The Grand Ballroom of the Concordia Hotel erupted in a symphony of aromas as the banquet began—a thousand delicacies from every corner of the world competing for attention. Steaming platters of sylph cloud bread floated alongside dragon-fired steaks so rare they practically pulsed. Crystallized selkie kelp glittered next to human comfort foods reimagined with magical flair.

Kovax noticed none of it.

There was only one scent in the room for him—sweet nectarine and floral magic, cutting through everything else like a blade through silk. His scales tightened against his skin as he scanned the crowded ballroom, searching for its source with an intensity that surprised even him.

Then he saw him.

Ryaz stood near the head table, copper hair braided intricately at the sides while the top remained in that small mohawk that somehow managed to look both rebellious and regal. Even from across the vast room, Kovax could see the subtle luminescence of his skin—the fertility cycle still in full effect, giving him an ethereal glow that made the air catch in Kovax's lungs.

What he hadn't expected was his body's response. Pain lanced through his chest, sharp and insistent, as if invisible hooks had latched onto his ribs and were pulling him toward the Fae prince. The sensation was so intense that Kovax actually staggered, one hand flying to his sternum as he struggled to breathe through it.

"Something wrong with the food?" a voice asked beside him.

Kovax straightened immediately, forcing his expression into something resembling neutrality as his father approached. King Thaleus's massive frame blocked his view of Ryaz, which somehow made the pain worse.

"No," Kovax managed, his voice rougher than he intended. "Just... indigestion."

His father's amber eyes narrowed slightly, scales shifting along his jawline in what Kovax recognized as concern. For a moment, it seemed Thaleus might press the issue, but he merely nodded and placed a heavy hand on Kovax's shoulder.

"The human ambassador is looking for you," Thaleus said, gesturing toward a cluster of diplomats near the dance floor. "Something about trade routes through the northern passes."

Kovax nodded, grateful for the distraction. "I'll speak with him."

As his father moved away to greet a centaur dignitary, Kovax forced himself to walk in the opposite direction from Ryaz. The pain in his chest dulled slightly with each step, though it never fully disappeared—a persistent ache that throbbed in time with his heartbeat.

The next two hours passed in a blur of diplomatic small talk and forced smiles. Kovax found himself constantly aware of Ryaz's location in the room, as if some internal compass had been calibrated to the Fae prince's presence. He watched from the corner of his eye as Ryaz danced with Michael, their bodies moving in perfect synchronicity, evidence of a relationship built on years of intimacy. The sight made something twist painfully in Kovax's gut.

"Prince Kovax," a melodious voice interrupted his thoughts. "Would you honor us with a dance? The human delegation would be delighted."

Kovax turned to find Ambassador Elena smiling up at him, her hand extended in invitation. Refusing would be a diplomatic slight he couldn't afford, not with the Accords renewal hanging in the balance.

"Of course," he said, accepting her hand with a practiced bow.

The orchestra had shifted to a traditional waltz, the kind played at formal gatherings across all realms. As Kovax led the ambassador onto the dance floor, he caught a glimpse of movement at the edge of his vision—Ryaz, bowing to a sylph delegate as Michael stepped away, disappearing into the crowd.

The dance began, and Kovax moved mechanically through the steps, his attention divided. One rotation. Two. The ambassador was saying something about mineral rights in the mountains, but her words faded to background noise as Kovax realized they were moving closer to where Ryaz now danced with the sylph.

Three rotations. Four. The distance between them narrowed with each turn of the waltz.

Five rotations, and suddenly there was a tap on his shoulder.

"Traditional partner exchange," the sylph delegate announced with a tinkling laugh, already extending his hand toward Ambassador Elena.

Before Kovax could protest, the ambassador had been whisked away, and Ryaz stood before him, those lilac eyes wide with surprise and something else—something that made Kovax's heart stutter in his chest.

"Prince Kovax," Ryaz said, his voice carefully neutral despite the flush spreading across his cheeks.

"Prince Ryaz," Kovax replied, extending his hand automatically.

When their fingers touched, electricity shot up Kovax's arm. The ache in his chest transformed into something molten and urgent, a need so profound it stole his breath. From Ryaz's sharp intake of air, he wasn't the only one who felt it.

They fell into step together, bodies finding a rhythm that seemed impossibly natural. Kovax's hand at Ryaz's waist burned through the silk of the Fae prince's formal robes. He could feel Ryaz's pulse racing beneath his fingertips where they clasped hands, matching the frantic beat of his own heart.

"Are you well?" Ryaz asked, his voice strained. "You seem... flushed."

"As do you," Kovax managed, finding it difficult to form coherent thoughts with Ryaz so close. The sweet scent of him was overwhelming now, clouding Kovax's mind like potent incense.

Ryaz's eyes had darkened, the green flecks more prominent than before. A sheen of perspiration glistened on his forehead, and his breathing had quickened noticeably. The sight of him—flushed, breathing hard, sweat-dampened—triggered a flash of memory so vivid that Kovax nearly missed a step.

Ryaz beneath him in that marble bathroom, copper hair plastered to his temples, lilac eyes wide with fear and confusion as he pleaded for Kovax to stop. The memory crashed through him like a physical blow, shame and self-loathing following in its wake.

"I need air," Kovax said abruptly, releasing Ryaz and stepping back so quickly he bumped into another dancing couple.

He didn't wait for a response, didn't look back to see Ryaz's reaction. He simply turned and pushed his way through the crowd, ignoring the curious stares and whispers that followed him. His lungs felt too tight, his scales too hot against his skin.

The balcony doors provided blessed escape. Cool night air hit his face as he stumbled outside, gulping it down in desperate breaths that did nothing to ease the burning in his chest. The pain was getting worse, a crushing pressure that made his knees buckle.

Kovax gripped the stone balustrade, knuckles white with effort as he fought to remain standing. What was happening to him? Was he ill? Cursed? Had someone poisoned him again?

The pressure increased until he couldn't stay upright. He sank to his knees, one hand clutched to his chest where his heart hammered against his ribs like a caged animal fighting for release.

"Kovax?"

The voice came from behind him, soft with concern. Ryaz. Of course it was Ryaz. The pain eased fractionally at his presence, just enough for Kovax to turn his head.

Ryaz stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the golden light from the ballroom. He looked ethereal and impossibly beautiful, but also clearly unwell—his skin too pale beneath its glow, his posture unsteady as he moved toward Kovax.

"What's wrong?" Ryaz asked, dropping to his knees beside him. "Are you hurt? What do you need?"

Kovax could see the genuine panic in his eyes, feel the tremor in the hands that reached for him. Ryaz was sweating too, his breathing labored as if he'd run miles instead of simply following Kovax to the balcony.

The question hung between them—What do you need?—and Kovax found himself answering with a single, damning word:

"You."

He didn't remember moving. One moment they were kneeling apart, the next his lips were on Ryaz's, hands cupping that beautiful face as he kissed him with all the desperate need that had been building inside him all evening.

Ryaz went completely still, his body rigid with shock. For one terrible moment, Kovax thought he'd made the worst mistake of his life—second only to what had happened in that bathroom. Then, with a small sound that might have been surrender or relief, Ryaz melted against him.

The Fae prince's lips parted beneath his, hands coming up to clutch at Kovax's shirt with surprising strength. The kiss deepened, turned hungry and wild, both of them panting as if they couldn't get enough air.

The pain in Kovax's chest vanished completely, replaced by a warmth that spread through his entire body. This felt right in a way nothing had ever felt right before, as if some missing piece had finally clicked into place.

Reality crashed back when Ryaz made a small sound—not of pleasure but of confusion. Kovax pulled back abruptly, horror dawning as he realized what he'd done.

"I'm sorry," he gasped, scrambling backward. "Gods, I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me. I would never—I didn't mean to—"

Ryaz stared at him, fingers pressed to his lips as if he could still feel Kovax's kiss there. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated, expression caught between shock and something that looked disturbingly like longing.

"Why did I..." Ryaz whispered, more to himself than to Kovax. "I shouldn't have... I don't understand why I..."

"Ryaz, please forgive me," Kovax begged, self-loathing thick in his throat. "I swear I didn't intend—"

"Kovax."

The deep voice from the doorway made them both jump. King Thaleus stood there, his massive frame blocking the light from the ballroom, expression unreadable in the shadows.

Before either prince could speak, Ryaz swayed violently, his already pale face draining of what little color remained. His eyes rolled back, lids fluttering as he pitched forward.

Kovax lunged, catching him before he hit the stone floor. Ryaz's body was limp in his arms, alarmingly hot to the touch, his breathing shallow and rapid.

Thaleus moved with surprising speed for someone so large, crossing the balcony in two strides. Without a word, he pulled Kovax along behind him, through a servants hall where no one would see them leave.

"Not a word," Thaleus growled as he navigated the winding halls. "Not to anyone."

Kovax followed his father, heart pounding with fear as they hurried through back corridors and service elevators. Ryaz looked so small in his arms, so vulnerable. What had happened? Was it Kovax's fault? Had his unwanted advances somehow harmed the Fae prince?

They reached the dragon delegation's suite in minutes that felt like hours. The door swung open before Thaleus could even reach for it, revealing two figures waiting inside—a woman with scales the color of burnished copper and a man whose eyes shimmered with ancient wisdom.

"Lady Fyretouch, Lord Ashscale," Thaleus acknowledged. Kovax followed, carrying Ryaz to the bedroom. "Prepare yourselves. We have an emergency."

Kovax laid Ryaz gently on the massive bed. The Fae prince looked impossibly small against the crimson sheets, his copper hair spread like flames across the pillow. His skin burned with unnatural heat, the glow beneath it pulsing erratically.

"Examine him," Thaleus commanded, stepping back to allow the healer and spiritualist access. "Tell me what's happening."

Lord Ashscale moved forward first, his weathered hands hovering above Ryaz's form. "The life force is unstable," he murmured, brow furrowed in concentration. "There's a powerful drain occurring."

Lady Fyretouch placed her palm directly on Ryaz's forehead, her copper scales darkening as she closed her eyes. "A spiritual bond is forming," she whispered. "But it's competing with something else. Something hungry."

Kovax's heart hammered against his ribs. "Is he dying?" The words escaped before he could stop them, raw with a fear he didn't understand.

Neither advisor answered immediately, both focused on their examination. The silence stretched, broken only by Ryaz's labored breathing.

"Doval," Thaleus said suddenly, turning to one of the guards who had followed them. "Go to Emperor Ru'unan. Tell him his son needs him urgently. Bring only the Emperor—not the consort. Be discreet."

The guard bowed and departed immediately.

This was going to be difficult to explain.