Ignis's POV:
Above them, on a balcony half-hidden by cascading vines heavy with night-blooming jasmine, Ignis stood motionless as stone.
He had come out for air after the interminable council session, desperate for even a moment's respite from the suffocating weight of negotiations and the far more dangerous distraction of a certain human prince. The gardens had always been his sanctuary—ordered, quiet, untouched by the petty machinations of court. Here, at least, the world obeyed simple rules: grow, bloom, wither. Nothing more.
He hadn't expected to find them.
Seraphina and Ash sat together on the stone bench below, framed by purple flowering vines like a painting come to life. His daughter's head was tilted toward the young prince, her flame-red hair catching the afternoon light in strands of molten copper. Laughter rose between them—light, effortless, precious. Ash said something low and teasing, and Seraphina threw her head back, her delighted giggle ringing through the alcove like silver bells.
Ignis's claws tightened imperceptibly on the stone railing.
She's happy, he realized with a sharp pang. He makes her happy.
The thought should have brought relief. As a father, as a king duty-bound to secure a lasting alliance between their peoples, this was precisely what he should want. A match that would bind human and dragon realms in peace and prosperity. Seraphina deserved joy. She deserved someone who could coax that bright, uninhibited laughter from her after years of solemn court life and the quiet grief they both carried.
Instead, it sat in his chest like a knot of thorns.
Ash looked at her with that easy, disarming captivating, light green eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that made his whole face soften. Ignis remembered exactly how those same eyes had looked up at him from his own pillows the night before—half-lidded, dark with hunger, pupils blown wide with want. He remembered the press of that lithe, warm body against his scales, the taste of that clever mouth, the way Ash's blunt human nails had dug into his waist as if he never intended to let go.
Lies, Ignis told himself, the word sharp as a blade. All of it. The incense clouded both our minds. He wants my daughter. He never meant a single word he said that night.
His tail twitched once, the tufted tip lashing sharply against the balcony floor. He didn't notice. Or rather, he refused to acknowledge it.
Below, Ash leaned closer to Seraphina, reaching out with casual tenderness to brush a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The gesture was gentle, almost reverent. Seraphina's pale cheeks flushed a soft rose, and she ducked her head in a manner that was unmistakably flirtatious, her tail curling shyly behind her.
Ignis's jaw tightened until it ached.
This is good, he repeated like a chant. This is what you wanted. An alliance. Peace. Stability. Seraphina deserves someone who makes her laugh, someone who looks at her like—
Like Ash had looked at him last night.
The memory struck without mercy: Ash's voice, raw and devastatingly honest in the haze of incense and dragonfire, whispering against his horn, "Let me have you, Just once. Let me show you I'm not playing."
Another lie. Obviously. The human was a trained diplomat, a silver-tongued prince skilled in deception. He said whatever was necessary to achieve his goals. Last night had been nothing but the incense speaking—for both of them. Nothing more.
Yet the words refused to fade.
Down in the garden, Ash said something that made Seraphina giggle again. She shoved his shoulder playfully, and he caught her hand, holding it for just a heartbeat too long. Their fingers lingered, warm and intertwined, before Ash finally released her—but not before letting his touch trail lightly over her wrist in a deliberate, intimate brush.
Ignis watched his daughter laugh again, watched Ash's smile widen in response, and felt something hot and uncomfortable coil in his stomach.
He told himself it was protectiveness.
Natural wariness. He was her father. It was his duty to be cautious of anyone who moved too fast, who smiled too easily, who looked at his only child with such calculated warmth.
He told himself that right up until Ash stretched his arms lazily above his head, the motion casual and unselfconscious. His tunic rode up, baring a tantalizing strip of smooth, pale skin at his waist—the same waist Ignis's claws had gripped hard enough to leave crescent bruises the night before.
Ignis's breath caught traitorously in his throat. Heat flared low in his belly, unbidden and unwelcome. For one treacherous second, he imagined crossing the distance, dragging the insolent prince away from his daughter, pinning him against the nearest wall and—
Incense, he reminded himself viciously, claws scraping faint grooves into the stone railing. It was only the incense. Nothing more.
His tail twitched again, harder this time, the tufted end flicking with clear agitation.
He turned sharply away from the balcony, forcing his steps to remain measured and regal as he walked back inside the palace. The vines brushed against his robes like accusing fingers. Behind him, Seraphina's laughter floated up once more, bright and joyful.
Ignis's claws left deeper marks in the stone where he had gripped it.
No one was there to see.