After Rossweise left, Leon washed up quickly and remained in the room with Muen. He tried to teach her to read, then switched back to playing Dragon Knight. But a room was just a room; no matter how they played, it couldn't compare to the freedom of the garden.
Muen grew bored quickly. Leon, never particularly skilled at entertaining children, resorted to storytelling. Father and daughter leaned against the headboard, Muen curled comfortably in the crook of Leon's arm as he opened a small volume titled Complete Stories for Young Dragons' Enlightenment.
He read the first title aloud and nearly choked. "How to Slay an S-Rank Dangerous Species, the Ironclad Yak."
Leon stared blankly. Since when did children's primers include monster-slaying manuals? In the human world, this would be advanced coursework at a Dragon Slayer Academy.
He flipped the page. The second story was titled, "Using High-Level Fire Magic to Bake Satisfying Smoked Meat…"
Leon blinked. Was this a spellbook or a cookbook? Teaching a child to roast food with high-level combat magic felt deeply irresponsible. He turned to a third story: "How the Great Dragon Race Developed to Today."
This one seemed safer—a historical account, free of dismemberment or culinary pyromancy. Muen's small hand, which had been clutching Leon's shirt, slowly relaxed as her breathing evened out, lulled toward sleep.
Leon gently set the book aside. Moving with careful precision so as not to wake her, he smoothed the blankets and tucked her in. Every parent knows that quiet, profound relief when a restless child finally succumbs to sleep. It granted him a few precious moments of peace.
He walked to the balcony and looked down into the courtyard. There were significantly more guards than the day before, all making preparations for something grand—a formal reception, he guessed, for Rossweise's sister.
Years ago, the news of two Dragon Monarchs meeting would have sent a thrill of professional excitement through him. The title "Dragon King" had meant prestige, immense danger, and a grand spectacle. Now, after everything, those concepts felt like relics from another life.
He also felt his own weakness keenly. His body was a long way from full recovery. The healing process was agonizingly slow. He knew Rossweise's brand of maternal revenge was not one to forgive or forget easily. Regaining his strength would be a battle in itself.
Leon's jaw tightened. Damn mother dragon, he cursed internally. But he would not surrender. Even in his depleted state, he was determined to be a source of chaos when possible. He had already devised a small, petty way to needle Rossweise—a precise little barb aimed at her pride during her meeting with the Red Dragon Queen.
He carried a small chair out onto the balcony and sat down to wait.
As noon approached, the great doors of the Silver Dragon Temple swung open. Rossweise emerged, flanked by her maids. Walking beside her was a dragon Leon had never seen before—visibly older than Rossweise, dressed in deep, vibrant red. Her hair fell in a long cascade, and her crimson tail swept the ground behind her with a greater length than Rossweise's.
Leon recalled the teachings of dragonologists: tail length often correlated with age, at least for dragons under five centuries old. He tried to recall Rossweise's approximate age from old intelligence reports—around two hundred years. She still possessed the appearance of a human in her mid-twenties. He made a quiet mental note to someday ask his master's wife what her secret was.
Rossweise and the older dragon shared a warm embrace. This was Isabella, or "Isha," the Red Dragon Queen. They moved to a pavilion in the garden and began a conversation that seemed both formal and intimate. Isha's voice was lively and expressive; Rossweise's responses were quieter, more measured. The sisters complemented each other, two contrasting halves of a powerful whole.
A faint, wry smile touched Leon's lips. He closed his eyes, resting his hand over the dragon emblem branded on his chest—a seemingly idle gesture, a private signal of focus, perhaps laced with a hint of mockery. Down in the pavilion, Rossweise and Isha conversed face-to-face.
Isha glanced at the surrounding guards and issued a gentle but firm command. "You may all withdraw. I wish to speak with my younger sister alone."
The guards departed promptly. Isha slung a fond arm around Rossweise's shoulders, her tone turning teasing. "I've missed you, little rose. A full year. And you look… radiant."
Rossweise offered a small, polite smile. "It's nothing remarkable."
Isha's teasing shifted toward gossip. "I've heard domestic bliss does wonders for one's complexion. Has your mysterious, ailing husband finally—"
When she smiled, a single, delicate fang was visible, giving her a mischievous, almost girlish air that charmingly contrasted with her title as the Red Dragon Queen. Rossweise, younger but far more reserved, endured the teasing with practiced grace. The sisters had grown up together; they knew each other's quirks and soft spots.
Rossweise answered, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "Don't tease me… He's simply a private person. Prefers to keep his tail to himself. He's very low-key, doesn't go seeking attention."
Leon bristled internally at the description. Low-key? Introverted? He pictured his own brash, confrontational nature and felt a flash of indignation. He would have preferred any number of descriptors, but "introverted" was not among them. He imagined himself vigorously disproving that notion to anyone who suggested it.
Isha laughed, a rich, warm sound. "Well, I can't fault your taste. It's your choice. But I came for a more serious matter—the Crimson Flame Dragon King, Constantine, is planning to expand his territory—"
Rossweise's attention fractured. A sudden, powerful wave of sensation washed over her. She frowned, a hand instinctively flying to her chest as if pressed by an unseen weight.
Isha noticed immediately. "What's wrong? You've gone pale."
Rossweise forced her expression to smooth over. "No, it's nothing. Please, continue."
She masked her physical reaction, but internally, she was reeling. The dragon emblem on her chest—the intricate mark carved into her very being, linked to its counterpart—had reacted to him. The emblem pulsed with a strange, insistent heat, a response triggered by the active stirring of the other. This wasn't a gentle feeling of missing someone; it was a sudden, sharp, and unmistakable flare of desire. The raw intensity of it shocked her.
She cursed Leon silently. The man had no shame. He had somehow activated the emblem's bond—she didn't know how—and it was now broadcasting its effect directly through her body. Her tail gave an involuntary twitch. Her legs felt weak. She bit the inside of her lip, using the pain to anchor herself against the overwhelming surge of emotion.
"Constant—Little Rose, are you certain you're alright? Your face is flushed," Isha asked, her tone now genuinely concerned.
For all her teasing, Isha was steadfast when it came to matters of health. Rossweise swallowed hard, forcing her composure back into place. "I'm fine. Forgive me, I need a moment. I will return in about twenty minutes."
"Shall I come with you?"
"No. I will be fine."
She stood, fighting down the heat that threatened to consume her from the inside out, and walked with measured steps toward the temple. Each stride felt both heavy and desperately urgent. She needed solitude to quell the emblem's violent reaction and to reassemble her shattered composure.
Leon watched her go from his balcony perch. He felt a complicated mix of guilt and private victory—guilt because the emblem's power had clearly caused her distress, and a petty satisfaction because his small, childish plan to annoy her had worked exactly as intended. But beneath that, a thread of genuine worry emerged. The resonance of the emblems was far more potent than he had anticipated. If it could affect a Dragon Monarch like Rossweise so profoundly, it could cause real diplomatic incidents—or further complicate the already tangled web between them.
On the balcony, with Muen sleeping soundly inside and the courtyard bustling with preparations below, Leon kept his hand pressed over his chest for a moment longer. He thought of his slow, arduous recovery, of Rossweise's fierce and unrelenting nature, of the dangerous game he had just escalated. He made two silent promises to himself: to keep Muen safe no matter the cost, and to see his own body restored to its former strength. And, for reasons he couldn't quite bring himself to fully articulate, he promised himself he would be ready—for whatever came next—when Rossweise returned.