For centuries, Pharraseus had watched with mounting concern as the Fae embraced integration with lesser races. His own brother, the Emperor, encouraged these dilutions of their sacred bloodline. And now Ryaz—a prince of the highest lineage—planned to mate with a half-breed.

He watched as Kovax slammed his fist against the wall again, leaving another scorch mark. "Get it together," the dragon prince hissed to himself. "It's just biology. Meaningless."

Pharraseus retreated silently, mind racing with possibilities. War between dragons and Fae would force his people to unite behind traditional values. No one would risk open conflict while clinging to progressive ideals. They would turn to stability, to tradition—to him.

And if the catalyst for that war was a scandal involving Ryaz and the dragon prince? Even better. The half-breed Michael would be cast aside. Ryaz would be disgraced; a victim of the dragon's primordial lusts. Ru'unan is too soft for war, he would crumble under the pressure and Ryaz would be too traumatised to know how to deal with war. Naturally, they'd turn to him for support, and he'd gladly give it. 

As he slipped away, Pharraseus sent a silent, insincere apology to his nephew. Ryaz was young enough. He would recover from this eventual heartbreak, and in time, he might even understand the necessity of Pharraseus's actions should he ever discover they were of his machinations. Some sacrifices were required for the greater good of their race.

By the time Pharraseus returned to the ballroom, his face was composed into a mask of cordial diplomatic interest. He approached Emperor Ru'unan, who was deep in conversation with the human Prime Minister.

Ryaz pressed a cool glass against his forehead, the condensation providing momentary relief from the heat beneath his skin. Something was wrong—this was more than realm-sickness. The symptoms had intensified since his encounter with Kovax, which made no logical sense.

"There you are," Michael said, appearing at his side. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

Ryaz attempted a smile, but it felt strained. "Sorry. I needed some air."

Michael's expression shifted to concern. He placed a hand on Ryaz's arm, then immediately withdrew it. "You're burning up. We should get you back to our rooms."

"The dinner isn't over," Ryaz protested weakly. "Father would—"

"Your father would want you well," Michael insisted. "Something's not right, Ryaz. Your skin is... glowing."

Ryaz glanced down at his wrists where the sleeves had ridden up. Sure enough, a faint luminescence pulsed beneath his skin, following the rhythm of his heartbeat. A distant memory stirred—something he'd learned centuries ago about Fae biology, something important...

"Michael," he said slowly, "I think I need to speak with my father."

Before they could move, Emperor Ru'unan approached with Lord Pharraseus close behind. The Emperor's eyes widened slightly as he took in Ryaz's appearance.

"Nephew," Pharraseus said, his voice laden with concern that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You appear unwell. Perhaps we should escort you to your chambers."

"I'll take him," Michael said firmly.

"This is a family matter," Pharraseus countered smoothly. "Certain... conditions require experienced handling."

The Emperor placed a hand on Phrraseus's shoulder. "He is family, brother."

Ryaz felt a flash of gratitude toward his father, but another wave of heat washed through him, making it difficult to focus. "Father, what's happening to me?"

“Not here," Emperor Ru'unan said quietly. "Come."

As they guided him from the ballroom, Ryaz caught sight of King Thaleus watching them with an unreadable expression. Of Kovax, there was no sign.

In the privacy of the presidential suite, Pharraseus poured a shimmering blue liquid into a crystal glass. "Drink this," he instructed Ryaz. "It will help manage the symptoms."

Ryaz accepted the glass warily, his fingers brushing against Michael's as his partner steadied his trembling hand. "What symptoms, exactly? What's happening to me?"

Emperor Ru'unan and Pharraseus exchanged glances. It was the Emperor who finally spoke.

"Your fertility cycle has begun, Ryaz. Earlier than expected, but not unprecedented."

"My..." Ryaz nearly dropped the glass. Michael caught it, their fingers intertwining around the crystal. "But I thought that wouldn't happen for another century at least."

"It can be triggered by various factors," Pharraseus said, his gaze flicking dismissively to Michael. "Emotional readiness, environmental conditions... proximity to compatible mates."

Michael squeezed Ryaz's hand. "What does this mean for him? For us?"

Pharraseus's lips thinned with displeasure. "It means Prince Ryaz will be exceptionally fertile for the next lunar cycle. His body is preparing for potential conception."

"And exceptionally attractive to potential mates," the Emperor added, his expression softening as he looked between the two young men. "The glow, the scent—they're biological signals."

Ryaz's mind raced back to Kovax's strange reaction in the alcove. The dragon had smelled something, had looked at him with sudden... hunger? The realization made him dizzy. Michael's arm slipped around his waist, steadying him.

"Will this affect the Accords ceremony?" Ryaz asked, forcing his thoughts back to duty.

"We'll manage," his father assured him. "The potion will help mask the symptoms."

Pharraseus looked toward the window, gazing out at the city lights. "However, we should be cautious. Dragons are particularly sensitive to pheramones. Their reactions can be... unpredictable."

Michael's jaw tightened. "I won't leave his side."

"Drink, nephew," Pharraseus urged, his voice gentle but insistent as he pressed the crystal glass closer to Ryaz's lips. "The symptoms will only worsen without intervention."

Ryaz hesitated, studying the shimmering blue liquid. Something about his uncle's solicitousness felt off, but the burning beneath his skin had become nearly unbearable. He glanced at his father, who nodded encouragingly.

"It's an ancient formula," Pharraseus added. "One I prepared myself from the royal apothecary's reserves."

With Michael's steadying hand still on his waist, Ryaz accepted the glass and drank deeply. The potion tasted of moonflowers and frost berries, with an underlying bitterness that made him wince. It slid down his throat like liquid ice, immediately cooling the fire in his veins.

"Thank you," Ryaz murmured, relief washing through him as the room stopped spinning. "I feel better already."

Pharraseus took the empty glass, his fingers lingering briefly against Ryaz's. "The effects will stabilize within the hour. But by morning It'll have worn off, I'll prepare some more tonight so that you will be able to attend the preliminary negotiations without... incident."

Michael's arm tightened protectively around Ryaz's waist. "I'll stay with him tonight, just to be safe."

A flicker of annoyance crossed Pharraseus's face, quickly masked by diplomatic concern. "Of course. Though perhaps we should discuss contingency plans for tomorrow's proceedings. The dragons will be in attendance, and given Prince Kovax's earlier reaction..."

"What reaction?" Michael asked sharply.

Ryaz leaned into Michael's warm embrace, his body suddenly feeling heavy and drained of energy. "We exchanged a few sharp words in the alcove. Nothing out of the ordinary, except..." He paused, frowning as he recalled how Kovax had abruptly turned on his heel and left. "He acted like he caught a scent on me that he didn't like. Then, he just... departed." Ryaz's eyes narrowed with the memory. "Though I don't recall seeing you there, Uncle."

“I caught a glimpse of you through the glass door, nephew, just after the dragon prince barged past me into the building. It was simply an observation,” his uncle replied.

Emperor Ru'unan exchanged a significant glance with Pharraseus, his brow furrowed before returning his gaze to his son. "This is troubling. If the dragon prince is particularly attuned to your cycle..."

"Not much we can do except keep Ryaz far away from them." Pharraseus replied, "As I said earlier, I'll mix some more potions for you Ryaz, the effects are temporary and you will need more to continue this week of diplomatic networking."

Ryaz nodded with gratitude, his eyelids growing heavy as the room began to blur at the edges. The potion was taking effect, making his thoughts sluggish and his limbs languid. "Thank you, Uncle. I should get some rest now."

As Michael gently guided him toward their dimly lit bedchamber, Ryaz failed to notice the satisfied glint in Pharraseus's eyes, or how his uncle's fingers lingered, caressing the rim of the empty potion glass with a hint of something unspoken.

Pharraseus waited until the door to Ryaz's chamber closed before turning to his brother. "We have a delicate situation, Ru'unan. The dragon prince's reaction suggests an unusual and strong compatibility."

The Emperor frowned. "You think Kovax is responding to Ryaz's cycle?"

"Responding?" Pharraseus allowed himself a thin smile. "He was practically in rut after one encounter. Imagine if they were alone together for any length of time."

"Then we must ensure they aren't," Ru'unan said firmly. "Michael will stay with Ryaz, and—"

"Brother," Pharraseus interrupted gently, "forgive me, but have you considered the diplomatic implications? If word spreads that a fae prince in his fertility cycle attended the Culture Exchange ceremonies, with all those people..."

"It's not exactly his fault," Ru'unan protested.

"Blame matters little here." Pharraseus moved to pour two glasses of wine, slipping a pinch of dark powder into one while his back was turned. "We must be strategic. The hybrid's presence will only draw more attention to Ryaz's condition."

He handed the doctored wine to his brother. "Ryaz was scheduled to open the fae ceremony tomorrow, we can't have him in public while leaking potent pheramones about, especially with the dragon prince nearby. Perhaps Michael should represent him while Ryaz sits in with you at the private meetings. It would demonstrate our commitment to inclusion while keeping him occupied during the more... sensitive negotiations."

Ru'unan accepted the wine thoughtfully. "You may be right. Michael's human heritage would make him an ideal representative at the opening ceremony."

"Precisely." Pharraseus watched as his brother drank deeply. "I'll make the arrangements. Ryaz can attend the closed session with us, where the environment is more controlled."

By the time Ru'unan set down his empty glass, his eyelids had grown heavy. "I feel suddenly tired," he murmured.

"The day has been long," Pharraseus agreed, helping his brother to his bed in the adjacent room. "Rest here awhile. I'll see to the preparations."

As Ru'unan's breathing deepened into sleep, Pharraseus slipped from the suite, his mind racing with plans. The sleeping draught would keep his brother indisposed until morning, giving him time to arrange the next phase.

He needed to ensure the dragon prince would be primed for their encounter—and for that, he required information. The hotel's service passages would lead him to the dragon delegation's quarters, where he could observe and plan.

First, however, he needed to dispatch a message to Michael, ostensibly from the Emperor, requesting his presence at tomorrow's cultural exchange. And then, perhaps a visit to the hotel's bar, where the dragon guards were reportedly enjoying the human realm's abundant alcohol.

Pharraseus smiled to himself as he walked the corridor. By this time tomorrow, the carefully constructed peace between dragons and fae would be balanced on a knife's edge—precisely where he wanted it.

In the darkness of their chamber, Ryaz drifted in and out of consciousness. Michael's solid presence beside him should have been comforting, but something felt wrong. The potion had cooled his burning skin, yet in its place came a different sensation—a heightened awareness of every touch, every breath against his neck.

"Michael," he whispered, his voice sounding strange to his own ears. "Something's happening."

Michael propped himself up on one elbow, peering down at Ryaz with concern. "What is it? Should I call for your father?"

Ryaz shook his head, unable to articulate the strange sensations coursing through him. The glow beneath his skin had intensified, no longer following his heartbeat but pulsing with a rhythm all its own. And the scent—he could smell himself now, sweet and heavy in the air.

"The potion," he managed. "I don't think it's working right."

Michael pressed a cool hand to Ryaz's forehead. "You're burning up again. I'm getting help."

As Michael rose from the bed, a knock sounded at their door. Michael opened it to find a royal messenger bearing a sealed note.

"From His Imperial Majesty," the messenger said with a bow.

Ryaz watched through half-lidded eyes as Michael read the message, his expression shifting from concern to confusion.

"Your father wants me to represent you at tomorrow's cultural exchange opening ceremony," Michael said, returning to the bedside. "Says it's a gesture of goodwill toward humans. Looks like he needs you in the closed meetings."

Ryaz tried to focus on Michael's words, but his thoughts kept scattering like startled birds. "That doesn't sound like Father," he mumbled.

"The seal is authentic," Michael said, showing him the broken wax impression. "And it would be an honor, but I don't want to leave you like this."

"I'll be with Father and Uncle," Ryaz said, fighting through the fog in his mind. "Maybe... maybe it's for the best. If this cycle is affecting others..."

He didn't finish the thought, couldn't bring himself to voice his concerns about Kovax's reaction. Michael already looked worried enough.

"If you're sure," Michael said reluctantly. "But promise you'll send for me if anything happens."

Ryaz nodded, even as a strange new heat began building low in his abdomen. Whatever was happening to him, it wasn't what his uncle had described. The potion wasn't masking his symptoms—it was transforming them into something else entirely. 

"Do you still need help?" Michael asked, reaching to feel Ryaz temperature again. He was warm but had cooled in the time the letter had been delivered and read. 

"Just turn the AC up, I'm sure some sleep will help." Ryaz replied, eyes already falling closed. His mind fell fuzzy again and he drifted between consciousness again.

As Michael finally drifted to sleep beside him, Ryaz stared at the ceiling, his body thrumming with unfamiliar energy. Tomorrow would bring the first formal negotiations of the Accords renewal. He needed to be clearheaded, focused.

Instead, he felt like he was drowning in his own skin, waiting for something he couldn't name.