Roswitha always maintained a firm grip on everything, always in control, even during her 'marital exchanges' with Leon.

Granted, she longed to be conquered by Leon.

But that was merely a personal desire. Compared to the deeply ingrained dominance passed down through the centuries within the Dragon Clan, such a yearning had to take a back seat.

Tonight was no exception.

After successfully unlocking Leon's "First Gate" with the assistance of the Dragon Mark, the resonance of the mark hadn't subsided.

A dim, ethereal purple glow shimmered faintly on the chests of the couple.

That was the light of corruption, the light of desire, the light of impurity. Every time this glow dominated their vision, both of them were overwhelmed with uncontainable shame.

The only way to obscure this glow was by pressing intimately together, attempting to drown its filthiness in the haze of ardor.

Even so, their efforts always fell short. The eerie brilliance of the Dragon Mark seeped through the crevices, reminiscent of the emotions, affections, and infatuations they tried so desperately to suppress.

Time and time again, they'd endured this excruciating mixture of embarrassment and thrill. Time and time again, they'd chosen to surrender to its indulgent sway.

Their only escape from this relentless shame was by losing themselves entirely in each other's proximity, seeking solace in affection.

But tonight, something felt... different to Roswitha.

There was something unusual about this damned man.

A feeling of transformation—renewal.

Suddenly, he made his move.

He intended to seize control.

Roswitha would never allow that.

The resonance of the Dragon Mark hadn’t intensified to the point where her desire to submit had overtaken her sense of dominance.

For now, Roswitha was still the proud and commanding Dragon King. No matter the circumstances, it was her prerogative to dictate Leon's role.

She raised her palm and pressed it firmly against Leon's chest, pushing him back down.

Her regal gaze softened into a sensual allure, her eyes radiant with teasing promise.

"Behave yourself. Lie still and don’t move."

Leon’s attempts to resist didn’t surprise her. During their more frequent "turning in homework," he would often vie for control much the same way.

But with the Dragon Mark firmly under her manipulation, even if Leon Casmord’s will was as unyielding as steel, he couldn’t withstand its influence. Every time, without fail, he would ultimately fall into Roswitha's hands—literally and figuratively.

So his struggles were more of an amusement for her than any real defiance.

As she expected, even after her first warning, Leon persisted in resisting.

Roswitha let out a mocking chuckle before immediately intensifying her command over the Dragon Mark.

The glowing mark blazed even brighter, reflecting the queen's smug triumph.

But in the next instant, she froze—her confidence undone by the sudden force gripping her shoulders.

Shock rendered her motionless as Leon moved like a fierce predator, surging upward to pin Roswitha beneath him in one swift motion.

His hands pressed firmly over her elegant shoulders, flipping the balance of power in an instant.

Now Roswitha lay amid the bedding, wide-eyed, staring up at the man above her. Her silver gaze flickered with a swirl of conflicting emotions.

Astonishment. Panic.

And yet, glimmering faintly, a touch of delight... anticipation.

Her man... had actually withstood the baptism of the Dragon Mark?

Thump-thump—thump-thump—thump-thump.

The rapid beat of her heart echoed like thunder in her ears as she gazed at the stark yet stoic features above her.

It was amazing.

This man... he was amazing.

Casting aside the constraints of the Dragon Mark, defying all odds, he sought to take control of her. To hold her helpless within his strong, calloused grip, to drive her into trembling submission...

Roswitha’s long, elegant eyebrows curved into crescents, her silver eyes gleaming like liquid moonlight.

"Roswitha," he uttered her name, his voice low and cold, each syllable rumbling deep in his throat.

Lifting her by the nape of her neck, he brought her ear close to his lips.

"Don’t you dare die on me," he whispered fiercely.

Roswitha clutched onto his solid, muscular arms, listening to his sharp-edged words.

Under normal circumstances, she would’ve bitten back with a retort.

But now?

All she wanted was to savor the fear and dominance radiating from Leon, letting it envelop her completely.

To her, these words were the most exquisite love confession.

It turned out Leon’s threat wasn’t an empty one.

Roswitha’s earlier intuition had been right—there was something fundamentally different about this man now, as if he’d undergone a rebirth.

Was it because of the First Gate’s awakening?

Heh. Maybe this mishap had stumbled into adding to their “married life.”

…

From the back of her head, it felt as if a bomb had been planted there.

The bomb’s fuse stretched down the length of her elegant spine, following the curve of her waist before ending at its tender center.

Under that man’s merciless weight, the flames of desire snaked down her spine like a lit fuse, igniting the bomb inside her with an explosive force.

In that moment, everything shattered.

Her head buzzed, her vision blurred, and she was thrown into a whirlwind of bliss.

For what seemed like an eternity, Roswitha ascended heavenward, only to be violently cast into the depths of hell.

It took nearly a dozen seconds for her unfocused silver eyes to regain clarity.

The sensation gradually returned to her body, along with the other senses.

She blinked slowly, her gaze fixed on the ceiling above. The residual warmth coursing through her body made her wonder if everything had been just a fleeting dream.

When she heard no reply, her chin was tilted up, her lips captured tenderly in a fleeting kiss.

The gentle peck seemed like a perfect punctuation for their incredible escapade.

Or maybe it was merely a comma.

After all, who knew if they might be submitting “another assignment” soon?

Feeling the kiss deepen contentedly, Roswitha decided it might be time to stop for now.

That had always been their usual rhythm, after all.

But Leon didn’t seem inclined to stop there.

Wait, what? The damned man was preparing for Round Two? Without even taking a breather?

Roswitha pushed against him lightly, needing a moment to speak.

"Why so eager? Let me get some rest first," she murmured.

Leon shot her an unreadable look before pressing his lips back onto hers, unyieldingly.

In that moment, Roswitha felt as though she were dating a spoiled child.

Dating. That term implied there should at least be time for “talking,” didn’t it?

They couldn’t just “love” without “talking”!

Still, there was no stopping him, so she allowed herself to yield to this stubborn fool.

Roughly five minutes later, Leon finally seemed to have quenched his thirst and regained his composure. He eased off her at last, leaving Roswitha flushed and relieved as she sank back onto the bed.

Both of them lay entangled on the disheveled sheets, the quilt kicked to the floor long ago.

They stared silently at the ceiling for a while before Leon spoke.

"Did you feel it?"

"Feel what?"

"The difference."

Roswitha’s pupils contracted slightly before she nodded. "Yes. It’s very different than before."

Leon slowly lifted his arm, staring at the palm of his hand in contemplation.

"It feels as though there’s an endless well of power inside my body now. And this power... it feels so pure."

Roswitha closed her eyes, letting out a faint scoff. "Hmph. I can feel it too—it’s remarkable. But to think you’d use your newfound strength... to do this kind of thing with me?"

Leon arched a brow at her, retorting without hesitation. "A Dragon Slayer developing a new skill and using it on a dragon—how could that not make perfect sense?"

She kicked his side in fierce retaliation. "Perfect sense my ass! You’re just sophistry to suit yourself!"

"Want to go again?"

Her body tensed at his abrupt proposal.

Instinctively, she bit her lip, deliberating her options.

The experience had undoubtedly been transformative. At last, her yearning to be conquered had been fulfilled.

But Leon’s earlier warning loomed in the back of her mind—“Don’t die on me.”

At the same intensity as before, another round or two wouldn’t kill her, but—passing out mid-session would be utterly humiliating...

He’d definitely tease her about it for ages.

Besides, if he could now resist the influence of the Dragon Mark, Roswitha had lost her upper hand.

The current dynamic wasn’t favorable to her.

Until she devised a way to regain control, it would be wiser to “retreat” for now.

So, after a long moment of torment, Roswitha suppressed her lingering infatuation and responded,

"That’s enough for tonight."

Leon didn’t push further.

Truthfully, he hadn’t intended to force her from the beginning.

His earlier question was merely an excuse to test the limits of his newly empowered body.

But judging by the exhausted state of the dragon beneath him—

Were they to continue at that intensity long before he reached his limit.

Hah. “Powerful dragon body”?

What a pathetic "dragon's body"!