Ignis's POV – Two Days After the Lantern Festival
The war room smelled of ink, melted wax, and the faint char of dragonfire from the braziers. Ignis sat at the head of the long obsidian table, one clawed finger tapping an irregular rhythm against the armrest while Lord Vexrin droned on about revised border patrols along the northern ridges. The words slid over him like water over scales. He had not slept properly in days.
His mind kept drifting east—across mountains, rivers, and too many leagues of sky—to a white-and-gold human city where his daughter laughed and a certain butter-blonde prince smiled too easily.
A soft knock interrupted the meeting.
One of his personal messengers stood in the doorway, breathing hard, a sealed scroll clutched in gloved hands. The black wax bore the royal crest of Seiena.
Ignis's tail stilled mid-twitch.
"Speak," he ordered, voice deceptively calm.
The messenger bowed low. "Urgent report from the escort captain and a personal letter from Princess Seraphina, Your Excellency. It concerns the Lantern Festival two nights past."
Ignis rose before the man finished speaking. "Leave us."
The advisors filed out with practiced speed. The moment the door closed, Ignis snatched the scroll from the messenger's hand and broke the seal with one sharp claw.
He read Seraphina's letter first.
Father,
Please do not be alarmed. Everyone is safe. There was a small accident at the Lantern Festival when a bridge collapsed. Prince Asher acted quickly and bravely—pulling several people from the river, including a child and an elder. He was injured in the process: a moderate sprain to his left ankle. The healers say he will recover fully in three weeks with rest. I stayed with him through the night. He is already complaining about being confined to bed, which I take as a good sign.
I helped pull him to shore myself. He was magnificent, Father. The humans are calling him a hero. I… I was frightened for him. But he is well.
He asked me to tell you not to worry. (He is smiling as he dictates this part.)
I missed you.
—Seraphina
Ignis read it twice. Then a third time. His claws left faint indentations in the parchment.
Brave. Of course the fool was brave. Of course he threw himself into dark water for strangers while Seraphina watched. The image burned behind Ignis's eyes: Ash's lithe body fighting the current, butter-blonde hair plastered to his skull, green eyes fierce with determination even as pain took him.
His tail lashed hard enough to knock a chair sideways.
The second report—from the escort captain—was more clinical. Details of the collapsed bridge, the number of injured, Ash's actions, the exact nature of the sprain. No broken bones. No drowning. Just pain. Just weeks of forced stillness.
Ignis's chest felt too tight. The dragon inside him—the ancient, possessive part that had once wrapped its tail around Ash's ankle like a vow—roared to life. He is hurt. Hurt because he had been reckless. Hurt while protecting others in a city far from Ignis's wings.
He should feel relief that Seraphina was unharmed. Pride that she had helped. Instead, a vicious, ugly fear clawed at him: what if the timber had struck Ash's head? What if the current had pulled him under for good? What if Ignis had lost him before ever admitting—
He growled low in his throat and paced to the tall window overlooking the western cliffs. The same cliffs that now felt lonelier than ever. Dusk painted the sky in blood and gold, colors that reminded him too much of Seraphina's hair and the fire in Ash's eyes when the human had licked his horn.
You jumped into a river, Ignis thought savagely, claws scraping stone. For strangers. While my daughter stood on a pavilion. While I sat here pretending I did not check the horizon for messengers every hour.
The memory of their last private moment before departure crashed over him again—Ash's steady gaze, the brush of fingers, the quiet honesty in his voice when he spoke of Seraphina deserving good things. And beneath it all, the unspoken truth that still simmered between them.
Ignis pressed his forehead against the cool glass. His breath fogged it.
He wanted to fly. Right now. Shift into his full draconic form and cut across the sky until Seiena's towers rose white and gleaming beneath him. He wanted to storm into whatever lavish human sickroom they had put Ash in, pin the reckless prince to the bed with one careful hand, and snarl at him for being an idiot.
He wanted to check the injury himself. Run clawed fingers over bandages and make certain the healers had done their work properly. Wanted to taste the relief on Ash's tongue and pretend, for one selfish moment, that the human had thought of him while fighting the river.
A bitter laugh escaped him. Seraphina had been there. Seraphina had helped pull him to shore. Seraphina had sat by his bedside.
As she should, he reminded himself. She is the one he is courting. The one who will secure the future.
Yet the thought brought no comfort—only that sharp, coiling jealousy he refused to name aloud. Ash had risked his life while Ignis was hundreds of leagues away, useless behind stone walls and duty.
He returned to the table and read both letters once more. Then he summoned a scribe with a curt flick of his tail.
"Prepare a reply to the Princess. Tell her to ensure Prince Asher rests properly. No heroics until the healers clear him. Send additional healers from our wing if the humans' magic proves insufficient." He paused, jaw tight. "And inform the escort captain that I will be arriving within four days. Personal visit to strengthen ties after the incident."
The scribe's quill scratched obediently, but Ignis caught the brief flicker of surprise.
He did not explain himself. Kings did not need to.
When the scribe left, Ignis allowed himself one moment of weakness. He sank back into his throne and closed his eyes, his tail curled tightly around his own ankle—the same unconscious gesture he had once made in that incense-filled bedchamber.
"Reckless little human," he muttered to the empty room, voice gravel-rough with something dangerously close to fondness.
"You had better still be smiling when I get there."
Outside, the wind howled over the cliffs. Somewhere far to the east, Ash was lying in bed with a sprained ankle, probably charming every servant who came near him, probably making Seraphina laugh even while injured.
Ignis's golden eyes opened, molten with resolve.
Four days.
He could wait four days.