Leon's recent trip to the Empire wasn't far enough in the past for him to forget. Naturally, it left a deep impression.

He still vividly remembered that evening when he had been discussing their next steps with his mentor and Rebecca, but then—Smack!—the Dragon Mark lit up, and fast. So fast, in fact, that Leon didn't even have time to react.

What followed was an interrogation from both his mentor and Rebecca—questions about couple tattoos and… peculiar romantic roleplay ideas.

Later, when the storm of questions finally cleared, Leon recalled that the flickering of the Dragon Mark symbolized one party beginning to long for the other.

Which meant that at that moment that night—Roswitha... was thinking about him.

And she was likely still camping out in the woods outside the Empire.

Roswitha’s pupils flickered slightly before she turned her gaze away. "What's there to be shy about? You left me for several days—am I not allowed to miss you?"

"Huh?"

"You know, to miss whether you've dropped dead yet, and if so, where you’re buried. What else do you think I’d miss?"

The Queen wasn’t skilled in lying, nor did she seem particularly interested in perfecting the art of deception. Hence, she cooked up a pretty weak excuse.

Deep down, though, she wanted Leon to know she'd been thinking about him at the time.

But that didn’t align with her aloof, unattainable image of regal independence. So, she decided: why not toss him a clumsy little lie instead?

Come on, Dragon Slayer, you're so clever, aren’t you? Surely, you can see I’m lying, right? You must be able to—right?

"Oh, sure, I believe you." Leon replied earnestly.

Roswitha: ?!

"You... you believe me?"

Leon shrugged. "Seems consistent enough with the mental picture I’ve got of you, so why not?"

"You!…"

You jerk, so heartless!

Roswitha turned her head away, crossing her arms over her chest in frustration, her tail giving an indignant flick.

Leon, seeing her reaction, edged closer, a little awkwardly. Taking in Roswitha's sulky demeanor, he couldn’t help but chuckle.

"Alright, alright, I know—you were thinking about me but just didn’t want to admit it."

For now, Leon settled.

When it comes to being stubborn, it’s all about tact. A little sass is cute; too much is toxic.

Their Silver Dragon Queen had suffered in the wilderness for five grueling days waiting for him. While calling her steadfast devotion "undying loyalty" might sound overly romantic, the truth remained that Roswitha remained committed to the bond between them, no matter what—she hadn’t abandoned him after all.

So after teasing her a bit, a slight concession wouldn’t hurt at all.

"I wasn’t thinking about you—not one bit."

"All right, all right. You weren’t thinking about me—I was thinking about you."

Hearing this, the tension in Roswitha's expression softened just a smidge.

Still, she refused to give Leon the satisfaction of seeing her warm up. "You? Thinking about me? Hmph! The Queen doesn’t need your thoughts. Go worry about your donkey instead."

"Tsk, Your Majesty—how could you say that? A donkey has nothing on Your Majesty! I could rub sunscreen on Your Majesty, but on a donkey? Impossible—it would be preposterous!"

Sweet-talking nonsense.

But effective nonsense.

Roswitha, suppressing the smile threatening to creep onto her lips, stretched out her smooth, slender leg toward Leon. "Fine. I’ll give you a chance. Go on, rub."

"Roger that~"

Leon grabbed the sunscreen, squeezed a bit into his palm, and after rubbing his hands together, carefully applied it to Roswitha’s legs.

Her skin was smooth and cool, with a springy texture resembling milk-soft jelly.

Her legs were gorgeously proportioned—not skinny sticks, nor carrying even a trace of excess fat. Every inch and curve Leon touched struck a perfect balance.

Having recently given birth to Aurora just under a month ago, her figure hadn’t quite returned to its pre-pregnancy state.

But it was that same post-pregnancy form that gave her body its undeniable allure—rich yet effortlessly charismatic.

Roswitha reclined lazily on the beach chair, arms folded across her chest as she watched the earnest care Leon put into applying sunscreen. Her voice broke the silence with a half-teasing purr.

"You’d better not rub that Dragon Mark so hard that it lights up."

Which was to say, don’t let touching this Queen’s leg lead to… any noticeable physiological reaction.

"Pfft—how would that even happen? It’s just your leg, and it’s not like I’ve never touched it before."

The Queen’s pretty face flushed as she pursed her lips in grievance. "Nonsense."

Truth be told, applying sunscreen itself is an inherently intimate act.

Roswitha didn’t ever allow anyone else—whether male or female—to touch her legs, her waist, her feet... any of her more sensitive areas.

Those were places she instinctively guarded.

Isa often joked that dragons with romantic interest in Roswitha couldn’t even breach her five-meter "buffer zone."

When was the first time Leon even touched those private, sensitive spots?

It must’ve been over a year ago.

Back then, he’d managed—with no small effort—to seize control during a rather interesting episode of "turning in homework," exploring every corner of Roswitha’s body in the process.

At first, Roswitha had thought she would become deeply upset or even outraged at the overwhelming discomfort his actions might bring.

Yet, to her surprise—neither in the moment nor afterward—did she feel any discomfort at all. Quite the opposite… she felt comfortable.

It seemed Leon had an uncanny sense of her physical boundaries, meticulously staying within limits that made her remain at ease.

Once, during a particularly heated Dragon Mark-induced moment, she couldn’t resist playfully asking Leon how he could understand her body so intricately without any prior knowledge.

She thought the Mark would prompt some romantic or cheesy confession in response.

But Leon, ever deserving of his title as the greatest Dragon Slayer, had this to say: "Dragon Slayers study dragons in-depth. You’ve never heard of a pig butcher who doesn’t understand pigs, have you?"

And then... Roswitha promptly kicked him out of bed.

Still. Truth be told, Leon was an unusual one. No matter how ambiguous or intimate their physical interactions ended up, Roswitha never felt even a twinge of distress.

Instead, there arose a hint of satisfaction—of being conquered, in a way.

Tch—

Roswitha quickly shook her head to scatter the jumble of thoughts.

"Why’d you buy two bottles? There’s no way you need that much."

"Oh, I do. My legs are long; naturally, I’ll use more."

Leon twisted his mouth into a wry pout and mimicked her tone mockingly, "My legs are long~ Naturally, I’ll use more~~"

Roswitha let out an amused snicker, her leg lifting off slightly to tap Leon’s chest lightly in jest.

Leon seized hold of her ankle, capturing her dainty foot in his palm. "Since we’re already at it, might as well get the soles done too."

"What are you doing, you creep—no—ah~!"

Her giggle turned into a shudder as a ticklish sensation radiated from her sole, visibly causing her body to relax.

A moment’s pause later, Roswitha kicked slightly, fixing Leon with an annoyed glare. "This leg’s done. Move to the other one."

"Got it."

Leon circled around her and continued dutifully applying the sunscreen.

"All done!"

"Hmm? You think you’re finished?"

Leon blinked. "You’re literally wearing just your swimsuit. Apart from your legs, there’s no other exposed skin that needs sunscreen."

Roswitha swished her tail teasingly. "Forgot about this?"

"...Why don’t you just tuck your tail away?"

"I won’t. My tail needs sunscreen too."

Ah, so the extra bottle wasn’t just for her "long legs." She needed extra for her tail as well. Of course.

Roswitha gave a little shuffle, rolling belly-down onto her beach chair. Her silver tail waved lazily in front of Leon, flicking in his direction.

"All right, make it happen."

Leon rolled his eyes but nevertheless obediently set about sunscreening the tail.

To be fair, the tail’s texture surpassed even the cool smoothness of her legs. It was softer, chillier—far more sensitive.

Especially the base and tip. Those specific spots were triggers, like switches; a single touch during "intimate moments" and an unstoppable flood of emotion would burst forth.

Hence Leon deliberately avoided those two areas.

Minutes later, he stood. "Done."

"You missed the base and tip. Don’t think I wouldn’t notice," Roswitha slyly intoned.

"Rub those places yourself."

"Oh, come now—being the Queen’s prisoner means your duties include serving Her Majesty, does it not?"

She remained sprawled, elbows propped to support herself, as she threw a coy smirk over her shoulder. "Hurry up, soldier boy—what’s the matter? Surely you're not... scared to touch the base of my tail?"

A classic bait-and-switch.

It once worked wonders on Leon.

But not anymore.

The battle-hardened General Leon had faced it one too many times. Impassive, he surveyed the long silver tail, then turned to the dragon queen’s smug expression.

The more he thought about it, the more it annoyed him.

The angrier he felt—the stronger his urge.

Screw it! He wasn’t doing this anymore!

Leon flung the sunscreen aside and raised his hand in defiance. The palm swiped air, ready to deliver one emphatic, blistering smack to Roswitha’s dragonian rear.

Suddenly, the air shivered with his movement; Roswitha froze stiff as alarm spread across her face.

Leon, stop! If you dare—"

***SLAP!***