Ignis's POV:
Ignis stood on the wide balcony overlooking the eastern courtyard, rain still misting the air though the worst of the storm had passed. His claws dug into the stone railing as he watched the preparations below.
Seraphina moved with purpose—checking the saddlebags on the sturdy griffon chosen for Ash, adjusting the reinforced harness that would let her carry the human prince if needed. Her flame-red hair was tied back, practical traveling leathers replacing court silks. She looked every inch a dragon princess ready for war.
Ash stood beside her, crutch propped against the griffon's flank while a healer tightened the strapping around his ankle. The human's beautiful hair was damp from the rain, his face pale but determined. Even injured, he moved with that infuriating confidence that made Ignis's chest tighten.
Three days.
He had given them three days. It felt like both an eternity and far too little time.
His tail lashed once behind him before he forced it still, wrapping it tightly around his own leg. Duty. She is your daughter. He is to be her husband. The words had become a chant, repeated so often they should have lost meaning. Instead, they only grew heavier, sharper, like stones grinding in his gut.
Seraphina laughed at something Ash said — bright, genuine—even in such tense moments he can still easily make her laugh— the sound carried up to the balcony like a blade between Ignis's ribs. She looked happy. Hopeful. The way she glanced at Ash carried warmth, trust, perhaps even the first fragile shoots of deeper affection.
And Ash… Ash looked at her with kindness. Real kindness. But when his green eyes lifted toward the balcony — toward Ignis — something else burned there. Something that made Ignis want to leap from the railing, shift mid-air, and snatch the human away from everything.
He did not move.
"You are staring hard enough to set the courtyard on fire, Father," Seraphina called up, spotting him. She waved, tail flicking playfully. "We'll be back before you finish brooding!"
Ignis forced his expression into something resembling stern approval. "Three days," he reminded them, voice carrying clearly despite the distance. "Not one hour more. If you find trouble, send word immediately."
Ash met his gaze steadily. For a moment the rest of the courtyard faded — the guards, the griffon, even Seraphina. Just those green eyes and the memory of a voice saying I'm just tired of pretending.
Ignis looked away first.
The griffon launched with a powerful beat of wings, Seraphina guiding it skyward with Ash secured behind her. Ignis watched until they became a distant speck against the gray clouds, heading south toward bloodied trade roads and an enemy who thrived on chaos.
Only when they vanished did he allow the growl to escape his throat.
He spent the rest of the day in a controlled fury of activity.
Strategy meetings. Dispatching Shadowscale scouts. Coordinating with Emperor Frederick on magical wards for remaining caravans. Every action was precise, every order flawless. No one would dare say the Dragon Lord was distracted.
But in the quiet moments between — when advisors stepped out, when documents that requires his attention finished—when he stood alone at another window staring south — the mask cracked.
He should not have gone.
The thought repeated like a drumbeat. Ash's ankle was not fully healed. The human was reckless even on two good legs; injured, he was a liability.
What if the attackers struck again?
What if Seraphina had to choose between saving herself and saving the prince?
What if—
Ignis slammed a fist against the window frame. Stone cracked.
He is not yours to worry over like this.
Yet he did. He worried with a depth that terrified him. Every scenario his mind conjured ended with Ash heavily injured, bleeding in the mud or worse. And beneath the fear lurked something darker, more shameful: a whisper that if something happened to Ash, Ignis would burn the entire southern region to ash and call it justice.
He hated himself for it.
When evening fell, he retreated to the Obsidian Suite. The venison rolls from the night before had been replaced with fresh ones, the braziers lit exactly as Ash had arranged. The care in every detail mocked him.
Ignis dropped into a chair and dragged a clawed hand down his face. His tail curled around the leg of the chair so tightly the wood groaned.
"You are pathetic," he muttered to the empty room. "Centuries of rule. A daughter who makes you proud. An alliance that could bring peace for generations. And here you sit, burning because a small human smiled at you once while drugged on incense."
But it hadn't just been the incense.
That was the truth he kept trying to bury. Ash had looked at him — and seen something worth wanting. Not the Dragon Lord. Not the terrifying monarch. Just him.
And Ignis had thrown him out a window rather than face it.
A soft knock pulled him from his spiral. A messenger entered, bowing low.
"Reports from the south, Your Excellency. Princess Seraphina and Prince Asher have reached the first attack site safely. They are beginning their investigation. No incidents so far."
Ignis nodded curtly. "Send word every six hours. I want details."
When the messenger left, Ignis rose and paced again. Six hours. He would count every one of them.
He stopped at the window once more, staring into the darkening sky.
Come back safe.
The prayer — because that was what it was — tasted like defeat on his tongue. He was no longer sure who he was praying for more: his daughter, or the human who had somehow become the axis his entire world now tilted toward.