Ignis's POV:
The door closed with a soft, final click.
He slammed one clawed hand against the window frame, stone groaning under the force. His tail whipped violently, knocking over a heavy chair with a crash. The sound echoed through the Obsidian Suite like thunder.
Liar.
The word echoed louder than the slammed chair. The word burned in his chest. He was lying—to Ash, to Seraphina, to himself most of all. Every time he looked at that reckless human, something inside him howled in recognition. Not just desire. Something deeper.
Something that felt terrifyingly like his.
He had called Ash dangerous, reckless, a threat to everything proper and right. Yet the real liar stood here now, horns pressed against cool glass, heart hammering like a war drum.
He doesn't not belong to me.
He repeated it viciously, carving the phrase into his mind the way his claws carved the windowsill. Seraphina had never looked happier than these past weeks in Seiena. She spoke of Ash with warmth and quiet hope. She had sat by his bedside. She had waded into that freezing river for him. If Ash could give her laughter, safety, and a future unburned by war, then Ignis would chain his own desires until they suffocated and died.
Even if it killed him.
He pushed away from the window and began to pace. His tail lashed behind him in sharp, violent arcs, knocking against furniture he barely noticed. Every step brought unwelcome memories: Ash's crooked smile when he joked about windows. The way those green eyes had looked up at him in the strategy chamber, tired but defiant. The stubborn set of that narrow jaw as he limped away just now.
And worst of all — the way Ash had said he'll be a good little future son-in-law.
Ignis's claws flexed hard enough to draw blood from his own palms. The sting was welcome. It grounded him.
He should have been relieved. Ash had finally accepted the boundary. Duty would prevail. The alliance would strengthen. Seraphina would be cherished.
So why did the victory taste like ash and bile?
A soft knock interrupted his spiral.
"Father?" Seraphina's voice, gentle and bright, filtered through the door.
Ignis schooled his expression into something resembling calm before calling her in. She entered with Spark on her shoulder, her flame-red hair loose and catching the brazier light like living embers. She looked happy. Radiant.
That should have been enough.
"You've been pacing," she said, tilting her head. Her golden eyes — so like his own, yet softer — studied him with open concern. "Is it the caravan attacks? Or… something else?"
Ignis forced a low sound of dismissal. "The attacks are troubling, but manageable. We will crush this problem before it grows bold."
He paused, then added with what he hoped sounded like fatherly warmth, "And you? How do you find Prince Asher's company these days?"
Seraphina's eyes lit up like a delicate rose. She sat on the edge of a reinforced couch, tail curling neatly around her ankles. "He's… wonderful, Father. Kind. Brave to the point of stupidity, as we both saw at the river." She smiled, small and genuine at his father. "He makes people feel seen. Even if they are the most guarded one."
Each word landed like a blade between Ignis's ribs.
He nodded slowly, claws digging into the back of a chair. "Good. That is good. You deserve nothing less."
Seraphina watched him for a long moment. Too long. "Father… are you all right? You've seemed tense since you arrived. If it's about Ash—"
"It is not," Ignis cut in, sharper than intended. He softened his tone with visible effort. "I am simply… adjusting. The palace has been quiet without you. And now seeing you here, happy and living your life… it pleases me."
The lie sat heavy on his tongue.
Seraphina's tail flicked once, uncertain, but she let it go. She rose and hugged him tightly, pressing her face into his chest the way she had since she was small. Ignis wrapped one arm around her, inhaling the familiar scent of smoke and cinnamon that always clung to her scales.
"I love you, Father," she murmured. "Thank you for coming. It means everything."
Ignis closed his eyes. I love you too, little flame. Enough to bury whatever this is where it can never touch you.
After she left, the silence returned, heavier than before.
Ignis poured himself a measure of strong spirits and returned to the window. Below, the Azure River glittered mockingly.
Somewhere in this palace, Ash was limping through corridors, favoring that injured leg, probably replaying their conversation with that infuriating half-smile.
The thought sent a low growl rumbling through Ignis's chest.
He drained the glass and set it down with controlled force.
Duty.
Ignis straightened, forcing his expression back into its usual mask of cold authority. He would stay until the threat was neutralized. He would be civil. He would watch Ash court Seraphina and smile like the proud father he was supposed to be. And every night he would return to his suite like nothing happened. He'll act like how a protocol needs it.
Even if it carved pieces out of him every single day.
Even if every brush of Ash's gaze felt like dragonfire against his scales.
Even if the thought of Ash becoming his son-in-law made something inside him roar in furious, possessive denial.
Ignis closed his eyes, tail curling tightly around his own ankle in the same unconscious gesture he had once mocked Ash for noticing.
This ends here.
He repeated it until the words felt almost true.
Almost.