Emperor Ru'unan faced King Thaleus in the suite's sitting room, maintaining a diplomatic posture despite the tension crackling in the air. The dragon king loomed over him, crimson scales flaring along his massive forearms, amber eyes glowing with barely contained rage.

"You summoned me here with vague talk of 'urgent matters,' concerning my son." Thaleus growled, smoke curling from his nostrils. "Now speak plainly. Where is my son?"

"King Thaleus," Ru'unan began carefully, "a grave incident has occurred. One that requires both our wisdom to navigate."

"I have no patience for fae riddles." Thaleus's voice dropped to a dangerous rumble. "Speak directly or not at all."

Ru'unan inclined his head. "Very well. Your son and mine were both victims of a plot. They were drugged and locked together in a bathroom during Prince Ryaz's fertility cycle."

Thaleus went still, his massive frame tensing like a predator about to strike. "What are you implying?"

"I'm not implying anything. I'm stating facts." Ru'unan met the dragon king's gaze steadily. "Prince Kovax, under the influence of both drugs and biological imperative, took my son against his will."

"LIES!" Thaleus roared, flames erupting from his mouth as he slammed his fist into a nearby table, shattering it to splinters. "My son would NEVER—"

"It's the truth," Ru'unan continued, unmoved by the display. "But I don't blame your son. Neither does Ryaz. They were both victims."

Thaleus's nostrils flared, scenting the air. "Where is he? I can smell him." His eyes darted to the bedroom door. "Kovax! Come out NOW!"

The bedroom door opened, and Kovax emerged, hastily buttoning his trousers. His face was ashen, scales dull with exhaustion and shame. Behind him, Ryaz remained out of sight.

"Father," Kovax said, his voice hollow. "It's true. I... I raped Prince Ryaz in the bathroom. But it's not what you think."

Thaleus's face contorted with fury. A primal roar tore from his throat as he lunged toward his son, massive hands outstretched, claws extended. Kovax didn't move, didn't even raise his arms to defend himself.

"STOP!" A shimmering barrier of pure energy slammed into place between father and son. Ryaz stood in the bedroom doorway, one hand extended, tears streaming down his flushed face. His clothes hung in tatters around his trembling form, barely preserving his modesty.

"Your son is a victim too!" Ryaz shouted, his voice cracking with emotion. "We were both drugged and locked in that bathroom where biology did its potent thing. So you need to calm the fuck down and LISTEN!"

Thaleus froze, jaw dropping open in shock. The flames died in his throat as he stared at the fae prince. Never in all his dealings with the fae had he witnessed such raw emotion, such unrestrained anger.

The barrier between them flickered, then sputtered out as Ryaz's strength failed him. His knees buckled, and he began to fall. Kovax moved with surprising speed, catching him before he hit the floor. With gentle hands, he helped Ryaz to the sofa, arranging a blanket over his shoulders to preserve what dignity remained.

Thaleus watched this tender interaction with narrowed eyes, his rage temporarily displaced by confusion. He crossed his massive arms over his chest and waited, scales still hot with anger but his curiosity piqued.

"Tell me everything," he commanded, his voice a low rumble. "Every detail."

Kovax remained beside Ryaz as they recounted the events—the strange potions, the locked bathroom, the overwhelming biological imperatives that had driven them together against their will. Ryaz explained the fae fertility cycle, the rarity of male pregnancy among his kind, and the spark of life now growing within him.

As understanding dawned, Thaleus's expression shifted from fury to stunned disbelief.

"A child," he murmured, looking from his son to the Fae prince. "A child of both our bloodlines."

"Yes," Emperor Ru'unan confirmed. "The first in recorded history."

Thaleus paced the room, scales shifting colors as he processed this information. Finally, he stopped, looking at Ru'unan with newfound respect.

"There is only one path forward," he declared. "A formal union between our houses. A partnership to legitimize the child and heal the ancient wounds between our races."

The suite door burst open, just as Thaleus said the words, “Our sons must wed,” and Michael stopped in the threshold as the words registered, then his face paled with shock.

"What?" Michael's voice broke on the single word, his eyes fixed on Ryaz.

Ryaz clutched a pillow to his chest, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. The comfort he'd found in explaining things to Thaleus evaporated at the sight of Michael's devastation. Beside him, Kovax looked utterly defeated, shoulders slumped in exhaustion and guilt.

Michael took a hesitant step forward, his eyes never leaving Ryaz's face. "Marriage?" he whispered. "You're going to marry him?"

Ryaz opened his mouth, but no words came. How could he explain that his entire future had been rewritten in a single night? That the child growing within him had changed everything?

"Michael, please," Ryaz said, extending his trembling hand. "I need to speak with you alone."

Michael stood frozen, his face a mask of anguish as his gaze darted between Ryaz and Kovax. The tension in the room pressed against Ryaz's skin like a physical weight.

"Please," Ryaz whispered, his voice cracking. "Just give me a moment."

Michael's jaw tightened, but he nodded once, sharply. Ryaz gathered the blanket around his shoulders and rose unsteadily to his feet. His legs felt like water beneath him, threatening to give way with each step. The bedroom seemed miles away, but he forced himself forward, not daring to look back at the dragon prince still sitting on the sofa.

Thaleus watched his son as the two fae lovers disappeared behind the bedroom door. The hour was late and a lot had happened. He needed time to decompress and to understand the full extent of what had just happened. "Come, Kovax," he commanded. "We'll reconvene about this on the morn. None of us are in a postiotion to think clearly right now." Kovax stood silently, eyes dulled, mind numb as he followed his father to the door. 

Ru'unan spoke before they left. "Whetever happens from this point on, I think we must at least place our animosiy aside permanently. It will do none of us any good to use tonights events as weapons against the other." 

Thaleus nodded, grateful for the offer of mutual silence. He knew well that should word get out, his son would be seen as the criminal here, regardless of his drugged state. "Agreed." He said, before leaving the suite with his son in tow.

In the bedroom, Ryaz stood against the closed the door. Unsure how to explain.

Michael's face was ashen, his eyes wide with horror as he stared at Ryaz. The bedroom's dim light cast shadows across his features, making his expression seem even more haunted.

"Marriage?" he repeated, voice barely above a whisper. "To him? After what he did to you?"

Ryaz clutched the blanket tighter around himself, feeling the fabric tremble with his shaking hands. "Michael, please. Sit down." He gestured to the edge of the bed, but remained standing himself, afraid his legs might give out if he moved.

Michael shook his head, remaining rooted to the spot. "I don't understand. How can you even consider this? He violated you!"

"He was drugged, Michael. So was I." Ryaz's voice cracked. "We were both victims of my uncle's scheme."

"Lord Pharraseus? Why would he? No, that doesn't change what happened!" Michael snapped, his panic turning to ire. “Marriage, Ryaz!? Marriage to a dragon! All because he raped you?! I don’t undersatnd!” Michael vented, frustrated with the lack of response from Ryaz, until…

"Michael," Ryaz finally managed, his voice barely audible. "I’m… pregnant."

The silence of their bedroom crushed Michael like a physical weight, squeezing his lungs until each breath came shallow and painful. "Pregnant," he repeated, the word hanging between them like shattered glass. "With his child."

Michael stood frozen, unable to look at Ryaz who finally sat on the edge of their bed, arms wrapped protectively around his middle.

"It wasn't his fault," Ryaz whispered, his voice raw from crying. "Neither of us wanted this."

Michael breathed a sigh violently, pressing his palms against his eyes. "I know. I know that." He dropped his hands and finally turned to face the man he loved. "But it doesn't change what happens next, does it?"

Ryaz's lilac eyes, now streaked with unfamiliar green, filled with fresh tears. "Michael, please..."

"They're out there right now, planning your marriage to him." Michael's voice cracked. He gestured toward the door where, beyond it he assumed that Emperor Ru'unan and King Thaleus continued their discussions of a political marriage oavoid scandels and war. "A formal union between your houses. The first in recorded history."

"We could still—"

"What?" Michael interrupted, harsher than he intended. "Still what, Ryaz? Still marry? Still have the life we planned?" He laughed, a bitter sound that scraped his throat. "How exactly would that work? Would you divide your time between us? One night with your husband, one night with your... what would I be? Your concubine? Your mistress?"

Ryaz flinched as if struck. "Don't."

"Dragons don't share," Michael continued, unable to stop the torrent of words. "They're monogamous. Possessive. Everyone knows that." He ran a hand through his hair, tugging painfully at the roots. "Kovax will be your husband. The father of your child. And I'll be... nothing."

"You could never be nothing to me," Ryaz whispered. His chest ached with a pain so profound he thought he might collapse from it. He watched Michael as he moved to the window, staring out at the glittering lights of Central Concordia without really seeing them. The city sprawled beneath them, oblivious to the collapse of thier entire world.

"I had it all planned, you know," he said softly. "That day in the meadow. I was going to ask you." He turned back to Ryaz, pulling a small velvet pouch from his inner pocket. "I've been carrying this for weeks."

Ryaz made a small, wounded sound as Michael emptied the pouch into his palm. A ring gleamed there—silver twisted with gold in an intricate pattern that mimicked the joining of two different magical energies.

"Michael..." Ryaz reached toward him, trembling.

"I designed it myself," Michael continued, staring down at the ring. "The gold represents the human side of my  heritage. The silver, your fae blood. Together, like us." He closed his fingers around it, the metal biting into his palm. "I was such a fool."

"No," Ryaz stood shakily, crossing to him. "You weren't. We weren't."

Michael stepped back, avoiding his touch. "Your father and uncle were right all along. I was never going to be enough for you. An imperial crowned prince needs political alliances, not a half-breed who can barely navigate court politics."

"Don't talk about yourself that way," Ryaz snapped, a flash of his old fire returning. "I chose you. I would choose you again."

"But you can't," Michael said simply. "Not anymore. Not with the child. Not with peace between your races at stake. And certainly not with a possessive, monogamous dragon wrapped around your marriage finger." He slipped the ring back into its pouch, his movements deliberate. "I need some air."

Ryaz reached for him again. "Michael, please don't go. Not like this."

"If I stay, I'll say things I can't take back." Michael moved to the door, each step feeling like he was wading through mud. "I need time to think." The concern in Ryaz's eyes nearly broke him all over again. "I'll come back," Michael promised, his hand on the doorknob. "I just need..."

"I know," Ryaz said, his voice barely audible. "Take whatever time you need."

The corridor outside felt too bright, too normal. Michael moved through it like a ghost, barely aware of the people moving around the hotel. The hotel's ornate walls and crystal chandeliers blurred around him as he made his way to the main entrance, desperate for fresh air that didn't smell of Ryaz's tears or lingering Fae magic.

Outside, the night air hit him like a physical blow, cool and sharp in his lungs. Michael walked without direction, his feet carrying him away from the hotel, away from the life that had shattered around him.

The velvet pouch felt impossibly heavy in his pocket, dragging at him with each step. He'd imagined this night so differently—a celebration, perhaps. Joy. Instead, he wandered the streets of Central Concordia alone, the echo of "our sons must wed" ringing in his ears.