Ash felt the weight of an unseen gaze crawling across his skin like phantom claws, sharp and unrelenting. The sensation prickled at the nape of his neck, sending a familiar chill racing down his spine despite the warm afternoon sun filtering through the crystal arches of the Dragon Citadel's sky gardens.
Three years in this world—three brutal years of transmigrating into the body of a human prince—had honed his instincts into something razor-sharp. He had survived court intrigues, assassination attempts, and the labyrinthine politics of alliances that could topple empires. Right now, those instincts screamed that someone was watching them from the upper levels. Not just anyone. Him.
He didn't look up. Scanning the ornate balconies or shadowed observation towers would only confirm the watcher's presence and possibly provoke action. Whoever lurked above had chosen observation over immediate confrontation, and Ash wasn't about to spook them. Not while he balanced on this delicate tightrope with Seraphina.
Instead, he kept his attention fixed on the princess beside him, letting his practiced smile soften into something warmer, more genuine. Her hand still rested lightly in his—small for a dragoness, yet strong, the faint texture of scales along her knuckles catching the light like scattered opals.
"You know," he murmured, voice low and intimate, "for a princess of the most powerful dragon clan in existence, you're remarkably easy to talk to."
Seraphina's blush deepened, a charming shade of rose dusting her scaled cheeks.
"Am I? I always feel like I'm saying the wrong thing around other nobles. They're so… formal. All the time. Like they're reading from scripts."
"I think that's the point," Ash replied, voice light but sincere. "Nobles love scripts. Scripts are safe. Scripts don't start wars."
"And talking to me is safe?" She tilted her head, golden eyes searching his face with an openness that made guilt twist uncomfortably in his gut.
Almost, he thought bitterly. Almost safe.
Except for the part where he kissed her father senseless last night and can't stop replaying every second of it.
""Safer than most," he said aloud, finally releasing her hand but allowing his fingers to brush deliberately over the sensitive skin of her wrist as he withdrew. "You don't play games, Seraphina. You say what you mean. That's… rare. In my world, anyway."
She beamed at him, bright and trusting, and the guilt settled heavier in his chest.
He liked her. Genuinely. She was warm, bright, and refreshingly free of the calculated cruelty so common among nobility. She deserved someone who would look at her without hidden agendas, without a mental checklist of political necessities. Someone whose heart wasn't already tangled in dangerous, impossible longing for her terrifying, magnetic father.
But he couldn't be that person. Not when the fate of his entire empire rested on this alliance. The transmigrator's knowledge weighed on him like chains: marry the princess, prevent the war, save millions. Simple. Clean. Heroic, even.
Yet every time he looked at Seraphina's hopeful face, all he could see was the echo of golden eyes gone molten with pleasure, the broken sound Ignis had made when Ash's tongue traced his sensitive horn, the way the Dragon Lord had clutched him like a drowning man even as he threw him out the window.
Ash forced the memory down and focused on the present.
"I can be kind," he thought. "I can be honest about the things that matter. I can give her real friendship, even if the marriage is political at its core. That's more than most royal matches ever get."
Seraphina bumped his shoulder again, still smiling. "You're strange, Prince Asher. In a good way. Most people who come here are either terrified of Father or trying too hard to impress him. You're… different."
Ash's laugh was soft, self-deprecating. "Different might get me thrown out a window one day."
She giggled. "Father wouldn't do that. He's strict, but he's fair. Mostly."
Oh, he absolutely would, Ash thought, the memory of strong arms and colder dismissal flashing behind his eyes. And I'd probably deserve it.
Above them, unseen, the weight of that hidden gaze finally lifted. Ash exhaled slowly, tension bleeding from his shoulders even as a new, quieter ache took its place.
He was playing a dangerous game—balancing on the knife's edge between duty and desire, between the princess who could save his people and the Dragon Lord who threatened to ruin him in far more intimate ways.
And worst of all?
He wasn't sure which one he wanted to win anymore.