As Michael stepped out of the elevator doors, Ryaz's face transformed at the sight of him, lilac eyes brightening through the lingering redness of tears. The fae prince rushed across the room and threw himself into Michael's arms with such force that Michael stumbled back a step.

"You came back," Ryaz whispered against his neck, fingers digging into Michael's shoulders as if afraid he might vanish again. "I wasn't sure you would."

Michael's arms encircled Ryaz automatically. The crystal vial pressed against his thigh through the fabric of his pocket, cold and insistent like a splinter of ice.

"I said I would," Michael managed, his voice rougher than he intended. He breathed in Ryaz's scent—sunshine on silver leaves, now mingled with something sweeter, more potent. The fertility cycle. The pregnancy.

Ryaz pulled back just enough to study his face, eyes searching. "Are you... alright?"

"No," Michael answered honestly. "But I'm here."

Relief washed over Ryaz's features. He took Michael's hand, tugging him toward the bedroom. "I need to talk to you. I've been thinking—planning."

The bedroom was dimly lit, the same room where hours earlier Michael's world had shattered. Ryaz closed the door behind them, leaning against it for a moment as if gathering strength. His skin still held that subtle luminescence, the glow of fertility that had started this nightmare.

"As you know, there is talk of marriage between me and Kovax," Ryaz began, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. He patted the space beside him, but Michael remained standing, unable to trust himself that close. "My father and King Thaleus have been in negotiations all evening. The final decision will take days to fully negotiate."

"I know," Michael said flatly. Pharraseus's words echoed in his mind: …while they may agree on the surface just to secure a marriage, the dragons will never allow such an arrangement to remain.

"But I've found a solution," Ryaz continued, his voice gaining strength, a diplomat's confidence. "The Fae have practiced polyamory for millennia. It's an ‘established tradition’, accepted at every level of society—even encouraged in political marriages."

Michael's heart stuttered. Exactly as Pharraseus had predicted.

"I've convinced my father to make it a non-negotiable term of the marriage contract," Ryaz pressed on, eyes bright with desperate hope. "You would remain as my true partner. The marriage to Kovax would be political only, an arrangement to legitimize the child and secure peace."

Michael's fingers brushed against the vial in his pocket. Without the child, there is no need for marriage.

"The dragons won't accept that," he said quietly. "They're monogamous. Possessive."

"They will if they want this alliance badly enough," Ryaz countered, rising to pace the room. "And they do, Michael. The Silver River trade routes alone are worth compromising their traditions. My father agrees."

Michael felt a jolt fill him again. Pharraseus had said the river would be the driving force for this marriage to the Fae.

"And what about Kovax?" Michael asked, the question bitter on his tongue. "Have you asked what he thinks of sharing his husband?"

Ryaz stopped pacing, his expression faltering. "He feels only guilt toward me, Michael. Not love, not desire. How could he object?"

"Because he's a dragon," Michael said simply. "Whatever he feels or doesn't feel for you, you'll be his by their laws. His mate. His..." The word stuck in his throat. "His property."

"No," Ryaz shook his head vehemently. "The contract will be explicit. I've already drafted the language. My father is presenting it to King Thaleus tomorrow night. It will be binding, magically enforced."

The hope in Ryaz's voice was painful to hear. Michael turned away. Pharraseus had been right about everything so far. Why would he be wrong about this?

"And if they agree now, only to find ways around it later?" Michael asked softly. "Contracts can be broken. Magic can be countered."

"Do you think I haven't considered that?" Ryaz came up behind him, not quite touching. "I'm not naive, Michael. I know the risks. But this is our only chance to salvage something from this nightmare."

Michael closed his eyes, feeling the weight of the vial against his leg. One decision. One simple act. A few drops in Ryaz's tea over the coming months, and everything could return to how it was. No forced marriage. No dragon-fae child. No sharing the person he loved with someone else.

Just the two of them, as they'd planned.

"Michael?" Ryaz's voice was small now, uncertain. "Please say something."

Michael turned to face him, taking in the fragile hope in those lilac eyes. The man he loved stood before him, offering a compromise that felt like surrender. A future where Michael would always be secondary, always watching from the shadows as Ryaz fulfilled his obligations to another.

His fingers closed around the vial in his pocket.

"I need to think," he said, the words scraping his throat raw. "This is... a lot to process."

"Of course," Ryaz stepped closer, taking Michael's hands in his. "Take all the time you need. But know that I'm fighting for us, Michael. With everything I have."

The exact words Pharraseus had predicted.

Michael pulled Ryaz into an embrace, hiding his face in copper hair that smelled of sunshine and magic. His thumb traced the outline of the vial through the fabric of his pocket as Ryaz clung to him, trusting and vulnerable.

One decision. A few drops. Freedom.

"I love you," Michael whispered, and meant it with every fiber of his being. That was what made this choice so impossible—and so necessary.

"I love you too," Ryaz murmured against his chest.

Michael held him tighter, feeling the subtle warmth where Ryaz's abdomen pressed against him—where that tiny spark of unwanted life grew stronger each day.

The vial felt colder now, its presence an insistent reminder of the choice before him. Michael closed his eyes, thinking of the future Pharraseus had painted: Ryaz, heartbroken but free. The two of them, together without compromise or sharing.

A clean slate.

His decision crystallized in that moment, hardening like amber around the truth he couldn't escape. For their love to survive, the child could not.

---

Later that night, Michael stood at the bathroom sink, fingers trembling as he uncorked the crystal vial. The liquid inside caught the light, innocuous and clear as water.

"For us," he whispered to himself. "For our future."

He tipped the vial, watching a single drop fall into the glass of water he'd prepared for Ryaz. The liquid rippled slightly, then stilled, leaving no trace of the poison now lurking within. Just as Pharraseus had promised—tasteless, odorless, undetectable.

Michael hesitated, his conscience screaming in protest. Was he really capable of this? Of ending a life before it had truly begun? Of betraying Ryaz's trust so completely?

He thought of the alternative—watching Ryaz marry Kovax, bearing the dragon's child, bound forever to a political union while Michael remained on the periphery of their lives. The dragons would find a way to remove him eventually, just as Pharraseus had warned. This was their only chance at the future they'd planned.

With renewed resolve, Michael carried the glass into the bedroom where Ryaz sat propped against the pillows.

"Here," Michael offered the water, his voice steadier than he felt. "You should stay hydrated."

Ryaz smiled up at him, lilac eyes trusting and warm. "Thank you." His fingers brushed Michael's as he took the glass, sending a jolt of guilt through Michael's chest.

Michael watched, heart hammering, as Ryaz raised the glass to his lips and drank deeply, his adam's apple bobbing with each swallow until the glass was empty.

"Come to bed," Ryaz murmured, setting the glass aside and holding out his hand. "It's been the longest day of my life, and all I want is to feel you next to me."

Michael slipped under the covers, gathering Ryaz against his chest, spooning him from behind. He pressed his face into the copper hair, breathing in the sweet scent that was uniquely Ryaz, now mingled with something richer, headier—the fertility pheromones still coursing through his system.

"I love you," Michael whispered, the words both truth and apology.

"Love you too," Ryaz mumbled, already drifting toward sleep. Within minutes, Ryaz's breathing deepened and slowed, his body growing heavier against Michael's chest. Completely unconscious, vulnerable and trusting in Michael's arms.

Michael stared at the ceiling, trying to convince himself he'd made the right choice. For them. For their future. But the weight of what he'd done pressed against his chest, making it hard to breathe.

---

Across the hotel, in the dragons' suite, a similar sleeplessness plagued the Fyrestorm royals. King Thaleus paced the length of their opulent suite, his massive frame casting long shadows across the walls. The silence between father and son stretched taut as a bowstring. Kovax sat hunched in a chair by the window, watching his father with wary eyes, waiting for the explosion he felt certain would come.

"I should be dead already," Kovax finally said, his voice hollow in the quiet room. "By our laws, by our traditions, I should not live to see another dawn."

Thaleus stopped his pacing. A muscle jumped in his jaw as he turned to face his son. "Is that what you think I want? Your death?"

"It's what I deserve," Kovax replied, unable to meet his father's gaze. His scales felt dull against his skin, the usual vibrant crimson faded to rust. "What I did was unforgivable."

Thaleus approached slowly, his footfalls heavy against the marble floor. He lowered himself into the chair opposite Kovax, the furniture creaking under his weight.

"Many dragons in your position would take their own lives," Thaleus said, his voice unusually soft. "It is our way to atone for the gravest transgressions. Honor through final sacrifice."

Kovax nodded, a bitter taste filling his mouth. "I've considered it. I still am."

"And what of the child?" Thaleus asked.

The question hung in the air between them. Kovax felt the weight of it settle on his shoulders, another burden atop the mountain of guilt he already carried.

"I don't know what to do, Father," he admitted, the words scraping his throat raw. "By all rights, I should forfeit my life for what I've done. But the child..."

"If you die," Thaleus said slowly, measuring each word, "you leave Prince Ryaz alone to carry this burden. A Fae raising a dragon-blooded child." He shook his head. "How would he guide the little one through their first shed? How would he explain the burning in their blood when the fire builds? Who would teach them to control their wings when they sprout from tender shoulders?"

Kovax hadn't considered these things. The child would be half-dragon, with all the complexities that entailed. Scales and horns and fire. Transformations that ripped through bone and muscle. Ancient instincts that could overwhelm reason without proper guidance.

"And the political implications," Thaleus continued, rubbing a hand over his face. "If you die, there can be no marriage. No alliance. The child becomes a living reminder of violence rather than a symbol of unity."

"You want me to marry him," Kovax said flatly, not a question.

"I want peace between our peoples," Thaleus corrected. "This child... it complicates everything. But it also offers an opportunity we've never had before. Every Accord Renewal we’ve petitioned for access to the ocean through the fae river, and every petition has been denied. But a union, with a child invloved, could earn us some favour in that petition. Other resources and shared scientific or spiritual advances would become easier to grasp."

“You wish to use me and an unborn child to gain political power?” Kovax asked, his stomach churning at the thought.

“I don’t mean it like that son, but it would be an advantage to think on.”

Kovax turned to stare out the window at the glittering lights of Central Concordia. A city built on compromise, on different races finding ways to coexist. Could he and Ryaz find that same balance? Could something good come from something so terrible?

"He has someone," Kovax said quietly. "The hybrid. They were to be married."

Thaleus's expression darkened. "Yes. This presents a problem."

"For us, maybe," Kovax said, surprising himself with the bitterness in his voice. "Not for him. Why should he give up someone he loves for someone who..." He couldn't finish the sentence, the memory of Ryaz's tear-streaked face still fresh in his mind.

"Dragons mate for life," Thaleus reminded him, his tone heavy with tradition. "One mate, one bond, until death. This is our way."

"But this isn't a normal mating," Kovax argued. "This is politics. Diplomacy."

"Even so," Thaleus said, "the Council will never accept a shared mate. It goes against everything we hold sacred."

Kovax felt a flash of anger cut through his guilt. "And what I did to him doesn't? Forcing yourself on another is the greatest violation of our laws, yet here we sit, discussing marriage instead of my execution."

Thaleus's eyes flashed dangerously, amber darkening to molten gold. "Watch your tone, son."

"I'm merely pointing out the hypocrisy," Kovax said, not backing down. "We're willing to bend our most sacred laws for political gain, but not to grant him this small mercy? After what I did to him?"

Thaleus was quiet for a long moment, the only sound in the room the distant hum of the city and the occasional crackle of embers in their breath as they exhaled. Kovax waited, watching his father's face as the older dragon wrestled with concepts foreign to their kind.

"I consider myself... progressive," Thaleus finally said, the word awkward in his mouth. "More open to new ideas than most of our kind. But this—a shared mate, a prince with two partners—it will be difficult for our people to accept."

"More difficult than war?" Kovax asked quietly.

Thaleus sighed, a puff of smoke escaping his nostrils. "No. Nothing is more difficult than war." He rose from his chair, moving to the window to stand beside his son. "I will try, Kovax. I will argue for this compromise before the Council. But I cannot promise success."

Kovax nodded, a weight lifting slightly from his chest. Not forgiveness—he didn't deserve that—but perhaps a path forward that caused less pain than the alternatives.

"Thank you, Father."

Thaleus placed a heavy hand on his son's shoulder. "Rest now. Tomorrow will bring its own battles."

As his father retreated to his own chambers, Kovax remained by the window, watching the city sleep beneath him. Somewhere in this same building, Ryaz lay beside his lover, carrying Kovax's child within him. The thought should have filled him with pride—continuing the bloodline was sacred to dragons—but instead, he felt only shame and a desperate wish that things could be different.