Roswitha burst into the room, her eyes darting around in search of that scoundrel's figure.

Holding up the hem of her long dress, she searched every corner of the room.

In the bedroom, Muen was sound asleep.

It was on the small balcony by the side table where Roswitha finally spotted Leon.

There he was, sitting calmly as though without a care in the world—one hand holding a teacup, the other gripping a copy of "A Young Dragon’s Guide to Wisdom and Tales". Leisurely sipping tea as he read with focus, Leon seemed entirely oblivious to the murderous aura radiating from Roswitha.

It wasn’t until Roswitha stepped onto the balcony and slammed the balcony door shut behind her that Leon seemed to snap out of his trance, his mouth opening slightly in feigned realization.

“You seem to be having quite the relaxing time here, Leon,” Roswitha said coldly.

Leon set down his teacup and the storybook, stood up, and asked blankly, “What’s the matter?”

Feigning ignorance—what a classic move.

Leon fully knew that his actions would lead to this exact situation.

So, when Roswitha stormed up, ready to berate him, he was already well-prepared for it.

“What’s the matter? Don’t tell me you have no idea what’s going on in that head of yours.”

“I want to go home,” Leon replied earnestly.

“Bullshit! The Dragon Mark reacted just now. Don’t play dumb with me.”

The truth was, it wasn’t just “just now.” Even now, both of their Dragon Marks, glowing faintly with a soft purple light, shimmered steadily on their chests.

The Dragon Mark was notorious for being uncontrollable—it bound the marked to one another, igniting mutual affection between the two.

So, even though these two are glaring at each other fiercely right now, only they know what they're truly thinking.

Still, Leon had resolved to die on this hill of denial.

“A reaction from the Dragon Mark? What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked with deliberate confusion.

“Oh, now you’re pretending to be clueless? I told you already that night: when one person starts yearning for another, the Dragon Mark resonates in response. You deliberately timed it just right to trigger the resonance—what, were you hoping to embarrass me in front of others?”

Staring at the mix of shame, anger, and frustration painted across Roswitha’s face, Leon felt immensely satisfied. His expression remained composed, but inside, he was already cheering.

Ah, spot on. This is exactly what I wanted to see.

I couldn't care less, like water off a duck's back. No matter how you ask, I just won't admit it.

Leon opened his mouth, ready to retort and escalate the situation further. But somehow, the words that left his lips were entirely different from what he had intended:

“Why are you being so mean to me? It’s your fault too, isn’t it?”

Hiss—

Though this technically counted as a rebuttal, why the hell did it come off sounding so pitiful?

Perplexed, Leon furrowed his brow. He had definitely prepared sharper, more biting comebacks in his head, but somehow, those words had morphed into… this?

Still, judging by the shock and disbelief that crept across Roswitha’s face, the line seemed to have landed an unexpected but effective blow.

Her dragon-slit pupils widened in visible astonishment as a faint blush started spreading across her face.

The blush deepened, painting her fair skin with an unmistakable hue, even tinting the tips of her ears.

Wait a second.

Something about this doesn’t feel right.

Roswitha had stormed in, fully intent on giving him a tongue-lashing. And yet, why hadn’t she made a move? Why had she fallen victim to his few meager words?

*“Why are you being so mean to me? It’s your fault too, isn’t it?”*

Geez...

What the hell—

Ugh...

*What nonsense! Absolute nonsense!*

Right, nonsense. For a defeated prisoner of war to utter something so shameless—utter, impossible nonsense!

Roswitha justified the situation to herself internally, trying to suppress her rising embarrassment and summon words—any words, to counter Leon or mock him.

But the Dragon Mark’s resonance continued to intensify.

Her pulse quickened uncontrollably. The more she looked at that annoying face of his, the more agreeable it inexplicably seemed. Nearly every cell in her body fought against her futile attempts to suppress the ancient Dragon Clan’s instinct to propagate and bond.

She frowned, realizing that if she lingered here any longer, she would surely lose all reason within minutes.

Before the Dragon Mark could erode the last of her sanity, Roswitha cast a cold glance toward Leon and spat,

“You lucked out this time, Leon. Next time, I won’t let you off so easily.”

“Ooh, I’m so scared.”

“Disgusting.”

“Yup, yup, I’m disgusting.”

With a disdainful huff, Roswitha hoisted her skirts and turned toward the exit.

“Keep your voice down—Muen’s still asleep,” Leon reminded her.

“Mind your business!”

Thud—

Roswitha slammed the door behind her, her footsteps receding into the distance.

Only after he confirmed she had broken far enough away did Leon relax with a deep sigh.

“Phew—called it. The Dragon Mark’s reaction dulled that she-dragon’s rationality just enough. A few half-truths, and she bought it.”

If it had been any other day, Roswitha would never have let Leon off the hook with just perfunctory statements wrapped in pseudo-honesty. Not with her vengeful disposition.

Her uniquely terrifying knack for retaliation was almost legendary.

Knowing her nature, Leon fully expected there would be payback coming for his antics.

Still, the Dragon Mark’s resonance had chemically overridden Roswitha’s normal capacity for clear thought, flooding her with hormones and dopamine. As a result, she had fallen prey to his little scheme.

Leon was banking on this, which is why he dared to act so recklessly—

Of course, if his risky move backfired, it wouldn't matter either.

His goal had already been achieved—a simple but malicious desire to annoy Roswitha to no end.

Just as Leon was about to slump back into his chair, he noticed that his Dragon Mark was still faintly warm. He frowned and raised a hand to touch his chest, trying to calm the Mark’s restless pulsing.

But what met his touch was a rapid heartbeat that refused to slow.

“Dragon Mark triggers mutual attraction between the connected pair…”

Leon muttered, his lips pressing into a line as his mind replayed the events from earlier.

Roswitha had indeed not responded with her usual calm, logical demeanor. But what about Leon himself?

Are those slightly manipulative, hypocritically sweet words something he would normally say?

To be fair, he did use those lines to fool Roswitha.

But… is it possible that he ended up fooling himself as well?

Lies sprinkled with grains of truth—those were always the hardest to disprove, even for the liar themselves.

Leon’s pupils trembled slightly as he rubbed his temples, mumbling under his breath,

“Casmode, you better snap out of it. Stop thinking about irrelevant nonsense.”

He leaned back against the wall, closed his eyes, and willed himself to flush out all the chaotic mess swimming in his mind.

Meanwhile, Roswitha had hurried out of the Castle and was now briskly striding toward the gazebo in the courtyard.

Pressing a hand against her chest, she noted that the Dragon Mark’s reaction hadn’t yet subsided.

Whenever she closed her eyes, Leon’s innocent expression—or worse, his words, “Why are you being so mean to me? It’s your fault too, isn’t it?” haunted her like a curse.

As a woman, Roswitha could sense a hint of deceptive sweetness in those words.

And yet, even so, she couldn't stop herself from dwelling on them.

Who would have thought—Her Majesty the Silver Dragon Queen—haunted, mind plagued, by a single sentence?

An utter humiliation, if it ever came to light!

Flustered, she clutched her skirt, nearly tripping over herself as she hastened down the Castle's steps like the building itself emanated waves of unbearable awkwardness. Putting more physical distance between her and its confines seemed to grant marginal clarity.

Even so, Roswitha’s uncharacteristically panicked demeanor did not go unnoticed by the maids nearby, one of whom had been quietly sweeping the ground.

“Her Majesty looks quite off today.”

“Last time I saw her this rattled was two years ago, during the celebration banquet.”

The maids murmured amongst themselves, and one finally called out,

“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!”

“Huh? What?!” Roswitha froze in her tracks.

The maid curtsied slightly and remarked, “Your Majesty, you look a bit pale. Are you feeling unwell?”

Hurriedly shaking her head, Roswitha responded, “No, I’m fine.”

“As you wish. Please take care of your health.”

“...Yes, I will.” Roswitha awkwardly nodded. “Carry on with your work.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” The maids respectfully withdrew.

Roswitha resumed descending the stairs.

At that precise moment, the urge of the Dragon Clan—its nature to conquer and destroy—collided headlong with a distinctly human, unspeakably sweet blend of romantic awakening. These feelings tangled and wrestled in Roswitha’s heart.

Her thoughts clouded and unfocused, she stumbled her way back to the gazebo in near-daze.

Isa, sitting there leisurely, lifted her gaze to meet her sister’s flustered face, half-painted with panic, half-painted with blush.

“Well, well,” Isa teased, grinning. “Looks like someone’s been up to no good.”

“Huh? No, no. Nothing like that, Sis. Nothing at all,” Roswitha stammered, visibly flustered as she lowered her eyes.

Isa smirked knowingly, her grin revealing the sharp points of her little fangs. “Oh really? Then why does the Silver Dragon Queen look like the cat that swallowed the canary?”

Roswitha bit her lip, hesitated, then broke her gaze away. Finally, mustering some courage, she looked Isa in the eye and asked seriously,

“Sis.”

“Hmm?”

“Am I… Am I that scary?”

“Excuse me?” Isa blinked, seemingly caught off-guard.

The moment Roswitha spoke the question aloud, she immediately regretted it. She tried to backpedal, waving her hands as though whisking her words away. “Ah, no—nothing. Forget it.”

Isa’s brow creased lightly as she sat forward slightly. “Jeez, what’s got you so rattled, Roswitha? You’re Silver Dragon Queen—what in the world could faze you? Wait, hang on a second—what’s that?”

Isa was now pointing directly at Roswitha.

Or rather, at Roswitha’s chest.

Her dress, already cut low, had slipped slightly out of place during the morning chaos. It had actually been Leon who, earlier, asked her to adjust the neckline higher.

But after all the fuss earlier, the neckline had slipped back down again.

And through the opening, Isa’s sharp eyes spotted something—just the faintest edge of the Dragon Mark glowing softly against Roswitha’s skin.

Roswitha quickly glanced down, gasping. She raised her hands, clutching at her chest in a desperate attempt to conceal it. “Nothing there, Sis! You’re imagining things.”

“Mm-hmm, sure I am,” Isa said with an exaggerated leer, flashing a mischievous glint of toothy grin. “That right there? No imagination. That’s a Dragon Mark. And not just any Dragon Mark.” A low whistle escaped Isa’s lips. “Somebody’s feeling frisky, huh?”

Roswitha’s lips tightened, her irritation brewing visibly. She yanked her head to the side defiantly. “Knock it off, Sis! There’s nothing funny about this—not between Leon and me.”

“Ohhh, is that so?” Isa teased, with this grin that carried enough amusement to fill oceans. “Dragon Mark doesn’t lie, y’know. Seems to me that you two are thick as thieves. Or what, passionate as fire. Pick one.”

Roswitha puffed her cheeks, visibly annoyed, and tried once again to argue. “You’re so wrong, Isa. There’s nothing between us. Zero!”

Isa lazily lounged back, draping herself over her chair with feline ease. She tilted her head sideways with an exaggerated hum of mock-thoughtfulness before finally though sly tone:"Tell me dear sis,"арб

"Getting married, having children, does that mean the relationship is good? As for him... I..."

Roswitha's pupils wandered as she continued, "I don't feel the slightest bit of affection. Not now, and not in the future."

Isa knew her sister all too well.

She could tell at a glance what was the truth and what was stubbornness.

But since Roswitha was so certain, Isa decided to go along with her for now.

"Alright, alright. In any case, take care of yourself and the little princess."

"Mm, I will, sister."

"Well then, let's go on talking about Constantine. That guy's been pretty active recently."

"Mm..."

Isa continued the topic from before.

But Roswitha still seemed a bit distracted.

She could feel the lingering warmth on her chest slowly fading away. Clearly, the reaction from the Dragon Mark was already subsiding, and yet, she couldn't stop herself from thinking about Leon, from replaying that scene in her mind.

Roswitha furrowed her brow and bit her lip.

"That damn Dragon Slayer! I didn't teach him a hard enough lesson!"