Ash was halfway through a bowl of honeyed fruit and attempting (unsuccessfully) to convince the healer he could hobble to the library on one crutch when Seraphina burst into his chambers like a sunrise wrapped in crimson silk.
Her eyes were sparkling, her tail swaying with barely contained energy. Spark rode on her shoulder like a tiny, three-eyed general surveying a battlefield.
"You'll never guess," she announced, practically bouncing on her toes.
Ash set the bowl down, smiling despite the persistent throb in his ankle. "You finally convinced the head chef to let you into the kitchens and snag some free muffins?"
"Better." She clasped her hands in front of her, cheeks flushed with excitement. "Father is coming to Seiena."
The world tilted for a second.
Ash's breath caught somewhere between his ribs and his throat.
"Igni— I mean His Excellency Ignis?" he asked, voice carefully neutral even as his pulse roared in his ears. "Here? In Seiena?"
Seraphina nodded, beaming. "He sent word this morning. He'll arrive in four days—personal visit to 'strengthen ties after the Lantern Festival incident' and ensure I'm not causing diplomatic disasters."
She laughed lightly, but her golden eyes shone with clear fondness. "He says he wants to see how I was doing in Seiena. And… he asked the healers to send daily updates about your ankle."
Ash's heart slammed against his chest so hard he was sure she could hear it. Four days. Ignis—proud, devastating, always composed Ignis—was flying across the continent to Seiena. To him. Or at least, close enough that the distinction barely mattered.
He swallowed hard, fighting to keep his expression pleasantly surprised instead of dazed and starving.
"That's… unexpected," he managed. "I thought he hated leaving the palace."
"He does," Seraphina said, perching on the edge of his bed with easy familiarity. Her tail curled loosely around his good ankle again, a gesture that had become sweetly familiar over the past few days. "He almost never travels. The last time was three years ago. But after reading about the festival and your injury…" She trailed off, giving him a knowing yet somewhat smug little look. "He sounded worried. In his very way—lots of stern instructions disguised as royal commands."
Ash's mind supplied the image instantly: Ignis pacing his war room, tail lashing, golden eyes narrowed as he read the reports. Claws digging into stone. That low, gravel-rough voice muttering something about reckless humans.
A warm, dangerous flutter bloomed low in Ash's stomach.
"He doesn't need to come all this way," Ash said, even as every treacherous part of him screamed the opposite. "I'm fine. Really. Just a stupid sprain."
Seraphina tilted her head, studying him with those bright, perceptive eyes. "You're a terrible liar when you're nervous, Asher. Your ears go pink." She reached out and gently flicked the shell of his left ear, grinning when it indeed flushed darker. "Are you intimidated by my father?"
Intimidated didn't even begin to cover it.
Ash let out a breathless laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. "Have you seen your father? He walks into a room and the air itself snaps to attention. I'm just trying to decide whether I should prepare a formal speech or hide under the bed until he leaves."
Seraphina giggled — a bright, musical sound that usually made him smile. Today it only twisted the guilt deeper.
"You'll be fine," she said, squeezing his hand. "He care— I mean respects you. More than he lets on. And after what you did at the river…" Her voice softened. "He may grumble about recklessness, but he admires courage. Especially when it protects people."
Ash looked down at their joined hands — her warm scales against his pale skin — and felt the familiar war inside his chest flare hotter than ever. Seraphina was wonderful. Kind. Brave. She had sat by his bedside, read to him, helped him limp through gardens, and never once made him feel like a burden.
And yet the news that Ignis was coming made something inside him light up like one of the Lantern Festival flames.
Four days.
In four days, Those immense presence would grace Seiena's land. Those molten golden eyes would look at him again. That powerful tail might — if Ash was very lucky and very cursed — get to touch him once.
He was in so much trouble.
"I should prepare proper guest quarters," Ash said, already mentally cataloging everything. "The obsidian suite in the eastern tower — it gets the best morning light and has those tall windows he likes. And extra braziers. He runs warm."
Seraphina blinked at him, surprised. "You remember that?"
Ash froze for half a second. "You… mentioned it once."
She hadn't. But he remembered anyway — the way Ignis had thrown open windows in the middle of the night because the palace felt too stuffy for his draconic blood.
Seraphina's expression softened into another smug and a little wistful look. She leaned in and pat his shoulder like she always does.
"You're kind, Asher. Even when you don't have to be." She stood, tail flicking happily. "I'll help you plan everything. Father may act stern, but he secretly loves good hospitality."
As she left the room to fetch more books and probably terrorize the palace staff with preparations, Ash sank back against the pillows and let out a long, shaky breath.
Ignis was coming.
The Dragon Lord of Night — the same one who had kissed him like a man drowning, thrown him out a window, and then spent weeks pretending nothing had happened — was flying straight into Ash's territory.
Ash pressed both hands over his face and groaned.
His ankle throbbed. His heart raced. And somewhere deep inside.
He was absolutely, spectacularly doomed.