The corridor outside the Obsidian Suite stretched long and empty, lit by the soft glow of enchanted sconces that flickered like captured fireflies. Ash made it exactly ten paces before his leg gave out.
Not fully—just a sharp, unexpected wobble that sent him stumbling against the cold stone wall. The crutch clattered to the floor. He pressed his forehead against the cool marble and stood there, breathing hard, the echo of Ignis's flinch burned behind his eyes.
Good. That was good. Clean lines drawn.
Proper expectations established. The Dragon Lord had spoken and the dutiful future son-in-law had listened and now everyone could go back to their correct positions on the game board and the empire would be saved and everything would be fine.
A passing servant caught his arm with a startled bow. Ash thanked her, steadied himself, and kept walking.
Fine. Everything would be fine.
He kept saying it but his chest felt hollowed out.
He started limping down the hall, each uneven tap of the crutch punctuating the storm in his head. The pain in his ankle was nothing compared to the sharp twist behind his ribs. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Ignis's face — that devastating crack in the Dragon Lord's armor, the raw hunger warring with guilt and self-loathing.
Ash laughed bitterly under his breath. "Liar."
He knew Ignis wanted him. The tail that kept reaching for him, the way those golden eyes lingered, the way Ignis had flown across half a continent the moment he heard Ash was hurt — none of that was simple fatherly concern. But the Dragon Lord had centuries of duty carved into his bones. He would rather carve out his own heart than betray his daughter. His precious daughter.
And Ash… Ash was the villain in his own tragedy. The transmigrated prince who had come to woo the princess and ended up falling for the father instead. A tragic main character with unrequited love. Literally.
Ash stood at his chamber door for a long moment, hand on the knob, not going in.
The corridor was empty. The palace had gone quiet the way it always did after midnight—servants retired, guards settled into their posts, the whole vast building exhaling into stillness. Somewhere distant, the Azure River murmured against its banks. Closer, his own heartbeat was embarrassingly loud.
He thought about Ignis standing at that window with his forehead pressed against the glass.
He thought about—How this love will be nipped in the bud before it even get to bloom.
He sighed heavily.
The first time he ever fell so hard for someone. And a man at that. And it will be ending like this.
He sighed again. His breath trembled along with his aching chest.
Then he pushed the door open and went inside.
Sleep isn't coming to him easily tonight. He knew that the way he knew weather—by the pressure of it, the distinct quality of the restlessness sitting in his chest. Going to bed now would just mean lying there staring at the canopy until dawn came to rescue him.
I'll be a good son-in-law.
He had said. Out of anger. And it had somehow crack the dragon's armor, slipping out the true terror he was feeling inside.
He collapsed into the chair at his work desk, crutch clattered against the stone beside him, and sat in the dark for a moment with both hands pressed flat against the wood. Then he grabbed an old sheet of parchment between the pages of a book, and scrawled another line beneath his ever-growing list.
Things That Are True( Revised Edition):
1.The alliance is still the priority.
His quill hovered. Then, with slow, deliberate strokes, he continued:
2. Seraphina deserves honesty, not half-measures.
3. Ignis is currently lying to himself harder than I've ever lied in two lifetimes.
4. I'm in love with the wrong dragon.
Ash set the quill down.
He read the line back. Read it again.
The list was getting longer and more pathetic by the day. Ignis had said it with the certainty of a man issuing a royal decree, which was the particular tone he used when he was trying to make something irrevocable through sheer force of will.
He rested his hand on the arm of the chair, leg propped awkwardly on a footstool, and stared at the ceiling until the floating lanterns outside his window dimmed to embers.
The most ludicrous thing about his entire transmigrated existence—was that the person he wanted wants him back. Yet refuses to believe whatever's happening between them. As if the growing feelings between them is burning him.
Weakness, huh. He thought. It is weakness because you're refusing to accept it.
He pressed two fingers to his forehead and stared at the list until the words blurred.
He added one more line at the bottom:
8. I'm an idiot.
He let out a soft, self-mocking laugh that echoed hollowly in the quiet chamber. The sound felt too loud in the darkness. Spark wasn't here to judge him with that suspicious third eye, and Seraphina had already given him more grace than he deserved. There was no one left to witness how thoroughly he had ruined his own grand transmigrator plan.
He crumpled the parchment—not violently, but with the tired resignation of someone who had run out of ways to lie to himself. This time he didn't even bother burning it. He simply folded the pathetic list and tucked it between the pages of a half-read book on draconic customs, where it would likely stay until he found the courage to throw it away.
Ash leaned back in the chair, and rubbed both hands over his face. Then he looked down at his bandaged ankle. Three more weeks, approximately, before the healers would clear him for full mobility. Ignis had said he'd stay until the threat to the alliance was handled. The caravan attacks were escalating—they'd have to work together on that, probably closely, which meant more strategy sessions and more shared silences and more of Ignis's tail doing exactly what Ignis told it not to do.
Fine, He thought. If he doesn't want to admit his feeling, then he can also pretend like it doesn't exist. For all he cares.
Is what he thought but he his mind still wandered off to the dragon lord. Wondering if he was still pacing the Obsidian Suite, tail lashing, repeating his own mantras about duty and fatherhood. Or had Ignis already buried it all beneath layers of ice and centuries of self-control?
Ash closed his eyes.
Sleep took a long time to come.