Rubin barely slept that night. Every time he closed his eyes, his mind swirled with thoughts of the future being thrust upon him. The expectations, the duty, the inescapable path.

When the morning sun filtered through his chamber window, he rose with a heavy heart. There was no use in delaying the inevitable. He had two weeks before he met Princess Elara, two weeks to prepare himself for a life he never asked for.

He dressed quickly, choosing a deep crimson tunic embroidered with silver threads. His horns gleamed as he ran his fingers over them absentmindedly. He had always taken pride in his dragon heritage, in the power and prestige it brought. But today, he felt like little more than a prisoner bound by chains he could not see.

A knock at his door snapped him from his thoughts.

“Enter,” he called, schooling his features into something unreadable.

The door creaked open, revealing his younger sister, Princess Lyra. She stepped inside with her usual grace, her violet eyes sharp with concern. Lyra had always been the only one who understood him.

“You look terrible,” she said, arms crossed.

Rubin let out a dry chuckle. “Good morning to you too.”

She didn’t smile. “Father told me about the arrangement.”

Of course, she knew. Nothing stayed secret in the palace for long.

“He didn’t give me a choice,” Rubin muttered, voice laced with frustration. “Not that I expected him to.”

Lyra sighed, stepping closer. “You don’t have to go through with this. There must be another way.”

He shook his head. “There isn’t. You know how Father is. His word is final.”

She hesitated, then placed a hand on his arm. “Maybe Elara isn’t as cold as they say. Maybe she’s just as trapped as you are.”

Rubin exhaled sharply. He hadn’t thought of it like that. He had been so focused on his own misery that he hadn’t considered hers.

“I don’t know what’s worse,” he admitted, “that she might hate me as much as I already resent this arrangement, or that she might accept it without a fight.”

Lyra gave him a sad smile. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

He wasn’t so sure this time.

Later that day, Rubin found himself in the royal training grounds, where he often went when his emotions threatened to overwhelm him. The weight of a sword in his hands, the burn in his muscles, the rhythm of battle—it was the only place where he felt truly in control.

He clashed swords with his sparring partner, a skilled warrior named Kieran, who had been training alongside him since childhood. Kieran had always been blunt, and today was no exception.

“You’re distracted,” Kieran grunted as he knocked Rubin’s blade aside. “That’s not like you.”

Rubin exhaled sharply, adjusting his stance. “It’s nothing.”

Kieran raised an eyebrow. “Right. Because nothing makes you fight like a sleep-deprived ghost.”

Rubin hesitated, then swung his blade with renewed force. “My father has arranged my marriage.”

Kieran dodged the blow easily. “To the Arenthian princess?”

Rubin frowned. “You knew?”

“Everyone knows,” Kieran replied. “Palace gossip travels faster than wildfire.”

Rubin sighed. “Of course it does.”

Kieran studied him for a moment before lowering his sword. “And? What are you going to do?”

“What choice do I have?” Rubin sheathed his blade, feeling the weight of the question settle deep in his chest. “I can’t refuse. I can’t run. I can’t change my father’s mind.”

Kieran crossed his arms. “You can still make it your own. This marriage doesn’t have to define you.”

Rubin let out a bitter laugh. “Then what does?”

Kieran didn’t have an answer. And neither did Rubin.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Rubin found himself on the highest balcony of the palace, looking out over the kingdom he would one day rule. The wind ruffled his dark hair, and his wings twitched restlessly.

Duty. Sacrifice. Obligation. They had been drilled into him since birth. But for the first time, he wondered—was there still room in his future for something more?

Or was he already too far lost?

A rustling behind him made him tense. Turning, he found Lyra once again standing in the doorway, her face unreadable.

“There might be another way,” she said softly.

Rubin narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

Lyra hesitated before stepping forward, lowering her voice. “I’ve been speaking with some of the council members—ones who don’t fully support Father’s rule.”

His heart pounded. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Lyra.”

“So are you,” she countered. “But what if there was a way out of this? A way to break free from Father’s control?”

Rubin held her gaze, uncertainty warring with the flicker of hope she had ignited.

“Tell me everything.”

Lyra took a deep breath. “There’s a faction within the kingdom—nobles, warriors, and scholars—who believe Father’s rule has become too rigid, too obsessed with dominance. They want a future where Drakos thrives through diplomacy, not force.”

Rubin’s wings tensed. “And they think I can help them?”

She nodded. “You are the heir. If you show them you’re willing to stand for something different, they will support you.”

He let out a shaky breath, his thoughts racing. “And if Father finds out?”

Lyra’s face darkened. “Then we need to act carefully. This won’t be easy, Rubin. But if you want to carve your own path, this might be your only chance.”

Rubin turned back to the horizon, his heart hammering. The weight of expectation, the chains of duty—they had always bound him. But now, for the first time, there was a glimmer of something else.

A choice.

He turned to Lyra, his voice steady. “I want to meet them.”