​Morning in Iron Hearth always began with a monotonous orchestra of machinery. The sky was draped in a thin veil of gray—not a threatening overcast, but not a welcoming clarity either. It was simply the eternal gray typical of an industrial city. The factory chimneys in the distance continued to vomit white smoke into the sky, while the rumble of freight trains passing on magnetic rails sounded precisely on time, like a mechanical heartbeat that knew no exhaustion.

​However, inside the main hall of Iron Hearth Castle, that rhythm felt chaotic.

​Roland Sudrath stood motionless in the center of the hall. His fingers, usually nimble, appeared stiff as they held a stack of parchments. Sret... sret... He flipped through the papers for the umpteenth time. Menus, tour routes, security protocols, down to the order of the guards. He had memorized them since dawn, yet somehow, the letters seemed to dance, mocking him.

​"Hmm, have you had breakfast?"

​Aurelia’s voice drifted from the kitchen, followed by the aroma of chicken porridge fresh from the pot.

​"Not yet, Mother," Roland replied curtly, without taking his eyes off his papers.

​"Tsk, you won’t be able to negotiate if your stomach is growling, Roland." Aurelia walked closer, bringing a warm bowl of porridge and a cup of milk. "Take this. Eat first before those papers bore holes into your eyes."

​Roland accepted the bowl with a slight bow. "Thank you, Mother." Gulp. He sipped the milk, letting the warmth soothe his dry throat.

​Aurelia didn’t leave immediately. She stood beside her son, narrowing her eyes at the castle floor plan spread out on the table. Her slender finger pointed to a specific spot. "You’ve placed her in room number five?"

​"Yes. The standard guest suite. The view looks directly over the back garden; it’s quiet and—"

​"Room five?" Aurelia shook her head slowly, pursing her lips. "That’s far too small."

​"Mother, that is a first-class suite for diplomatic guests. I thought it would be sufficient for—"

​"Sufficient for an ordinary guest, yes. But this is not just any guest, Roland." Aurelia pulled out a floor plan of the second level with a graceful motion. "Room five faces the garden, which is nice. But its area is only half of room two. And room two? The windows face east. Directly toward Draconia."

​Roland adjusted his glasses, which had slipped slightly. "I... I just didn’t want to come across as overbearing or pressuring."

​"Overbearing?" Aurelia looked at her son with one eyebrow raised. "You are welcoming the Crown Princess from our strongest allied empire. You—my own son—are the architect behind this alliance. And now you’re suddenly becoming modest?"

​Roland fell silent, his fingers unconsciously crinkling the edge of the paper.

​Aurelia let out a long sigh. Her expression softened, and she touched Roland’s arm gently. "I know you are nervous. I know you want this to be perfect. But do not lower yourself just to make her feel comfortable."

​"That’s not what I meant, Mother..."

​"Then what?"

​Roland stared at the porridge, which was beginning to cool. "I just want her to feel... accepted. Not as a crown princess who must be greeted with rigid protocols and gold everywhere. But as... as..."

​"As family?" Aurelia finished in a soft voice.

​Roland didn’t deny it. The silence that followed was an answer enough for his mother.

​Aurelia gave a thin smile, her eyes sparkling with understanding. "In that case, move her to room two. It’s more spacious, the windows are larger, and when she wakes up, she will see the sun rising from the direction of her home. That isn’t luxury, Roland. That is thoughtfulness. She will feel considered as a human being, not just as a title."

​Roland looked at his mother for a long time, then nodded slowly. "Alright. Room two."

​"Now, that’s more like it. I’ll have the servants prepare fresh silk sheets and Snow Seruni flowers in the vases." Aurelia turned to leave with a light step. "And finish your porridge! Don’t let it go to waste."

​Roland returned to his list. Room five was crossed out with a firm stroke, replaced by the number ’2’.

​Just as he was about to breathe a sigh of relief, the sound of brisk footsteps and a scratching pen approached.

​"Hah, do you have any idea how much fresh meat costs just to host a dragon?"

​Roland turned. Rumina was already standing beside him with a thick notebook and a pen dancing nimbly. Sret, sret.

​"I haven’t had a chance to check the logistics budget yet."

​"Good thing I have." Rumina flipped a page with a sharp snap. "Twenty gold pieces just for meat. That doesn’t include vegetables, fruits, spices, and top-quality wine."

​Roland massaged his temples. "Just use my personal savings to cover the difference."

​Rumina’s hand stopped mid-motion. She looked up, scrutinizing Roland. "Wait, you actually have savings?"

​"Of course I do, Rumina. What else would I spend my salary on?"

​"I figured you spent it on perfume or new silk robes," Rumina grumbled while returning to her writing. "But fine. Don’t be wasteful. She might only stay for a few days, but if her tastes are sky-high, the family coffers could take a hit."

​"I’ll keep an eye on it."

​Rumina snapped her book shut. Brak. "One more thing, Roland. Make sure you look your best. If she doesn’t like you, at least make sure she likes the castle’s cooking."

​Roland could only huff a soft laugh, suppressing a smile that almost broke through.

​In the afternoon, Roland walked toward the back field to seek air that didn’t smell like paper. White steam billowed from his mouth every time he exhaled into the cold air. There, Sergeant Garon was shouting at the students running laps around the field.

​At the edge of the field, Riven Sudrath stood with his hands on his hips, watching intently.

​"Surprised to see you here?" Roland asked, standing beside his brother.

​"Thorne asked me to evaluate Sergeant Garon’s physical curriculum." Riven turned slightly, then smirked. "But honestly, I just wanted to see if there were any budding soldiers whose spirits I could break today."

​They stood in silence, watching Junior Varn, who looked like he was gasping for air on his third lap.

​"I heard Seraphina lands tomorrow," Riven said suddenly, his tone turning serious.

​"Yes."

​"Nervous?"

​Roland let out a harsh breath. "Why is everyone asking the same thing?"

​"Because your face looks like someone facing a hanging at dawn." Riven chuckled, then slapped Roland’s shoulder hard. Plak! "You know, when I first met Elena—I mean, truly met her as a man, not a patient—my tongue felt like lead."

​Roland turned, slightly surprised to hear Riven opening up about Elena.

​"I can cleave a Basilisk without blinking. But standing in front of the one woman who makes my heart beat strangely? Uh, I was shaking more than I was when facing Martin at Northveil."

​"And then?"

​"And then I just kept going." Riven shrugged. "I thought, if I could survive a monster’s bite, I could surely survive rejection. And as it turned out... she didn’t bite me."

​Roland went silent, staring at his dusty boots. "What if she refuses?"

​Riven looked Roland straight in the eye. "Then you will be hurt. That’s natural. But you will heal, and you still have us. You’re a Sudrath, Roland. We don’t run, no matter the outcome."

​Roland rubbed his shoulder, which still felt warm from Riven’s slap. "You’re unusually wise today."

​"It’s only a once-a-year quota. Don’t expect more," Riven replied with a wide grin.

​Night arrived with a haunting silence. Roland stood on his balcony, staring at the dark eastern horizon. The night wind brushed his face, carrying the scent of melting snow.

​Everything was ready. Room two with the Snow Seruni vases. The finest meat menu. A safe travel route. There was nothing left to do but wait.

​The balcony door opened softly.

​"Not asleep yet?" Lucian’s deep voice sounded behind him.

​"I can’t, Father."

​Lucian stepped forward, standing beside his son and staring into the darkness. "Are you afraid she will reject you, or are you afraid she will accept you?"

​Roland was stunned. "Perhaps... both."

​Lucian nodded slowly, his gaze profound. "If she rejects you, you remain my son, the diplomat of Northreach. But if she accepts you... your world will change completely. Draconia will demand much from you. The Church will brand you a heretic. The entire continent will watch your every move. You must be ready to face that not as an official, but as Roland. The husband of a Dragon Princess."

​Roland swallowed hard. Gulp. "Father... you aren’t forbidding me?"

​"Forbidding you?" Lucian nearly smiled—a rare sight. "You are an adult. You know the risks. My job is not to forbid, but to ensure you have a place to return to if things become too heavy."

​"I don’t know if I’m truly ready."

​"No one is ever truly ready for something this big, Roland." Lucian patted Roland’s shoulder firmly. "But you won’t face it alone. That is what matters most."

​Roland looked at his father, then back toward the east. The tightness in his chest eased slightly. "Thank you, Father."

​Lucian simply nodded, then turned and left silently, leaving Roland alone with his thoughts.

​Roland took a deep breath, letting the cold air fill his lungs. He looked at the list in his hand one last time, then crumpled it gently.

​"Tomorrow," he whispered to the night wind.

​And in the distance, the flap of giant wings seemed to echo faintly amidst the rustle of the wind, bringing the answer he had been waiting for all along.