“Prince Rubin” A voice said, Rubin turned around looking at a maid.“Yes?” He asked, his voice gentle and calming. His horns flared out of his temples, his wings were retracted with their scales glimmering from the sun rays.

“Your father wanted to see you in the main hall” The maid replied, Rubin nodded before walking out.

“You’re dismissed” He said, before closing the door. Walking the halls Rubin looked at the paintings of him and his family, the royal dragon family. A family where he would soon have the title of king now that he was seventeen almost eighteen.

“Yes father?” Rubin looked down at his feet before raising his head as his father talked.

“Rubin, my son” The king of Drakos said, leaning forward on his throne slightly. His obsidian scales shone bright as the sun rays reflected on them, his fiery red eyes glaring at Rubin. “I have set up a marriage for you”

Rubin’s heart nearly skipped a beat at the word marriage.

“Marriage? To who?” He replied, clearly confused and mad.The king’s eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable as he leaned back in his grand throne, his claws tapping rhythmically against the armrests.

“To Princess Elara of Arenthis. It is a political alliance, Rubin. The union will secure our borders and strengthen our hold over the southern territories. It is not up for debate.”

Rubin felt a cold knot form in his stomach. Elara of Arenthis? He had heard of her—an unyielding, cold-hearted princess known for her brilliant mind and unforgiving nature. But beyond that, he had never met her. The very thought of marrying someone so distant, so… foreign to him, stirred a fierce anger in his chest.

“A political marriage?” Rubin’s voice was calm, but his claws were clenched tightly at his sides, digging into the stone floor. “Father, I am almost eighteen. I am old enough to choose my own path. My own future.” His words hung heavy in the air, defiant but tinged with a quiet desperation.

The king’s fiery gaze didn’t soften. “You will do what is necessary for this kingdom, Rubin. A king must put his duty above all else. Personal desires are secondary.”

Rubin’s mind raced as he processed the weight of his father’s words. His mind flickered to the life he had imagined for himself—one of exploration, of choices made freely, without the suffocating weight of duty bearing down on him. The very idea of being forced into a union that wasn’t of his choosing felt like a prison.

“I don’t want this, Father,” Rubin muttered, though he knew it would likely be pointless. He had always been taught that his desires, his feelings, were secondary to the needs of Drakos.

The king’s eyes flashed with something darker. “You will learn to want it, Rubin. You have no choice in the matter. And I will not allow you to dishonor this family, this kingdom, for the sake of childish rebellion.”

Rubin’s wings twitched involuntarily, the scales along them vibrating with the intensity of his rising frustration. His father’s voice, always so cold, so commanding, was like a weight pressing on his chest. But beneath the anger, there was something else—a deeper fear. A fear that Rubin was beginning to understand too well.

“Do not forget,” the king continued, his voice low and dangerous now, “that a king’s crown is not earned by the blood of his enemies alone, but by the alliances he forges, the decisions he makes, and the sacrifices he endures. If you cannot do this, you are not fit to wear this crown.”

Rubin stood still for a moment, the words echoing in his mind. He didn’t want the crown if it came with such a cost, but what choice did he have? His wings drooped slightly, and he bowed his head, not out of respect, but out of resignation. “I understand, Father.”

The king gave a sharp nod, his gaze briefly softening as he surveyed his son. “Good. You will meet Princess Elara at the upcoming gathering in two weeks. Prepare yourself, Rubin. You will be a king soon, and kings do not have the luxury of choice.”

As Rubin turned to leave, a deep sense of unease gnawed at him. His future was already written, and it seemed there was no escaping it. The halls of the palace, once a place of comfort, now felt like a cage—a gilded cage that was closing in around him with every step.

Rubin’s hands trembled as he shut the heavy wooden door behind him, sealing himself away from the world—if only for a moment. His breath came in sharp, uneven bursts, and his vision blurred with frustration. He pressed his palms against the cold stone wall, gripping it as though it were the only thing keeping him from collapsing.

This was his life now. A future he hadn’t chosen.

A bitter laugh escaped him, hollow and sharp. His father’s words still rang in his ears: It is your duty. Love is a privilege, not a necessity. But was he truly supposed to accept that? To stand before the altar, beside a stranger, and pretend this was what he wanted?

A sudden surge of anger overtook him, burning through his veins. He turned and slammed his fist into the wooden bedpost. Pain flared up his arm, but it was nothing compared to the ache in his chest. He hit it again, and again, until his knuckles throbbed, until the weight in his heart was forced into something tangible.

Then, just as quickly as the rage had come, it drained from him, leaving him hollow. His body slid down against the wall, his knees pulling up to his chest. His breaths were uneven, his throat tight. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want her. He didn’t even know her.

His shoulders trembled as he pressed his forehead to his knees, his fingers curling into his hair. For the first time since his father had told him of the arrangement, Rubin let himself feel it all—anger, fear, grief. And in the silence of his chambers, where no one could see him, he wept.

Would he ever be anything more than a pawn?