Not all meetings were in the open air of the throne room. This one was one of them. The air thickened with electric tension in the privacy of an office with walls lines with books and curtains firmly drawn shut. Mira sat across from King <mark>Faliam</mark> and Queen <mark>Dynara</mark>, her posture poised yet rigid. Traces of her gold ceremonial makeup still highlighted her eyes and stained her fingertips. The weight of her new title pressed against her, but the conversation at hand was heavier than her crown. Across from her, the ruling pair of Edithir regarded her with cautious eyes, their expressions betraying their internal deliberations.


    The bond between her and Haros could no longer be ignored, and in the months that had run by too quickly, it was but a matter of time before it was known to everyone. The coronation, though, had sealed her fate in <mark>Styxis</mark>, but it changed nothing about how bound she was, irrevocably to the prince—a fact that neither court could afford to mishandle. The wrong eyes, the wrong tone on the matter would spark a war they wouldn’t survive, even as the highest thrones.


    “Due to the ceremonies and traditions to follow,” Mira began, her voice measured, “I cannot return to school for some time. Arrangements are in place, of course, for private tutoring, but such obligations here dictate my stay. However, Haros has shown remarkable control over the Legacy tonight, especially now in my presence compared to when I’d seen him. It would be best if he returned ahead of me; then I will join him as soon as I am able, and in our free time, I will oversee his training as expected in partnerships.”


    King <mark>Faliam</mark> exhaled slowly, exchanging a glance with his wife. “And what about the bond? It is not something that we can hide forever.” He turned an eye to the queen his opposite. “It’s already conspicuous that the time you’ve spent with our son far exceeds what would have been offered to any other inherent. How could it in any other way be explained besides favoritism of the crown?”


    “Perhaps I am not the queen of reigns past. Besides, we do not need forever,” Mira countered. “We need a reasonable explanation to shift attention and keep eyes where we need them—a story that keeps suspicion at bay while allowing Haros to continue as planned.”


    <mark>Dynara</mark> folded her hands in thought. “What do you propose?”


    Mira’s expression remained firmly unreadable. “We use a stand-in. A priestess, someone untrained, someone who can play the part convincingly. That will give Edithir a reason to express concern and allow me to oversee Haros and his ‘partner’ without drawing unwanted attention. A trustworthy classmate might well suffice.”


    <mark>Dynara</mark> hummed in thought, a slow smile curling her lips. “A clever misdirection. But it may not be enough. A temporary fix to greater ruinous fracture to tradition.”


    “Then we use propaganda,” she said simply. “Spread the word that something went wrong with Haros. Play to his reputation, make it seem as though the incident was a result of his own instability. It will generate sympathy and lessen scrutiny. Long-term observations would come as a natural conclusion. People will ask fewer questions if they believe Edithir is struggling to contain the aftermath of his supposed failure and is forced to lean upon the guidance and aid of <mark>Styxin</mark> as all dragon lines have since first bestowed.”


    Haros leaned back in his chair, unimpressed. “And what about Edithir? If my control is questioned, our standing weakens.”


    Mira turned to him, her lips parting to say or ask something, but the words didn’t come soon enough.


    “We need a long-term answer, your Majesty.” His eyes flitted over her, tracing her face and neck, then down to her chest and back again. The faintest hint of a smirk rose in the corner of his lips. “I have a proposal—”


    “We will do what was must to maintain our position,” the king interrupted. <mark>Faliam</mark> met <mark>Haros’s</mark> gaze evenly. “If Edithir takes the fall, it will be short, and we will recover. We announce that my health was declining more than we made public before, that I pressured you, that I chose the wrong partner for you because you were too young, you weren’t ready, and that the inheritance went awry as a result. It places the blame squarely on my shoulders and shifts the focus away from the truth. I have held a successful reign, more prosperous than my father, and to admit that I put the well-being of all the kingdom ahead of you, ashamed of my faltering, they will be fast to forgive. People always are with things that look altruistic enough.”


    “You’ll lie to them?” <mark>Haros’s</mark> eyes narrowed. He shook his head and turned to Mira. “How many lies do you think you can tell before the truth slips out? Wouldn’t it be easier if I married you? At least then when you are inevitable fucked, it’ll at least be enjoyable.”


    “Haros!” <mark>Dynara</mark> snapped.


    Haros smirked but said nothing more as he eased back in his seat.


    Mira studied him, trying to decide if he was serious or if this was another burst of rebellion he’d become famous for—lashing out and introducing some wicked, lewd <mark>absurdism</mark> that was a coin toss away from becoming reality. “Deception, concealment, is necessary for the safety of a kingdom at times and can require a great deal of commitment,” she assured. “And I am committed to whatever lengths are necessary for my people and yours. The alternative is far worse.”


    Haros licked his lips, shifting excitedly. “Would you marry me to protect our people?”


    She looked to him again, her eyebrows dipping for a moment, as if asking if he was serious, but the scent of wine drifting off him and the way he chuckled, told her that was anything but serious. It was a ploy to get the meeting to end sooner. Mira turned to <mark>Faliam</mark>, raising her chin. “We will employ our ruse and assess its progress by the end of the school year and plan for the months between then and next school year.”


    Silence stretched between them, tense yet filled with understanding. Finally, Haros exhaled sharply and nodded. “Fine. We’ll do it your way, but it won’t be half as exciting.”


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    “The point isn’t your amusement,” <mark>Faliam</mark> growled at his son, and in return was met with a roll of his eyes. It wasn’t his fault for his attitude. He knew that. The Legacy had a way of amplifying its holder’s traits and intruding on ones they’d not had before. Haros had truly bonded with it, and at any given moment, it was unclear who was at the helm of the vessel that was his son.


    <mark>Dynara</mark> smirked, restraining a laugh at the contention between the men too familiar with the dragon of their family line. She coyly addressed Mira, “Surely we will have to ensure the stories are particularly tragic to garner the most sympathy. A comedy of errors.”


    Mira allowed herself the smallest of smiles and nodded in a single affirmative of agreement. The stage was set, the roles assigned. Now, all that remained was for them to play their parts flawlessly. And Haros to not push his luck too far. They were partners, and that was no implication of anything more, no matter what the Legacy whispered to him.


    <hr>


    Haros leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest as he stood in the dimly lit corridor. The meeting hadn’t gone how he had expected; the plan for his future was based more on the theatrics his mother would enjoy than any sort of reason. What had he expected, though? Mira didn’t have her head on straight. He could smell it, the tang drift from her and the stress of a coronation and the appearances she had to keep up. But that tang—that sweet, lustful scent—held his attention more than anything she said.


    There it was again. He lifted his head as she stepped out of her office, gently pulling the doors shut. Why she had needed the privacy for as long as she had was neither important nor of interest to him, but he’d waited for her all the same. Mira glided down the hall, her head high, barely glancing at him as she passed. The bitter smell of audacity drifted from her. Without thought or hesitation, he reached out, grabbing her wrist. His fingers tightened and dragged her into the shadows. His eyes burned with intensity, his voice quieter but no less demanding.


    “I don’t care what my parents say. We both know people aren’t stupid. So what happens when this plan runs its course?” he asked. “What happens when we graduate? I can’t be your makeshift ward forever, darling.”


    Mira stiffened, the bond between them stirring with vicious whirls of thrill and a strange tension, pulling her into the undercurrent of his emotions—his frustration, his anxiety, and beneath it all, something darker, something hotter like a star burning through the night. It hit her like a rush of heat, spreading through her limbs and setting her nerves alight. Her own emotions wavered, lips parting and a quiver in her jaw. Her breath hitched as she stepped closer, her fingers curling down to brush along the edge of his hand. Something in the warmth of his breath drew her in.


    “What are you proposing?” she whispered.


    “Marry me,” he said, plain and simple, as if there was no other logical conclusion.


    “Haros,” she snapped back, blinking as her senses suddenly returned. “There is no reason to jump to brash decisions—”


    “The plan won’t work forever, and you know it.” He released her wrist, pretending he didn’t notice the way she’d gasped or the cracks in her composure that she had so readily tried to hide with her thin accusation of his haste. “Think of it as… politically strategic. An unstable dragon in need of constant supervision from the <mark>Styxin</mark> Queen? How long could that last before some scandalous…” he paused, eyes find hers, and a smirk curling on his feature, viperous and alluring, “lascivious, entirely delicious,” his voice lowered as his finger slipped beneath her chin, drawing her in, “rumor spreads about you… spreading your thin little legs for me…”


    Mira breathed in, trying to rein in her senses. She stepped back, building a space between them. To say she didn’t find him attractive and dangerously seductive she would have been lying. And as much as she wanted to give into the temptation he offered, it would have been a mistake. He didn’t love her, and the entirety of his draw to her had only to do with the dragon thirsting for the magic she had promised it in a bond she should have never made. And yet she had been wholly unable to stop herself… he needed her, called to her, and she’d answered because it had been him.


    “We will stick to the plan we agreed to, Haros. The plan I have set as queen.” She looked at him squarely, sliding on the mask of placidity. “I was raised for this. I know what I am doing. Do not question my decision again.”


    She turned swiftly, retreating down the hall before he could press her further, leaving him standing in the corridor, baffled by the sudden shift in her demeanor. How was it she could threaten the very beating of his heart and run a sword through him in one fell motion? He turned curtly the other way. She didn’t see the flaw in her design. Long-term, there would be sparks flying of salacious speculations, but it wouldn’t be for their frequent visits. It would be because of him. He was not ignorant of the way he looked at her or that everyone around him could see it. His friends had made that clear, and his <mark>Lazroth</mark> had done his best to hide it when he’d sent him to drink at the coronation. The flare of jealousy at little more than a nobody prince’s idle musings was a warning of what was to come.


    <hr>


    Mira stormed into her chamber, slamming the door behind her before sinking to the floor, her breath coming in ragged bursts. Her finger raked through her hair and tangled in notes as she threw her crown aside and screamed into her knees. Still, her entire body trembled, the bond humming through her veins, igniting something unbearable within her. This was not merely the bond of dragon, surely it couldn’t be! Something like this was too much. How did any partner tolerate it, never mind placate the dragon they were meant to control?


    Every breath came like gulping fire. She could feel everything: his desire, sharp and consuming, and worse—her own had been awakened in response. Her nerves stood on end, begging to be touched by his fingertips, soothed by lips, and embraced by his body’s invitation. Yet such splendor was not without a price. A price she couldn’t afford to pay. He was the prince of Edithir, the highest throne of the dragon, and even the bond they had was forbidden. Or at least it had been.


    Another burning wave seared through her, and she curled tighter into herself. It was too much, too soon. She wasn’t ready for this. And yet, her body did not care for reason, only instinct. That was the problem, though. What violent storm of desire brewed in her wasn’t the fault of the bond alone. Sure, Haros had his proclivities—addictions in the making, it seemed—but she had been designed for these cravings. These lecherous wants.


    The truth of the matter was that of nature. The closer a <mark>Styxin</mark> woman came to full maturation, the stronger the drive became, an agonizing need to produce a daughter. It was why their kind bore numerous children, often exceeding a dozen with a comfortable ease that no other women experienced. Daughters were essential, and they were wired to want to produce them despite their lower birthrate. Sons, though plentiful and readily born, did not share the same connection to the <mark>Styxin</mark> magic nor the same compulsion to breed. But for her, the ache was all-consuming.


    There was no mistake about it, the breeding period was upon her.


    Her hands clenched the fabric of her gown as she tried to resist the inevitable pull, but the pain built to a fever pitch, her body betraying her. The bond was cruel, feeding off their proximity, their emotions, their desires. And before she could stop herself, her vision darkened, her body trembling violently as the unbearable heat consumed her. Mira shut her eyes, sliding her hand beneath her skirt. It was a cheap, easy release, but at least it would relieve the discomfort. If only in the short-term.