Ryaz stood motionless long after the door closed behind Michael, staring at the empty space where his lover had been. The silence of the room pressed in on him, suffocating in its completeness. His legs gave way suddenly, and he sank to the floor, arms wrapping around his middle where that tiny spark of life continued to grow, oblivious to the chaos it had created.

The tears came without warning, heaving sobs that tore through his chest and left him gasping. He curled forward, pressing his forehead against the cool floor as grief crashed over him in waves. Everything they'd planned, everything they'd hoped for—gone in a single night of violation and manipulation.

"Michael," he whispered to the empty room, the name a prayer and a plea.

His skin still felt wrong, too tight and too hot. The fertility cycle continued despite everything, his body oblivious to the emotional devastation as it focused on nurturing the new life within. Ryaz hated it—hated the glow beneath his skin, the sweet scent that had started all of this, the relentless biological imperative that had changed his future forever.

He thought of Kovax, of the horror and shame in the dragon prince's eyes when he'd realized what he'd done. There had been no malice there, only confusion and self-loathing.

Ryaz dragged himself to his feet and stumbled to the bed, collapsing onto sheets that still carried Michael's scent. He buried his face in the pillow, inhaling deeply, trying to commit the scent to memory before it faded.

A soft knock at the door pulled him from his misery.

"Go away," he called, his voice muffled by the pillow.

The door opened anyway, and Ryaz turned his head to see his father standing in the doorway, ancient eyes filled with a sadness that matched his own.

"May I enter?" Emperor Ru'unan asked softly.

Ryaz didn't answer, just turned his face back to the pillow. He felt the bed dip as his father sat beside him, a cool hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

"He left," Ryaz whispered after a long silence.

"I know." His father's voice was gentle. "I saw him in the corridor."

"He had a ring." Ryaz rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling through tear-blurred eyes. "He was going to propose that day in the meadow, before you called me to the Council Chamber."

The Emperor sighed, the sound ancient and weary. "I feared as much."

"I would have said yes." Ryaz pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. "I would have said yes, and we would have been happy."

"Perhaps," his father conceded. "For a time."

Ryaz lowered his hands, anger flaring again. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Emperor Ru'unan met his gaze steadily. "It means that the path you envisioned with Michael was always going to face complications you hadn't considered. Your position as crown prince requires certain sacrifices."

"Political marriages," Ryaz spat the words like poison.

"Yes." His father didn't flinch from the truth. "The proposal that never came from Michael was never going to be enough on its own. Your role as imperial crowned prince to the fae empire demands more."

"So I should be grateful for what happened?" Ryaz pushed himself up, glaring at his father. "Thankful that I was violated and impregnated against my will because it solved your political problems?"

"No," the Emperor said sharply, eyes flashing silver with rare anger. "Never that." His expression softened as he reached for Ryaz, pulling him into an embrace. "I never wanted this heartbreak for you, my son. Never this pain, never this violation. If I could take it from you, I would."

Ryaz stiffened at first, then collapsed against his father's chest, fresh tears soaking the Emperor's silver robes. "It hurts," he whispered. "Everything hurts."

"I know." His father stroked his hair gently, as he had when Ryaz was a child. "But you are stronger than you know. You always have been."

"I don't want to marry the dragon," Ryaz confessed, his voice small. "I don't want to lose Michael."

The Emperor sighed. "You are an imperial crowned prince, Ryaz. Your emotions, your desires—they must come second to your duties. It has always been thus."

"That's not fair," Ryaz protested, though the words sounded childish even to his own ears.

"No," his father agreed. "It isn't. But it is the reality of your position." He pulled back slightly, tilting Ryaz's chin up to meet his gaze. "The child you carry could heal wounds ten thousand years in the making. It could bring peace between races that have hated each other since before the Great Divide."

Ryaz pulled away, anger flaring again. "So my happiness is an acceptable sacrifice for politics?"

"Your happiness matters deeply to me," the Emperor said quietly. "But we cannot pretend that your choices affect only you. They never have."

Ryaz wanted to argue, to rage against the unfairness of it all, but the fight drained out of him as quickly as it had come. His father was right. He had always known, somewhere deep inside, that his royal blood came with obligations that would supersede his personal desires.

Ryaz collapsed into his father's arms, a fresh wave of tears spilling down his face as he mourned the future he'd imagined—the ceremony under the Great Ancestor Tree, the binding of hands with living vines, Michael's warm smile as they recited their promises. It was all gone now, replaced by political necessity and the tiny spark of life growing inside him.

"I knew it would happen one day. I've trained my whole life for this," he whispered against his father's shoulder, the silken robes cool against his heated skin. "To make a political match. To put duty before desire. I just never thought it would hurt this much."

The Emperor's hands were gentle as they stroked his hair, a comforting rhythm that reminded Ryaz of childhood sorrows—so much simpler than this adult heartbreak.

"The pain will dull with time," his father murmured. "It always does."

Ryaz pulled back slightly, wiping tears from his cheeks with trembling fingers. His diplomatic training surfaced through the grief, years of preparation steadying him like an anchor in stormy seas. He took a deep breath, forcing his racing thoughts into order.

"The Fae have always practiced polyamory," he said, voice still thick with tears but stronger now. "It's accepted, even expected in political unions."

His father's expression remained carefully neutral. "Yes, that's true."

"Dragons are different," Ryaz continued, a flicker of hope kindling in his chest. "They're traditionally monogamous, but this isn't a traditional situation. This is a political alliance—the first of its kind between our races." He sat up a little straighter, arms wrapped protectively around his middle. "This marriage between Kovax and I, it would be a political one. There’s no question about that. But if thats the case, then both sides must compromise, mustn't they?" The words tumbled out faster now, fueled by desperate hope. "The dragons can't expect us to adopt all their customs while abandoning our own. That's not how alliances work.”

The Emperor watched him, ancient eyes unreadable. "What are you suggesting, Ryaz?"

"That I could have both." Ryaz stopped pacing, turning to face his father. "I could marry Kovax as required, fulfill my duty to our people and to this child. But I could also keep Michael as my consort."

"Dragons are possessive by nature," his father reminded him gently. "Their mating bonds are exclusive and sacred to them."

"This isn't a normal mating bond," Ryaz insisted, the hope in his chest growing stronger. "Kovax himself knows that. He feels nothing for me beyond guilt and obligation. How could he object to me maintaining a relationship with someone I truly love? And technically, while Kovax is just as much a victim as I, he was the assaulting party. I hate to leverage it but we could weaponise that to force their hand." 

Ru'unan winced at his son's choice of words. He'd just agreed before walking in here to not weaponise the situation. He sighed, rising from the bed to join his son. "It's not that simple, Ryaz."

"Why not?" Ryaz challenged, a spark of his old fire returning. "If both sides truly want peace, truly want this alliance to succeed, then compromise must extend to personal arrangements as well. Kovax gets a political marriage and legitimacy for his child. I fulfill my duty as crown prince. And I don't lose the man I love." 

He began mentally pacing again, mind racing ahead to potential objections, countering them before they could be voiced—a skill honed through years of diplomatic training. "The dragons value honesty and directness," he continued. "I'll be upfront with Kovax about my intentions. No deception, no sneaking around. Everything above board and negotiated as part of the marriage contract."

The Emperor caught his arm gently, stopping his frantic movement. "Ryaz, you're getting ahead of yourself. We don't even know if Prince Kovax will agree to the marriage yet."

"He will," Ryaz said with certainty. "You told me yourself, with no marriage between us this child will not live for very long and if it does it will never live a safe or happy life. War is the alternative and neither of us want that." He pulled away from his father's grasp, moving to the window to stare out at the night sky. "So he’ll agree, and when he does, I'll make my position clear. This marriage will be political, not romantic. We'll raise our child in the ways of both Fae and Draconic heritage, we’ll present a united front to both our peoples, but our hearts will remain our own."

His father's reflection appeared beside his in the window glass, concern etched in the ancient lines of his face. "And if he refuses?"

Ryaz's jaw tightened. "Then we negotiate. That's what diplomacy is for." He turned to face his father directly. "I won't give up Michael without a fight. Not even for peace between our races."

The Emperor studied him for a long moment, something like pride flickering in his eyes. "You've grown into a formidable diplomat, my son. Far more skilled than I was at your age."

"I had a good teacher," Ryaz replied, the ghost of a smile touching his lips before fading again.

His father placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "Rest now. Tomorrow will bring its own challenges, and you'll need your strength to face them."

Ryaz nodded, suddenly aware of the bone-deep exhaustion weighing him down. The emotional turmoil of the day had drained him completely, and his body—still adjusting to pregnancy and the ongoing fertility cycle—demanded respite.

"Will you stay?" he asked, hating how childlike the request sounded. "Just until I fall asleep?"

His father's expression softened. "Of course."

As Ryaz settled back onto the bed, curling on his side with arms still protectively wrapped around his middle, his thoughts turned to Michael—walking alone somewhere in the city, carrying that beautiful ring and a heart full of shattered dreams. Ryaz closed his eyes, fresh tears leaking from beneath his lashes.