Alcohol is a truly fascinating thing.

It can dilute sorrow, and it can amplify joy.

No wonder drinks are staples at celebrations—they effortlessly set the tone.

Unfortunately, Leon was terrible at drinking.

He could slay a Dragon King many times his size barehanded, but he can be knocked out by just a small glass of red wine.

Beer? He could manage a bit, but just barely.

For the Silver Dragon Clan, a few rounds of drinks were enough to either banish sorrow completely or let it be vented recklessly before being left behind.

In the end, as Roswitha had hoped, the morale was slowly but surely returning to its proper track.

Leon, however, kept his head down, playing with his youngest daughter.

The two of them were engaged in an entirely one-sided and utterly ineffective communication.

"My sweet girl, what name would you like to have?"

"Oo-wah... Aba aba?"

"Man, how much has your mom had to drink? Her body hasn’t fully recovered yet—she should be resting more."

"Mmpf... Ayaya~"

"Look at your two older sisters having fun over there. But see, your dad’s the one who treasures you the most, staying here with you. Remember this when you grow up; be nicer to your old man, okay?"

"Waah~"

They were talking past each other entirely.

The baby couldn’t understand her father’s words, and Leon certainly couldn’t decipher baby talk. But none of this dampened Leon’s enthusiasm for chatting with his youngest daughter.

After a while, the baby yawned, and her interactions with Leon began to dwindle.

She was getting sleepy.

Leon stood up and carried the baby back to Roswitha's bedroom.

After making sure she had fallen asleep, he quietly left the room and returned to the steps by the temple entrance, where he had been sitting earlier.

The bonfire in the courtyard was still blazing. The banquet was far from over, and it seemed inevitable that the Mother Dragon would drink herself into a stupor tonight.

Even though the maids would help her back to her chambers if she had too much, as the "husband" of the Queen, Leon figured he should wait here.

It wasn’t really about obligation, but rather about maintaining appearances. Waiting for her like this would make them seem more "affectionate" as a couple and their family more "harmonious" to others.

After all, if Roswitha could go as far as changing her preferred style of dress to make the whole act more convincing, how could Leon not do his part?

It wasn’t as if it cost him anything—just a bit of surface-level work.

Leon let his thoughts meander.

He had no idea how much time had passed when the sound of faint footsteps reached his ears.

Leon looked up in the direction of the sound—and it was Roswitha.

She appeared slightly tipsy, holding two cans of beer in her hands.

The Queen’s footsteps were a bit unsteady, though she wasn’t at the point of being completely unable to walk.

Leon fixated on her steps, worried she might trip on a step or a stone.

It wasn’t until she stood firmly before him that Leon shifted his gaze from her feet to her face.

Her delicate, beautiful face had a faint flush, her silver eyes half-closed, and even the tips of her ears were tinged with red.

A contented smile played at her lips, though Leon couldn’t tell exactly what she was enjoying.

Leon was sitting on the steps leading to the temple’s rear entrance, their eye levels aligned.

The scene reminded him of three years ago when he launched his assault on Silver Dragon Castle. After being backstabbed by a traitor, he was captured and thrown into a dungeon by the Silver Dragon Clan.

It was there, in that dim and damp prison, that he first met Roswitha.

At the time, she had also strayed from a victory banquet to visit him, equally tipsy and intoxicated.

If she hadn’t been drunk back then, just a bit more sober, Leon doubted she would have fallen for the Blood Charm he cast on her.

Alas, how fate toys with one! — Oh no, it toys with dragons! — Leon silently amented with a tinge of melancholy and a hint of incredulity in his heart.

“Here.”

Her voice cut through his thoughts as she handed him one of the cans of beer.

The liquid sloshed inside the can, producing a soft, swishing noise.

Leon shook his head. “I don’t drink.”

“Then I will,” she replied without missing a beat.

Leon knew she had something of a penchant for alcohol—not that it was quite right to call it an addiction.

Rather, as a queen often under immense pressure, alcohol was her way to dull her senses when she needed to decompress.

These past ten months of pregnancy had seen her completely abstain from drinking, something she clearly found stifling.

Opening the can, she moved to sit beside Leon on the steps, shoulder to shoulder.

A faint smell of alcohol wafted in the air—not unpleasant.

Roswitha was picky about her drinks, even when it came to beer. Every choice was carefully selected, which meant that even if some of its scent lingered on her, it often leaned more toward aromatic than off-putting.

The silver-haired beauty took a satisfying swig and then placed the can gently by her side.

Her posture was markedly different from Leon’s.

Leon sat upright on the steps, feet planted on the layers below—a stereotypical "straight man" kind of sitting position.

Roswitha, by contrast, leaned back slightly, supporting her body with her hands and gazing up at the starry sky. Her long legs extended straight out, sprawling across several steps in a languid manner.

The two of them were seated quite close, their shoulders occasionally brushing against each other, intentionally or otherwise.

The evening breeze rustled through the temple courtyard, lightly tousling their hair.

In the air, one could hear the faint chirping of cicadas, while overhead, the night sky unfolded like a mesmerizing painting.

“I think—”

The Queen suddenly spoke, her expression unusually serious.

“The world is nothing more than one giant eggplant.”

Leon glanced at her in exasperation. “…How much have you even had to drink?”

“If the world were an eggplant, what would you do?” she asked with an odd gleam of interest, as though this was a topic she earnestly wanted to dive into.

Leon sighed, humoring her. “Then I’d scatter some diced carrots on the ground and make a dish of braised eggplant with carrots.”

“Interesting! Are you truly some sort of genius?!”

“Ha ha… Thanks for the compliment, oh Queen.”

At the mention of the word “Queen,” Roswitha’s smile noticeably faltered.

She pulled her legs back under her, propping her elbows on her knees and resting her chin on her hands. Her lips pursed into a pout as she muttered,“Being Queen is no fun at all.”

“Hmm? If it’s no fun, why’re you taking it so seriously? If you think it’s such a drag, hand the crown to me. I’ll take over as head of the Silver Dragons. What do you think—”

“The throne!”

Her abrupt outburst nearly startled the life out of Leon.

Clutching his chest to calm his pounding heart, he asked, “What about the throne?”

“The throne… is a cage.”

The sudden shift in her demeanor—from her impassioned tone to a somber and forlorn lament—made her seem almost manic, like a petulant little girl.

Roswitha rested her chin in her hands as her silver eyes gazed blankly at the ground below the stone steps.

“When you sit on it, your life no longer belongs to you.”

“…Roswitha?”

“But no matter what, I will remain steadfast in this cage, fulfilling all of my duties! Because I am the greatest Queen in the world! Leon, tell me—aren’t I the best Queen ever?” She nudged his shoulder gently, her face now adorned with a pleading smile, as though desperate for affirmation.

Leon chuckled. “Yes, you are the greatest Queen.”

“Yay~”

Leon’s thoughts clicked into place: so, before she’s had a drink, she’s Noa. After a few drinks, she’s Muen.

He had always wondered how, with personalities like his and Roswitha’s, they'd ended up with such an exuberant firstborn like Muen.

Turns out, it was only after consuming alcohol that Roswitha’s full "attribute panel" unlocked.

“The greatest Queen, paired with the greatest prisoner. Per-fect~！”

“Do you really have to use the word ‘prisoner’?”

“Well, aren’t you my prisoner?”

Leon sighed, unwilling to argue with a slightly drunk Mother Dragon. “Fine, if you say so.”

After a moment’s pause, he added,“But just so you know, a week ago, this ‘prisoner’ saved your entire Silver Dragon Clan from Constantine.”

“Indeed, indeed, which is exactly why I said you’re the best prisoner~！”

There was no avoiding the “prisoner” label, it seemed. Leon chose to let it go.

“…I must admit, though, you’re truly amazing,” she said in an unusually sincere tone. “I used to think you were just bragging.”

Coming from Roswitha, this honesty was rare. After the battle with Constantine, she genuinely respected Leon’s strength—so much, in fact, that it bordered on ridiculous.

Normally, she wouldn’t offer even an ounce of praise, for fear it would inflate his ego.

But tonight, emboldened by alcohol, she allowed herself this fleeting moment of admiration.

Of course, by the time tomorrow dawned, she’d likely dismiss it all as drunken nonsense and deny having ever said it. What could Leon possibly do about that?

Ah, brilliant as always, she thought to herself smugly.

And sure enough, Leon puffed out his chest with pride. “Well, of course. You think the title of the ‘Strongest Dragon Slayer’ is self-proclaimed? That’s an Empire-approved honor~！”

“Grrr!”

Roswitha turned to him, leaning closer until her small chin rested atop his arm. Those beautiful silver eyes blinked at him mischievously.

“And yet, three years ago, you still ended up as my prisoner. Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

Leon pried his arm away, shoving her chin off. “That—that was because I got sabotaged by a traitor. Otherwise, I’d have long since—”

“Long since what?”

“Long since… uh…”

Why couldn’t he finish the sentence?

It wasn’t as though the Dragon Mark was glowing. There was no external influence interfering with his thoughts.

Could it be… was he actually developing some kind of soft spot for this Mother Dragon?

The realization sent a chill down his spine.

He pressed his lips together, uncertain of how to divert the conversation.

“Hmph. Stupid man, heartless as ever,” Roswitha huffed.

“How am I heartless? We were enemies back then! More than that, if I hadn’t used Blood Charm on you three years ago, it would’ve been me getting torn to shreds instead!”

“And back then, we were enemies?” Roswitha latched onto the key phrase.

“Yes.”

“So you’re saying… we’re not enemies anymore?”

Leon's face turned crimson as he averted his gaze. Muttering awkwardly, he replied, “We’re still enemies—just two enemies co-parenting three daughters, that’s all.”

Roswitha’s temper flared.

She reached out, grabbed his chin, and turned his face toward hers. Using both hands, she began squishing and kneading his cheeks mercilessly.

“When the world ends, when all magic is gone and every living thing turns to dust, this mouth of yours will definitely still be going strong!”

Leon wasn’t one to take such teasing lightly. He retaliated by grabbing her cheeks, returning the gesture.

Like two childish schoolkids, they sat on the temple steps, tugging and pinching each other’s faces, refusing to let go.

"Then what should I say? Huh?"

"Say that you're my captive!"

"I won't say it! Let go of me!"

"I won’t let go! Say you're my captive, and I'll let go!"

"I won't! You let go first!"

"I won't. You say it first!"

...”

After a brief struggle, Roswitha finally gave in. "I'll count to three, two, one, and we'll let go at the same time."

Leon’s eyes shifted slightly. "Okay."

"Three... two... one!"

......

Leon: →_→

Roswitha: ←_←

The sudden silence in the air was palpable.

Leon glanced down at the delicate hand still clasped to his face, then at his own hand gripping Roswitha's face. With a chuckle, he said, "I know you too well, dragon lady."

"This time for real. Three, two, one, we let go."

"Fine."

"Three... two... one!"

The couple finally released their hold on each other.

After rubbing their flushed, warm cheeks, Roswitha took another sip of beer.

Letting out a breath, Roswitha turned toward Leon. "But since we just brought up the matter of you being framed by a mole... it seems like we've never really talked about it before, have we? So how about now—shall we talk about it?"