The elevator swayed beneath them, or perhaps it was Ryaz who swayed. Michael's arm shot out, steadying him as another wave of dizziness crashed over him like a relentless tide.

"That's it," Michael declared, his voice tight with concern. "You're taking a nap when we get to the room."

Ryaz opened his mouth to protest but found himself leaning more heavily against Michael's solid frame. "I'm fine," he insisted, the words slurring slightly despite his best efforts.

Michael's jaw tightened. "You nearly collapsed. Again." His fingers pressed more firmly into Ryaz's arm, guiding him as the elevator doors slid open. "Whatever is happening, you need rest."

The walk from the elevator through their private lounge and to their shared bedroom felt like a marathon. Ryaz's legs moved as if weighted with stone, each step requiring concentration he couldn't seem to muster. What was happening to him? The fertility cycle had never affected a fae this way before—not in any of the texts he'd studied, not in any of the stories passed down through generations.

Michael opened their door and led him straight to the bed, gently pushing him to sit on the edge of the mattress. Ryaz sank down gratefully, the room tilting alarmingly around him.

"I don't understand," he murmured as Michael knelt to remove his shoes. "I shouldn't be this weak."

"It's the pregnancy," Michael said, his voice carefully neutral. "Your body is adjusting." He helped Ryaz lie back against the pillows, tucking a blanket around him. "Sleep now."

Ryaz wanted to argue, to insist they needed to prepare for the evening's formal banquet, but his eyelids felt impossibly heavy. The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was Michael's face, etched with an emotion he couldn't quite identify.

Michael stood beside the bed, watching as Ryaz's breathing deepened into the rhythm of sleep. The copper strands of his hair spread across the pillow like spilled fire, his skin still bearing that ethereal glow of fertility beneath the pallor of exhaustion.

He reached out, stroking Ryaz's cheek with the back of his fingers. How he loved this face—the high cheekbones, the slightly pointed ears, the delicate curve of his lips. He would do anything for this man. Anything to save him.

His gaze dropped lower, to where Ryaz's hand rested protectively over his abdomen. An evil resided there, a parasite masquerading as a child. Michael could see it now, with perfect clarity—the way it drained Ryaz's strength, sucked the vitality from him day by day. The frequent dizzy spells, the exhaustion, the pallor beneath his luminescence—all signs that the parasite was killing him from within.

Michael's fingers curled into a fist at his side. Pharraseus had assured him the potion would cause no harm beyond what the pregnancy itself inflicted, but seeing Ryaz like this—so weak, so vulnerable—made doubt gnaw at his resolve.

No. He shook his head firmly. It wasn't the potion causing this. It was the abomination growing inside him. 

He was helping Ryaz, saving him from his own misguided sense of duty. Ryaz had always been too noble for his own good, too willing to sacrifice himself for others. This time, Michael would be the one to make the difficult choice.

Michael's hand moved to his pocket, fingers closing around the crystal vial nestled there. The weight of it was reassuring, a talisman of hope for their future. Just a few more months of careful dosing—one at dawn, one at lunch, one before bed—and nature would take its course. The spawn would wither, fade, disappear as if it had never been. Ryaz would grieve, but Michael would be there to comfort him, to help him see that it was for the best.

And then they would have their life back. The life they had planned together, before this nightmare began.

He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Ryaz's forehead, inhaling the sweet scent that still clung to his skin. Tonight, before the formal banquet, he would add a few more drops to Ryaz's pre-dinner drink. A toast to their future—their real future, the one Michael was fighting to preserve.

"I love you," he whispered against Ryaz's temple. "I'll save you from this. I promise."

Meanwhile, Kovax found himself wandering the lower levels of the hotel, his mind a tempest of conflicting emotions. The encounter with Ryaz in the bazaar had left him unsettled in ways he couldn't articulate. That strange pull, the lightness in his chest, the inexplicable concern—none of it made sense.

He needed guidance. Someone who might understand these unfamiliar sensations.

The hotel bar was dimly lit, the afternoon crowd sparse. Kovax scanned the room and spotted his father in a secluded booth in the far corner. King Thaleus sat alone, massive shoulders hunched over a tumbler of amber liquid, his expression dark as storm clouds.

Kovax approached cautiously. His father's moods were legendary among their people—volcanic eruptions of temper followed by periods of brooding silence. This appeared to be the latter.

"What's causing your thunderstorm, Father?" Kovax asked, sliding onto the bench opposite him.

Thaleus looked up, his amber eyes narrowing slightly before he released a heavy sigh that sent wisps of smoke curling from his nostrils. "Politics. Diplomacy. The endless dance of words that accomplishes nothing."

He took a long swallow of his drink before continuing. "I've been thinking about how to convince our council to accept Ryaz's... arrangement. The consort. Having him remain in the picture after your marriage."

Kovax winced. "We haven't even agreed to this marriage yet, Father. And we may not. I told you I would respect whatever decision Ryaz makes."

"Noble," Thaleus grunted, "but impractical. The child changes everything."

"Maybe." Kovax traced a pattern in the condensation on the table, gathering his courage. "Father, I need to ask you something."

Thaleus raised an eyebrow, waiting.

"Today, in the bazaar, I... I felt something strange when I was with Prince Ryaz." The words came haltingly, each one an effort. "A tightness in my chest. I couldn't stop looking at him. It felt like I had his presence on a radar. Still do." He looked up, meeting his father's gaze directly. "Is this... is this some kind of paternal instinct awakening?"

Thaleus went very still, his massive frame frozen in a moment of what appeared to be genuine shock. He set his glass down carefully, as if afraid it might shatter in his grip.

"No," he said finally, his voice unusually soft. "That's not paternal instinct, son. That sounds like you're developing deeper feelings for the Fae prince."

"I was afraid you'd day that." Kovax sighed. "I noticed it the day we arrived. I barely know him but in that foyer, suddenly he's all I can think about. This doesnt make sense."

"Feelings don't always follow logical paths," Thaleus said, studying his son's face with newfound intensity.

"But why now?" Kovax pressed, frustration bleeding into his voice. "Is it just the Fae pheramones, or...?"

Thaleus was quiet for a long moment, his expression carefully neutral. "Perhaps. The Fae fertility cycle is not well documented among our people. There could be... aspects we're unfamiliar with."

Something in his father's tone suggested he wasn't sharing everything he knew, but Kovax was too confused to press further.

"I need to research this more thoroughly before I can give you answers," Thaleus continued. "These feelings you're experiencing—they may be temporary. Or they may be something else entirely."

He pushed his glass toward Kovax. "Have a drink. It might settle your nerves."

Kovax shook his head firmly. "No. My last drinking session is what got me into this mess in the first place." He stood, suddenly needing to be elsewhere. "I should go get ready for the banquet tonight."

Thaleus nodded, his expression still thoughtful. "We'll speak more on this later."

As Kovax walked back to his suite, his thoughts drifted unbidden to Ryaz again. What would the Fae prince wear to tonight's formal banquet? Something in those shimmering silvers and blues that complemented his copper hair? Would the consort be there all night? Would there be an opportunity to speak with Ryaz alone, to continue the surprisingly civil conversation they'd begun at the petition review?

His heart thumped painfully at the thought, and Kovax pressed a hand to his chest, confused by his body's betrayal. What was happening to him? These feelings made no sense. They couldn't be real—not for a Fae, and certainly not for Ryaz specifically.

Yet as he entered his suite and began preparing for the evening ahead, Kovax couldn't deny the anticipation building within him. The banquet would put them in the same room for hours. Perhaps there would be a moment, just one moment, when he could speak to Ryaz without the weight of politics and ceremony between them.

Just the thought made his heart race again. Kovax cursed under his breath as he shrugged out of his formal jacket and headed for the shower. Whatever this strange affliction was, he needed to get it under control before tonight. The last thing he needed was to make a fool of himself in front of the entire diplomatic corps.

But as the hot water cascaded over his scales, Kovax found himself wondering again what color Ryaz's eyes would be in the candlelight of the banquet hall. The thought lingered, persistent and strangely comforting, as he prepared for the evening ahead.

Back in the bar, Thaleus stared into his glass long after Kovax had gone, the amber liquid reflecting the dim lights like tiny flames. The symptoms his son had described stirred memories he'd buried deep—memories of another time, another dragon who had spoken those exact same words.

Tightness in the chest. Inability to look away. His presence on a radar.

His hand tightened around the glass until the crystal creaked in protest. Not for a thousand years had a fated matebond been felt by the dragons, and it was rarer still to happen with an outside race. The last recorded case had been during the Second Age, when a dragon noble had bonded with a sylph princess. Both their races had shunned them, forcing them into exile where they eventually perished together.

If this was what his son was experiencing, the consequences would be dire beyond measure.

Thaleus signaled the bartender for another drink, his throat suddenly parched. A fated matebond was not like the arranged pairings dragons typically engaged in. It was primal, uncontrollable—a biological imperative so powerful it rewrote the very essence of a dragon's being. And if left unanswered, it would result in the dragon's death.

He had witnessed it himself.

The memories flooded back with painful clarity. During a skirmish with a rogue dragon pack near the northern borders, his closest friend Pyrox had suddenly clutched his chest, dropping to his knees in the middle of battle. His scales had darkened to midnight black, his eyes glowing with an inner fire as he stared at his lover who had accompanied them on the patrol. The fated matebond had awakened in him without warning, striking like lightning from a clear sky.

Before Pyrox could even speak the sacred words of bonding, the rogue dragons had struck, cutting down his lover where she stood. The pain of the unanswered call had driven Pyrox to madness within hours. He had raged against the heavens, desperate to either bring back his love or join her in the ever after. In the end, he had flown into the heart of an active volcano, seeking oblivion in its molten heart.

Thaleus drained his glass in one swallow, the liquor burning a path down his throat.

If Kovax had developed a fated matebond with the Fae prince, the situation was catastrophic. Could Fae even feel a matebond? Could they answer it? They were polyamorous by nature—how would that affect a fated matebond that demanded exclusivity?

He needed answers, and quickly.

Thaleus rose from his seat, tossing several gold coins onto the table. The bartender nodded in thanks, but Thaleus barely noticed as he strode toward the hotel's service entrance. In the alley behind the kitchen, he whistled—a low, three-note call that vibrated the air with subtle magic.

A small drake—no larger than a house cat—materialized in a puff of smoke, its scales iridescent in the dim light. The messenger drake bowed its serpentine neck, awaiting instructions.

"Two messages," Thaleus commanded, his voice rough with urgency. "First to Lady Fyretouch, my royal spiritualist. Second to Lord Ashscale, my royal healer. Tell them both to come to the human realm immediately. Life or death emergency. They are to bring all texts regarding fated matebonds, particularly any involving non-dragon species."

The drake chirped acknowledgment, its small claws scratching against the pavement as it awaited the physical messages.

Thaleus withdrew a small leather pouch from his inner pocket, extracting two sheets of parchment and a stylus. His handwriting was sharp and urgent as he detailed his suspicions and the symptoms Kovax had described. He sealed each message with a drop of blood-infused wax, the magic binding the contents against prying eyes.

"Have them here before the end of tonight," he instructed, handing the scrolls to the drake. "No delays. No excuses."

The drake chirped once more, then vanished in another puff of smoke, the messages clutched safely in its claws.

Thaleus leaned against the alley wall, suddenly feeling every one of his five thousand years. If his suspicions were correct, they had precious little time. Every hour would make it harder for Kovax to resist the bond's pull, and possibly for the Fae heir too, if he could feel it at all. And with a child in the Fae's belly, the complications multiplied exponentially.

A fated matebond with an unborn child involved was unprecedented. Would the bond extend to the child? Would the Fae's body reject the pregnancy if the bond went unanswered? Would the strain kill both parent and child?

Too many questions, too few answers.

Thaleus pushed himself away from the wall, determination hardening his features. He would attend tonight's banquet as planned, keep a close eye on his son, and on Prince Ryaz, and wait for his advisors to arrive. Until then, he would say nothing to Kovax about his suspicions. No sense in adding to the boy's confusion before they knew for certain what they were dealing with.

As he made his way back through the hotel, Thaleus found himself praying to ancestors long turned to ash. If this truly was a fated matebond, they would need all the help they could get to navigate the treacherous waters ahead.

For a fated bond was both blessing and curse—the deepest connection possible between two souls, but also the most dangerous. It bound not just bodies but destinies, intertwining them so completely that one could not exist without the other.

And if the Fae prince rejected that bond, whether through inability or unwillingness, Kovax would not survive.