Ignis's POV:
Ignis stood at the tall arched window of the Obsidian Suite, one clawed hand braced against the cool stone frame. The night breeze carried the scent of Seiena's floating gardens—white blossoms, river mist, and faint jasmine—up to the tower. Below, the Azure River glittered under moonlight like scattered coins, indifferent to the storms brewing above it.
He could not stop thinking about the way Ash had looked at him across the banquet table. That reckless, defiant little smile when he'd joked about windows. What's even more absurd is the way he himself wrapped his tail around his ankle under the table. Something he didn't even do for his daughter. He had wanted to let go after a brief quiet coil of reassurance but his own tail refused to listen and kept on getting tighter and tighter. As if it didn't wanted to let—
My daughter's intended.
He reminded himself. The words had tasted like dirt in his mouth the moment they left it. A test. A shield. A lie he kept trying to make true for the sake of duty, alliance, and the bright laughter of his only child.
It wasn't working.
Ignis's tail lashed once, striking the side of a heavy chair with a dull thud. The venison rolls sat untouched on a side table. The braziers burned exactly as he preferred—warm, steady, scented faintly with mountain resin—but the comfort felt hollow. Everything in this carefully prepared suite reminded him of Ash's thoughtfulness. The extra height of the windows for a dragon's preference for elevation. The reinforced furniture. The precise spices.
The human had prepared this space for him.
A soft sound reached his sharp ears—uneven footsteps and the faint tap of a crutch against marble in the corridor outside. Ignis's golden eyes narrowed. His body tensed, every instinct sharpening as the footsteps drew closer, hesitated, then continued toward the suite doors.
Ash.
Of course it was Ash. Who else would be limping through the palace at this hour instead of resting that injured leg like he had been ordered?
Ignis did not turn immediately. He kept his gaze fixed on the glittering Azure River below, claws digging just a fraction deeper into the stone frame. The cool night air did nothing to quench the heat crawling under his scales.
Control.
He had ruled for centuries. He had a daughter and that very daughter is going to marry him. He should not be reduced to this — he's a Dragon Lord for goodness sake.
The doors clicked shut. The soft tap of the crutch and uneven footsteps crossed the threshold. Ignis finally turned, slowly, letting the brazier light catch the hard lines of his chest where his robe hung open.
Ash stood just inside the room, illuminated like some offering. Butter-blonde hair slightly messy from the wind, light green eyes bright with exhaustion and something far more dangerous. The formal tunic from the banquet was slightly loosened at the collar, revealing the pale column of his throat. The crutch made him look smaller. Fragile.
It made Ignis want to pin him somewhere soft and ensure he never risked that ankle again.
"You should be resting," Ignis repeated, voice lower this time, rougher. "That ankle will not heal if you insist on wandering corridors like a restless fledgling."
Ash's lips curved into that infuriating half-smile — the one that had haunted Ignis's nights since the incense incident. "Funny. My mother just told me to rest too. Seems everyone has opinions on what I should be doing tonight."
Ignis's tail twitched. He forced it still, wrapping the tufted end around his own leg in punishment. My daughter's future husband. The reminder tasted even more bitter now, alone with the human in a room built for seduction by thoughtful hands.
He finally stepped away from the window, closing some of the distance. Not too close. Close enough to smell the faint lavender cologne still clinging to Ash's skin.
"And yet you came here," Ignis said, letting the words hang heavy between them.
"Instead of obeying your mother. Instead of resting that leg like every healer in two kingdoms has demanded." His golden eyes dropped pointedly to the bandaged ankle, then dragged slowly back up Ash's body. "Explain yourself, Prince Asher."
Ash shifted his weight, leaning harder on the crutch. The movement made his tunic pull taut across his shoulders. "Maybe I wanted to make sure you were comfortable. The suite… the braziers… the venison. I needed to know if it was to your taste."
Liar.
Ignis could see the truth flickering in those green eyes.
He wanted to believe the lie. Needed to. If Ash was here only for diplomatic courtesy, then Ignis could maintain the walls he had spent centuries fortifying. But the human's scent, the way his pulse jumped visibly at his throat, the slight flush creeping up those porcelain cheeks — it all betrayed him.
Ignis took another step forward before he could stop himself. "You are a terrible diplomat when you lie to my face."
Ash's breath hitched. Good.
"I prepared this suite because I wanted you here," the prince admitted softly. "Not just as an ally. Not just as Seraphina's father."
The words struck like claws across Ignis's chest. He stopped barely an arm's length away, claws flexing at his sides. His tail — the treacherous thing — had unwrapped from his own leg and was reaching out again, the tufted tip brushing against Ash's good calf like it had a mind of its own.
Stop.
This was wrong.
This was betrayal of the worst kind.
Seraphina had looked happy these past weeks. She had laughed with Ash, supported him after the river incident, even helped pull the fool from the water. And here Ignis stood, a grown dragon lord, nearly shaking with the need to touch a human who belonged to his daughter.
"You speak dangerously," Ignis growled, forcing ice into his voice even as heat flooded his veins. "Seraphina is fond of you. The alliance depends on this match. I will not allow fleeting moments destroy what we have built."
Even as he said it, his eyes lingered on Ash's mouth. On the way those green eyes darkened when they looked at him. On the faint bruises that had long since faded from where his own claws had gripped that narrow waist.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Ignis hastily turned around, shoulders rigid, tail lashing behind him in sharp, agitated arcs. He could feel Ash's gaze like a physical touch between his shoulder blades. Every fiber of his being screamed to turn around, to close the distance, to press the human against the nearest wall and taste those lips again without the excuse of aphrodisiac or urgency.
But he was a father first. A king second. A lover… last.
He had to be.
"Leave, Prince Asher," Ignis said at last, the words scraping out like broken glass.
" I wish to rest."
He did not turn around. He did not trust himself to look at Ash right now.
The soft tap of the crutch retreated slowly toward the door. Each uneven step felt like another crack forming in the walls Ignis had spent a lifetime building.
When the door finally clicked shut, Ignis let out a long, shaky breath and pressed his forehead against the cool stone.
He's promised to your daughter.
He repeated it again and again, like a mantra. Like a curse.
It still tasted like a lie.
And the worst part was — some treacherous, selfish part of him was beginning to hope it would stay that way.