Rossweise burst into the room, fury flashing in her dragon-slitted eyes. The long, elegant hem of her silver gown swished violently as she scanned every corner—behind the heavy curtains, under the writing desk, even yanking open the wardrobe doors—hunting for the man responsible for her public humiliation.
In the bedroom, Muen slept soundly, her soft breaths a stark contrast to the storm brewing nearby. Out on the balcony, Leon sat in tranquil stillness at a small table, bathed in the afternoon sun. A delicate teacup rested in one hand, while the other held the familiar children's book, Complete Collection of Enlightening Dragon Tales.
He turned a page with exaggerated focus, as if deciphering ancient, profound wisdom. His face was a perfect mask of serene innocence.
Rossweise closed the balcony door behind her with a firm, definitive click. The air instantly thickened, charged with her simmering anger.
"You seem remarkably at ease, Leon," she said, her voice cold enough to freeze the very air.
Leon looked up, his expression a masterpiece of feigned confusion. He set his cup and book aside. "What's the matter?"
Her lips twitched. He was pretending. The utter scoundrel knew exactly what he had done.
"Don't play the fool with me. You know perfectly well what is on your mind."
Leon met her blistering glare, his own gaze frustratingly calm. "I want to go home," he stated simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"Nonsense!" Rossweise snapped, her composure cracking. "The dragon mark reacted just now! Don't you dare feign ignorance."
Even as they argued, the intricate marks on both their chests pulsed with a faint, tell-tale purple light, visible through the thin fabric of their clothes. The magic of the bond made it impossible to fully conceal the surge of emotion, though neither was willing to name it aloud.
Leon tilted his head slightly, the picture of innocence. "And what does that reaction signify, exactly?"
Rossweise's fists clenched at her sides, her knuckles white. "I told you that night—when one bearer of the mark intensely misses the other, the emblems resonate! You did this on purpose, didn't you? Trying to embarrass me in front of my sister!"
Leon studied her carefully—the flustered edge in her tone, the faint but unmistakable blush spreading across her cheeks and the tips of her elegant ears. She looked furious, anxious, and deeply embarrassed all at once. Internally, he was quite pleased. Perfect. Exactly the effect I was hoping for.
But when he finally spoke, his own words betrayed his carefully laid plans. "Why are you so angry, Rossweise? Is it wrong… to miss my wife?"
Hiss—
Leon froze. That was not what he had meant to say. The script in his head had called for provocation, for smug defiance—not this soft, almost tender tone that had escaped his lips unbidden.
Rossweise's eyes widened, her pupils contracting into sharp slits. The crimson flush on her cheeks deepened, flooding all the way to the very tips of her ears.
She had stormed in here fully prepared to scold him, to reassert her dominance. Instead, his question stole the breath from her lungs.
What did he just say?
Is it wrong to miss my wife…?
Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, traitorous drum. She told herself it was merely the dragon mark's influence—that cursed magical resonance stirring her base instincts—but her regal composure was fissuring, and fast.
Leon saw her momentary speechlessness and smirked inwardly. So it worked after all.
Rossweise tried desperately to collect the scattered pieces of her dignity, forcing Arctic coldness back into her tone. "You're fortunate, Leon. If this happens again, I will not be so lenient."
Leon spread his arms in a lazy, theatrical gesture. "Oh, I'm trembling with fear."
"Disgusting!" she hissed, the word laced with a venom that couldn't quite mask her disarray.
"Yeah, yeah… I feel pretty disgusted myself," he retorted flatly.
Rossweise's tail gave a furious, involuntary twitch. She shot him one last, searing glare, turned on her heel with a sharp swish of silk, and stormed back toward the door.
"Be quiet. Muen's sleeping," Leon called after her, his voice dropping to a genuine whisper.
"Who asked you to care!" she shot back over her shoulder, and the door slammed shut behind her with a resounding thud.
Thud.
Silence descended once more upon the room, broken only by the gentle rhythm of Muen's breathing and the faint, fading hum of magic from the dragon marks.
Leon let out a long, slow breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and leaned back heavily against the wall. "Phew… knew it. Once the dragon marks react, a dragon's rationality plummets. Just a few well-placed, 'heartfelt' words, and her logic short-circuits."
A quiet, triumphant chuckle escaped him. Under normal circumstances, Rossweise's temper and pride would have ensured a far worse confrontation. But the mark's effect had thrown her mind into chaos—a turbulent mix of magic, raw emotion, and primal instinct tangling together until she couldn't think straight.
He'd taken a dangerous gamble, and it had paid off. Even if it hadn't, the risk felt worth it. His goal had been simple: to annoy her, to disrupt her perfect control.
But as his quiet laughter faded, Leon pressed a hand against his chest. The warmth from the mark hadn't disappeared. Instead, he felt the frantic, accelerated beat of his own heart pounding against his palm.
He frowned, a crease forming between his brows. "The dragon mark… it makes both sides feel the echo," he muttered to the empty balcony.
He remembered the look in her eyes—not pure, unadulterated rage, but something more startled, more uncertain, something softer hiding just behind the fury. His lips tightened into a thin line.
"Was I… lying?" he whispered into the stillness. "Or was I telling a truth I didn't mean to say?"
He couldn't tell. The words had been a deliberate trick, a weapon… and yet, they hadn't felt entirely false. The thought unsettled him deeply. He leaned against the cool balcony rail, eyes half-closed, trying to quiet the sudden, unwelcome storm the encounter had stirred within his own heart.
.
.
.
Meanwhile, Rossweise hurried down the temple's opulent halls, one hand pressed firmly against her chest as if to physically contain her racing heart. It refused to calm. Leon's words—that tone, that infuriatingly soft look—echoed on a loop in her mind.
Is it wrong to miss my wife?
Her breath hitched. "What in the blazes am I thinking?!" she hissed under her breath, her pace quickening.
Maids lining the hallway stopped and bowed deeply as she passed. Some exchanged hushed, curious whispers.
"Her Majesty looks… rather strange."
"The last time she was this flustered was two years ago,at the victory banquet after capturing the Dragon Slayer…"
Rossweise stopped dead, her head snapping toward them. "What did you say?"
The maids flinched, bowing their heads even lower. One stammered, "Y-Your Majesty, you just seem… a bit unwell."
"I am perfectly fine," Rossweise stated too quickly, waving a dismissive hand. "Return to your duties."
She continued her march, consciously suppressing the faint tremor in her hands. The dragon mark's physical heat was fading, but the thoughts it had awakened refused to retreat. By the time she arrived back at the garden pavilion, she had schooled her features back into a semblance of regal composure, though a tell-tale blush still tinted her cheeks.
Isha noticed immediately. "Oh my, little rose," she teased, her delicate fangs peeking out with her smile, "you return looking as if you've been up to something quite naughty."
Rossweise froze mid-step. "Sister, I— it's nothing."
Isha tilted her head, curiosity sparkling in her eyes. "Nothing? You ran off looking flushed and return looking even more so. Did you have a… spirited discussion with your reclusive husband?"
Rossweise hesitated, and then, to her own horror, blurted out the first desperate thought in her head. "Sister… am I… particularly fierce?"
"Huh?" Isha blinked, thoroughly confused by the non-sequitur.
Rossweise instantly wished she could swallow her own tongue. "Forget I said anything! It's nothing!"
Her sister raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "What has gotten into the ever-dignified Silver Dragon Queen today?" She leaned forward suddenly, her eyes sharpening and narrowing on Rossweise's chest. "Wait… what is that?"
Rossweise glanced down and realized, too late, that the neckline of her gown had shifted slightly. A faint, persistent purple shimmer glowed from beneath her skin—the very edge of the dragon mark.
"It's nothing!" she insisted, quickly pulling the fabric back into place with a jerky motion.
Isha's face broke into a knowing, triumphant smirk. "A dragon mark? Oh ho… it seems my little sister has been getting very acquainted with her husband lately."
Rossweise's cheeks flamed anew. "Don't misunderstand! It's not like that at all, sister!"
"Sure, sure," Isha said lazily, leaning back in her seat with a catlike grin. "I know most dragon monarchs marry for political alliances, not passion. But you—you married in haste, had a child in even greater haste. You can't expect me to believe there's no fire between you two?"
Rossweise turned her face away, a deep frown etched on her features. "Marriage and offspring do not necessitate passion. As for him…"
Her pupils flickered, and her voice dropped, firm yet layered with a strange unease. "There is no excitement. Not now. Not ever."
(Author's Note: Are you quite certain about that, Mother Dragon?)
Isha chuckled softly, wisely choosing not to press the point further. "Fine, fine. I shall drop it. Just remember to take care of yourself—and that little princess of yours."
Rossweise nodded a bit too quickly, grateful for the change in subject. "Yes, I will."
"Now," Isha said, folding her arms and returning to a businesslike demeanor, "let us return to the matter at hand. The Crimson Flame Dragon King, Constantine, has been acting rather restless lately."
Rossweise offered a small, noncommittal hum of agreement, but her thoughts had already drifted away. She felt the lingering warmth in her chest slowly recede, yet her mind remained stubbornly anchored to the memory of Leon's voice, his gaze, his damned words.
Is it wrong to miss my wife?
She bit her lip, a fresh wave of annoyance directed squarely at herself. "Damnable dragon slayer," she muttered under her breath, the words a familiar, grounding mantra. "He clearly still hasn't been disciplined enough."