The night air had cooled by the time the banquet finally drew to its close, the floating lanterns dimming one by one like stars retreating before dawn. Nobles filtered out in clusters, their conversations low and glittering with the particular energy that followed a meal where something unsaid had dominated the room.
Ash remained at the high table longer than strictly necessary, watching the hall empty while his aide brought him the latest patrol reports. His ankle throbbed with renewed insistence. He ignored it.
"You should be in bed."
He didn't startle. He'd heard those footsteps—or rather, felt that particular shift in the air—coming from twenty paces away.
"So everyone keeps telling me," Ash said without looking up. "I'm starting to think the entire palace has conspired against my productivity."
Ignis settled into the chair beside him—not across, as protocol would have suggested, but beside. Close enough that the warmth of him radiated through the space between their arms. His tail moved under the table again, a slow, idle curl that seemed almost unconscious.
Almost.
"Show me," Ignis said.
Ash slid the reports across without comment. He watched the Dragon Lord read—the way his claws curved against the parchment, the faint tension that moved through his jaw as he absorbed each line. In the thinning candlelight, the warm undertones of his obsidian scales caught gold, and Ash found himself scanning those tiny details the way he always did and always shouldn't.
"Three caravans," Ignis narrowed his eyes. "Dragon-glass. Ceremonial silk. Medicinal herbs sourced specifically from draconic trade partners." He set the papers down with deliberate quiet. "This is not random theft."
Ash read his face for exactly four second and asked. " Do you perhaps know who the perpetrator is?"
Ignis's golden eyes lifted from the reports, sharp and unreadable in the dying lantern light. For a long moment he simply studied Ash—green eyes tired from pain and responsibility, butter-blonde hair slightly disheveled from the long evening, the careful way he held himself to favor his injured leg.
"I have suspicions," Ignis said at last, voice low enough that it wouldn't carry beyond their small island of privacy in the emptying hall. " I have many enemies but to be able to sabotage our alliance like this. There could only be one. But I could be wrong too. "
"It could also be some factions within the dragon clans who view any alliance with humans as… contamination. Some of them were against it. They lost influence when I chose negotiation over conquest."
" So I can't prove anything yet. "
Ignis's words hung in the cooling air of the Grand Hall like smoke after a dying fire. The floating lanterns had dimmed to faint embers, casting long shadows across the sapphire drapes and empty tables. Most of the court had already retired, leaving only the soft footsteps of servants clearing the last plates and the distant murmur of night guards changing shifts.
Ash leaned forward slightly, ignoring the protest from his ankle. "One suspect in particular?"
Ignis was silent for a long moment. His golden eyes reflected the dying light, turning them into molten slits. The Dragon Lord's massive frame seemed even larger in the near-empty hall, shoulders tense beneath midnight robes. His tail remained curled around Ash's uninjured ankle—warm, scaled, and unmistakably possessive.
"An old enemy of mine. Someone who loves creating chaos for the sake of it. He was dormant for all these years but I guess...he woke up now."
Ash studied the Dragon Lord's face. "You sound certain it's one person."
Ignis's tail tightened slightly around his ankle. "Certain enough to be wary. This enemy doesn't fight for land, gold, or power in the usual sense. He plays games because he finds suffering entertaining. If he has turned his attention to our alliance…" Golden eyes met green, heavy with warning. "Then this will not be settled by swords or trade clauses alone."
Ash swallowed.
The perpetrator must be extremely powerful if even Ignis, The Dragon Lord is cautious of him. It made sense with the pattern—random yet targeted, theatrical destruction without clear gain. Someone who wanted the alliance to crumble not for politics, but for amusement. The original novel's shadowy backers now felt far more sinister.
"I won't let them break what we're building," Ash said firmly.
Ignis's claws brushed the back of his hand under the table. "We," he echoed, tasting the word. His voice dropped. "You should be resting that leg, I don't think an injured limb is of much help in front of your enemy."
"Well. I can do much more than things even without using my legs," Ash replied, reckless and honest.
Ignis made a low sound—half warning, half longing. For a moment it seemed like he might close the distance, might finally give in to the pull that had been building since that incense-filled night.
Instead, he rose, towering over Ash.
"Tomorrow. See you in the joint strategy meeting. No interruptions. No excuses."
Ash looked up at him, heart hammering. "I'll hold you to that."
Ignis's tail gave one last slow drag along his calf before withdrawing. "See that you heal properly by then, little prince. I have no patience for crutches in important conversations."
As the Dragon Lord walked away, robes whispering like night wind, Ash remained seated, staring at the empty hall and the dying lanterns.
An unknown enemy who thrived on chaos was moving against them. His mother had also noticed the tension. Seraphina must've too.
Ash exhaled shakily and smiled despite everything.
"Bring it on," he whispered to himself and the empty hall.
Whatever game this hidden player was playing, Ash refused to let it destroy the fragile, burning thing growing between him and the Dragon Lord.
He just hoped he could balance it all without losing everything in the process.