Ash woke to the sound of rain against his window—a steady, insistent drumming that blurred the view of the floating gardens into watercolor smears of green and gold. His ankle throbbed in protest as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.
He dressed slowly, favoring the injured leg, and declined the servant's offer of breakfast in his chambers. The idea of sitting alone with his thoughts over cold eggs and toast was unbearable. Better to move, to do, to lose himself in the endless machinery of diplomacy and strategy.
The rain had driven most of the court indoors. The corridors were busier than usual—servants hurrying with covered trays, nobles clustered in alcoves exchanging murmured gossip, guards standing a little straighter because the Dragon Lord's presence made everyone want to appear competent. Ash nodded at familiar faces, returned greetings with his practiced smile, and kept moving toward the war room.
He rounded a corner and nearly collided with Seraphina.
She was dressed in practical traveling clothes—dark leather, scaled accents at the shoulders, her flame-red hair braided tightly against her head. Spark was not on her shoulder. A small satchel hung at her hip. Her golden eyes, usually so warm, held a sharpness he hadn't seen before.
"Ash." She caught his arm to steady him. "Good. I was coming to find you."
"Where are you going?" He looked at the satchel, the boots, the determined set of her jaw.
"South." She glanced around quickly, then pulled him into a shallow alcove behind a tapestry. The fabric fell closed behind them, muffling the corridor noise. "The latest attack happened at dawn. Another caravan—this one carrying enchanted armor, a gift from Seiena to the Draconic Palace. The escort was Killed, Ash."
His stomach dropped. "I didn't hear—"
"It just arrived. Father is already in the war room with your parents." Her voice was tight. "This is escalating. Someone is moving from sabotage to murder. And I'm done sitting in this palace waiting for reports."
"You're going to investigate?" Ash stared at her. "Alone?"
Seraphina's tail lashed. "I'm a dragon, Ash. I can fly. I can track. And I'm not sitting around being protected while people die." Her expression softened slightly. "But I wanted to tell you myself. And I wanted to ask—"
"Take me with you."
The words came out before he could think. Seraphina blinked.
"Your ankle—"
"Can be strapped tighter. I can ride. You said you can fly—you could carry me. Or we could take a fast horse to the border and you could scout ahead." Ash was already planning, already calculating. "I know these roads better than you do. I know the villages, the terrain, the places where attacks are most likely. If you're going, I'm going."
Seraphina studied him for a long moment. Rain drummed against the stone walls outside. Somewhere in the palace, a clock tower began to chime the hour.
"You want to come along with me?" she said quietly.
Ash didn't deny it. "Yeah. I want to be useful. I want to find out who's doing this and stop them before anyone else dies. Maybe I need some air to clear my head too." He met her eyes. "Is that so wrong?"
She shook her head slowly. "No. It's not wrong." She reached out and squeezed his hand. "But you have to tell Father. I'm not sneaking you out of the palace like a stolen gem."
"I'll tell him."
"And you have to be ready to move fast. If the attackers are still in the area, we might only get one chance to track them."
"I can keep up."
Seraphina's lips curved into a small, reluctant smile. "You're so stubborn, you know that?"
"So I've been told."
She pushed the tapestry aside and stepped back into the corridor. "The war room. Now. We'll make our case together."
****
The war room was already a storm when they entered.
Emperor Frederick stood at the head of the obsidian table, his silver hair disheveled as if he'd been running his hands through it—a nervous habit Ash recognized from childhood. Empress Aurora sat to his right, her green eyes hard as jade, a map of the southern trade routes spread before her. Military advisors clustered at the far end, voices low and urgent.
And Ignis—
Ignis stood at the window, back to the room, tail absolutely still. That stillness was more alarming than any lash. It meant he was holding himself together by the thinnest of threads. Rain streaked the glass behind him, turning the world outside into a blurred watercolor of gray and green.
"Father." Seraphina's voice cut through the murmur. "I'm going south."
Ignis turned.
His golden eyes swept over her, scanning the traveling clothes, the satchel, the determined set of her shoulders. Then they moved to Ash—lingering on the crutch, the fresh bandages visible at his ankle, the matching resolve in his face.
"No," Ignis said.
It wasn't a shout. It was quieter than that, and therefore more dangerous.
"I wasn't asking." Seraphina stepped forward, chin raised. "People are dying, Father. Our people. Human and dragon both. Someone is butchering caravans and burning our goods, and we're sitting here in this beautiful tower talking about it while the trail goes cold. I can fly. I can track. I can help."
"You are the princess of the Draconic Realm." Ignis's voice was ice. "If you are captured, if you are hurt—"
"Then I'll be a princess who didn't hide while her people bled." Seraphina's eyes flashed. "You taught me to fight. You taught me to hunt. Did you teach me those things so I could sit in a palace and look pretty while others died in my name?"
The room went very still. Even the advisors stopped murmuring.
Ignis's claws flexed at his sides. His tail remained frozen, but Ash could see the tension vibrating through him—the barely contained storm.
"Lord Ignis," Emperor Frederick interjected carefully, "perhaps we could send a detachment of the royal guard—"
"No." Seraphina didn't look away from her father. "A large force will be seen. The attackers have been vanishing without a trace—they have scouts, lookouts, probably magic. I can move fast and quiet. I can get there before they scatter again." She paused, then added, softer: "I'm not a child anymore, Father. You have to let me do this."
The silence stretched.
Ignis's gaze shifted to Ash. "And you? You intend to accompany her? On that ankle?"
"I intend to be useful." Ash straightened, ignoring the throb in his leg. "I know the southern roads. I know the villages, the terrain, the places where caravans are most vulnerable. Seraphina can scout from the air, but she needs someone on the ground who can read the human signs—tracks, disturbances, local gossip. I can do that. Even on one good leg."
"Or you could stay here and coordinate from the war room where you are safe."
"Safe." Ash let out a short, humorless laugh. "Your Excellency, with respect, I wouldn't have gotten a sore ankle if I wanted to feel safe." He pointed at his injured leg. " And I don't think safety is what any of us need right now. We need answers. We need action. And we need to show whoever is doing this that we won't cower behind walls while they pick us apart."
Ignis's jaw tightened. For a moment, his golden eyes softened into something almost pleading. Stay, that look said. Don't make me worry about you too.
But Ash couldn't stay. He couldn't sit in this beautiful palace with his broken ankle and his broken heart and watch Ignis avoid his gaze across a conference table. He needed to move. To do. To be somewhere that didn't smell like heartache and unspoken confessions.
"Prince Asher goes with my blessing," Seraphina said firmly. "He knows the terrain. He has diplomatic authority to commandeer local resources. And his presence will reassure the human villages that we're taking this seriously." She glanced at Ash. "Assuming he can ride."
"I can ride."
"Barely," Ignis muttered.
"I've ridden injured before." Ash met his eyes. "I'll survive."
The word survive hung in the air, weighted with all the things neither of them would say. Don't go. You are hurt. I can't lose you.
Ignis turned away first.
He walked to the map table, stared down at the southern routes marked in red ink where the attacks had occurred. His tail finally moved—a slow, heavy curl that wrapped around his own ankle.
"Three days," Ignis said at last, voice rough. "You have three days to gather intelligence and return. If you haven't reported back by then, I will come south myself with a full wing of Shadowscale Guard, and I will burn every hiding hole between here and the border until I find you both."
Seraphina's face lit with fierce approval. "Three days. We'll be back."
"If the trail leads further—"
"Then you will send word." Ignis turned back, golden eyes blazing. "You will not pursue beyond three days without reinforcements. That is not a request, Seraphina. That is an order from the Dragon Lord and your father."
She held his gaze for a long moment, then inclined her head. "Understood."
Ignis looked at Ash. The same warning was there, sharper, more personal. Don't be reckless. Don't throw yourself into danger. Come back.
Ash nodded once. "Three days."
The room exhaled. Advisors began to move, preparing maps and supplies, dispatching messages to the southern outposts. Emperor Frederick pulled Ash aside for a brief, quiet conversation about local contacts and safe houses. Empress Aurora squeezed his arm and told him to be careful in that particular tone that meant I know you're hiding something and we will discuss it when you return.
And through it all, Ash felt Ignis's gaze on him like a brand.