Like an unstoppable force, the fiery surge crackled with thunderous lightning, leaving the silver dragon no choice but to plead for mercy.

The bedsheets were now crumpled with creases, and the sensation around the waist and abdomen was clammy and damp.

Just as Roswitha had told her daughters earlier—it was merely a cold; sweating it out would solve everything.

However, Little did she expect that sweating it out would require a partner.

In the early hours of the morning, the bathroom lights were still on.

The couple stood under the showerhead, tightly embracing, letting the stream of water wash away the lingering heat and the scent of indulgence from their bodies.

The beauty in his arms looked utterly exhausted, her lips trembling slightly. She rested her delicate chin atop Leon’s chest, gazing up at him with slightly bitten lips, her eyes brimming with a look that almost said, "aggrieved."

The effects of the Black Dragon Bolus had worn off, taking her fever and cold with it.

But the timing of her recovery felt... unfortunate.

It seemed it wasn’t entirely due to natural immunity or the drug’s effect.

Rather, the credit seemed to lie with Roswitha’s... efforts.

Ah, in the end, it all came down to the legendary stamina of a dragon.

“Roswitha...”

The queen’s glare could have cut steel, her voice icy. “What?”

“You’re a miracle worker.”

“Drop dead!”

Roswitha retaliated by pinching his waist—hard.

Leon winced in pain, quickly shutting his mouth, too scared to say anything further that might push his luck.

Yet Roswitha was now so drained that even such a small act of mischief made her vision black out, and her head spin dizzily.

Leon’s reflexes were quick, his hand immediately steadying her delicate waist, preventing her from collapsing onto the bathroom’s tiled floor.

His broad hand settled gently on her narrow, willow-like waist, so slim it seemed as if a slight increase in grip could snap it. The stark contrast between that fragility and the warm water streaming against their bare skin imprinted an undeniably sensual atmosphere.

She leaned against Leon’s chest, her eyelids drooping with exhaustion, her voice barely above a murmur.

“I’m so tired. Let’s finish up and go back to bed soon, okay?”

Leon didn’t jest this time, gently patting her head. “Alright.”

After finishing their shower and drying themselves off, the pair wrapped themselves in towels and returned to their bedroom.

The bed was a complete mess—evidence of the fierce battle fought between the two of them earlier.

Upon seeing this, Roswitha cast another lingering, discontented glare at Leon.

General Leon blushed. “It’s all the Black Dragon Bolus’s fault...”

“Would Aurora even have seen it if you hadn’t left that book on alchemical concoctions in the nursery?”

Leon spread his hands defensively, looking aggrieved. “How was I supposed to know a four-month-old could manage to brew a Black Dragon Bolus? When I tried making one myself, it was such a struggle!”

In truth, the Black Dragon Bolus from earlier wasn’t prepared solely by Aurora.

She hadn’t yet undergone her magical initiation; thus, when using thunder magic to catalyze the herbs, she still needed assistance from Noa.

Additionally, the potion they made wasn’t entirely pure; otherwise, Leon wouldn’t have returned to his normal state in just a few hours.

After all, the Black Dragon Bolus he once brewed himself had worn both him and Roswitha out for an entire night.

Even so, Aurora’s abilities far exceeded Leon’s expectations.

She kept claiming she wouldn’t be exceptionally hardworking in the future, nor did she possess any extraordinary talent. Yet her demonstrated aptitude for learning and hands-on execution repeatedly amazed Leon.

Could this really be the bloodline advantage of being a human-dragon hybrid?

From Noa to Muen, and now Aurora, their exceptional talents and performance were already leaps and bounds above most younglings of the Dragon Clan, whether born live or hatched from eggs.

“Hey, stop daydreaming and come help me change the sheets,” Roswitha called from the side of the bed, her weary tone breaking his reverie.

Leon snapped out of his thoughts. “Oh! Yes, coming!”

Once the sheets were changed, the two of them finally climbed back into bed.

Yet the queen’s resentment hadn’t entirely dissipated. Even after lying down, she deliberately maintained some distance from Leon.

In the middle of the bed sat two teddy bears, exchanged gifts they had given each other, acting as a barrier between them.

After a brief silence, Roswitha spoke coldly. “Go to sleep.”

“Huh? Oh... goodnight.”

She didn’t respond, merely pulling the quilt over herself and turning off the bedside lamp.

The bedroom immediately fell into darkness, with only the faint moonlight left, barely allowing Leon to discern the figure beside him.

She lay on her side, pulling the large teddy bear Leon had given her into her arms.

Leon knew of her habit: after "submitting their assignments" together, during what she referred to as “wise-woman time,” she always needed to hold something to fall asleep peacefully.

Usually, she’d hold him—after all, their “marital life” was rather harmonious, so falling asleep in an embrace after such exertions was entirely natural... even if the next morning they’d both act as stubbornly as ever.

But tonight, she was holding the teddy bear.

Her lingering resentment was palpable.

Leon hesitated for a moment before turning to face her, flattening the head of the teddy bear as he looked past it towards Roswitha.

“Wanna talk?”

Roswitha’s face remained stony. “Let go of my bear.”

Leon awkwardly pursed his lips and let go, a flicker of sheepishness crossing his face.

After a while, he spoke again, softly, through the plush toy between them. “I’m sorry... for making you clean up my mess again. If I’d known this would happen, I’d have just listened to you and taken the medicine.”

No sound came from behind the teddy bear.

After a brief pause, Leon added, “You should probably take some medicine tomorrow too. I don’t want you catching this.”

“Humans and dragons can’t transmit illnesses to each other.”

Your wife rebuffed your concern and threw out some makeshift biological logic as her defense.

“Is that so...”

Leon murmured before suddenly realizing something. “But if humans and dragons can’t transmit illnesses... why do you have human cold medicine in your nightstand?”

The queen’s heart skipped a beat, her face turning crimson in the dark.

Luckily, the room was too dim for Leon to notice her flushed face behind the teddy bear.

“It’s none of your business. I can keep whatever I want there.”

In truth, her bedside drawer didn’t just contain cold medicine. There were also fever reducers, stomachache remedies, sleep aids, pain relievers... all designed for human consumption.

In the Dragon Clan, obtaining these was no easy task. Roswitha had gone to great lengths to assemble a collection of basic human medications for daily life.

But it wasn’t because she wanted thanks from a certain dragon-slaying warrior.

No, these were prepared purely because...

Uh...

Because...

Because the drawer just looked too empty, and she needed something to fill the space.

Yes, that’s all it was.

...

...

Fine, it’s because she cared about *him*. She didn’t want him falling ill or suffering. What of it?!

Roswitha’s thoughts spiraled. The more she thought, the more flustered she felt, and involuntarily, she tightened her grip on the teddy bear in her arms.

But the next moment, a warm sensation brushed against the back of her cool hand.

His palm wasn’t smooth or soft—after all, it was the hand of a warrior, roughened with scars and calluses from countless battles.

Yet whenever this hand held or touched hers, Roswitha always felt a peculiar sense of security.

Slowly, she loosened her almost-deformed grip on the stuffed bear.

She wanted to intertwine her fingers with Leon’s, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so first.

“Can I... take this bear?”

Roswitha’s heart wavered; she didn’t reply but simply waited silently.

After a moment, Leon carefully slid the teddy bear from her arms.

His hand, previously resting gently on her hand’s back, slowly moved to her palm. Without waiting for her approval, his fingers interlocked with hers.

At last, their fingers were completely intertwined.

The couple lay facing each other, gazing into each other’s eyes in the quiet dark.

Roswitha gave a soft snort. “I didn’t give you permission to hold my hand.”

But she didn’t pull away, either.

Leon chuckled. “What can I do? My hand’s stuck now. It won’t come loose.”

He playfully shook their interlocked hands, ensuring they wouldn’t slip apart—not for lack of trying but because he was deliberately gripping tightly.

Under the covers, Roswitha kicked at his leg lightly. “Tch, shameless rogue.”

“Absolutely, Your Majesty. Whatever you say.”

Roswitha rolled her eyes at him. “I’m too tired to entertain you anymore. Goodnight!”

She remained silent for a moment, but Leon knew her too well.

“Do you want me to hold you while you sleep?” Leon asked.

“Beg for it.”

Leon smiled. “Pretty please?”

“Hmph. Begging doesn’t mean—ugh, you’re too much, Casmodeus!”

Before Roswitha could finish her pretense, Leon had already pulled her into his arms.

Roswitha squirmed lightly as if protesting, but soon she gave up, letting herself relax in his embrace.

An unmistakable but elusive smile tugged at the queen’s lips as she lay nestled against him.

Her expression was one of satisfaction she didn’t dare openly admit—even to herself.

After all, this was merely an expression of the subtle, playful affection between husband and wife.