside from your selfish desires. You do not see me as a son but as a weapon for you to freely unsheathe for your own use. And I don't see you as a father—you are undeserving of such a title. You are the trash I trample beneath my feet."
Silas nearly punched him across the face, but he couldn't do anything to him outside. Nosy reporters were hiding from left to right, and the last thing Silas, the "kind, caring, loving, and mighty King Vyserion," wanted was for his good image and reputation that he had spent millennia constructing to shatter because of his foolish son.
"You are merely confused, Flame," Silas pressed. He laid his hands on Zayn's shoulders and looked him deep in the eyes. Zayn failed to control his expression as his brows crinkled against his will. Silas sighed, drying his head with a towel that he had summoned from thin air.
"I know everything there is to know about you. I am your father, and you are to attend daily counselling from someone of my choosing from tomorrow. You will take a hiatus from your company until I am satisfied. Do. You. Understand?" Silas said solidly.
Zayn dropped his head, with excessive water dripping down from his hair to his face. He suddenly wished to be alone, as the pain in his chest seemed to worsen with every passing second. Zayn was fed up. Silas had done enough.
"I understand. Good evening, Silas," he muttered, tasting the salt that he had convinced himself was rain in his mouth.
He walked away, leaving silas on the balcony with his head hanging low. He would waste no time teleporting to his mansion, taking a hot bath, and further criticizing himself for his foolishness and for giving in to Silas and his demands. He was truly nothing more than a blind weapon that struck at its wielder's every command.