"The Queen is in a good mood today."

"So?"

"I'll allow you to accompany me on a patrol of the border."

"Dragoness, if you want to go on a date with me, just say so. No need to beat around the bush."

Roswitha was dressed in a practical, minimalist outfit today — a pair of tailored trousers. The long legs that were usually hidden beneath her skirts now stood out, accentuated by the snug fit of the trousers, showcasing an alluring elegance.

Of course, it wasn't her intention to be so provocative; she just couldn't help it. With a figure like hers, anything she wore would inadvertently have the same effect.

Listening to the brazen words spilling from the man's mouth, Roswitha rolled her eyes.

"A date? Dream on. Anna, a few maids, and some guards will be coming along too."

Ah, so this border patrol wasn’t some secret date after all.

Leon shrugged. "Then why drag me along? You can all go by yourselves."

"As the Prince Consort of the Silver Dragon tribe, shouldn't you flaunt your presence a little?"

"No, I'm staying home to look after the kids."

"A man born under heaven and earth, how can you spend all your days babysitting?" Roswitha tried to egg him on.

But as the saying goes, once bitten, twice shy — Leon was now essentially immune to Roswitha's provocations.

With a lazy tone, he replied, "Today I'm babysitting, full stop."

Leon thought the conversation was now over, and Roswitha would give up trying to drag him out the door.

But unexpectedly, the dragoness seemed to have an unusual amount of patience today.

"But you've been cooped up at home for so long," Roswitha said. "Shouldn't you get outside, stretch your legs? Breathing fresh air might help. Maybe your last cold was because you've been staying indoors too much and not getting enough exercise."

He would've dropped the cold issue, but since she brought it up, it reignited Leon's annoyance.

"My last cold was because *you* locked me out on the balcony until well into the night."

"You shouldn't have spouted nonsense. Anyway, I don't care. You're coming out today, no excuses."

Look at her—utterly unapologetic in her unreasonableness.

If this dragoness had spoken sweetly, Leon might have played along and gone with her. But from her tone and attitude, she was outright commanding him.

Little wicked dragon. Now you’re really pushing your luck, huh?

Leon flopped onto the sofa, planting himself like a stubborn tree.

"Not going."

The stalemate was on.

Roswitha opened her mouth, likely preparing to deliver another round of aggressive "persuasion."

But just as the words reached her lips, she paused, considered something, and suddenly changed tactics.

"Come with me. Just to keep me company, okay?"

Her words froze Leon in place.

"Just to keep me company."

Ah~~

So all of that talk earlier about the "Prince Consort flexing his presence" and "catching a cold from staying indoors" were just elaborate smokescreens for this one line of "just to keep me company."

How fitting — entirely in line with how I envision a Silver Dragon Queen:

Unable to speak her mind directly. Awkward and prideful.

Leon hummed softly, clearly smug.

"Well, since you put it that way, I guess I'll come along. But let me make this clear: I'm only coming because I had a change of heart and realized I ought to make an appearance for your people."

Ah, and that fits perfectly with my mental stereotype of you, Kasmode:

All talk, no humility. Never admitting the obvious.

Whatever — Roswitha decided to let it slide.

Calling him out would be satisfying, sure. But letting him dig his own grave was far more entertaining in the long run..

After the pair got themselves ready and were joined by Anna, several maids, and guards, they headed for the border of the territory.

Inspecting the borders was one of Roswitha's regular monthly duties.

Technically, a tribe's territory spanned vast regions. As the Queen, she wasn't obliged to personally visit the borders so frequently.

Such tasks could easily be delegated to trusted subordinates.

Like how a company chairman wouldn't drop by the security office every month to chat with the guards about how many delivery drivers they'd turned away this past month or how many illegally parked bikes they'd had to remove.

It just wasn't practical.

But Roswitha was something else entirely — a workaholic at the highest level.

She insisted on personally overseeing everything.

Leon already knew this about her, so it didn't surprise him anymore.

What *did* continue to amaze him was how, in the midst of her intense work schedule, she still flawlessly managed their household.

Neither their three daughters, nor Leon himself, ever slipped through the cracks.

She even had this uncanny ability to leave all work-related stress outside the home.

In all their years together, Leon had never seen Roswitha retreat into a sulk after a hard day at work, shutting herself off from everyone.

Saying it is one thing, but doing it? That's another level entirely.

Anyone could falter under the weight of pressure and emotions — anyone but her, apparently.

Oh, dear. And to think this incredible woman is my wife.

What a burden. *Barely stifles laughter*.

"Let's start from here," Roswitha said.

"As you command, Your Majesty."

The rush of air brought Leon back to the present.

Several silver dragons descended gracefully, landing on a lush patch of grass. In the distance, a forest rose along the border of the Silver Dragon territory.

Leaping off Roswitha's back, Leon watched as the dragons shifted into their human forms.

Side by side, Roswitha and Leon walked ahead, her entourage of maids and guards following on either side.

As they crossed the grass and entered the forest, Leon's sharp instincts quickly noticed the concealed sentries positioned among the trees.

There were quite a few. Clearly, since Constantine's attack last time, Roswitha had increased security along the borders.

Surveying the area closely, Leon lowered his voice. "There are about 27 sentries in this section alone, aren't there?"

Roswitha arched a brow, slightly impressed. "Yes, exactly. I didn't expect you'd spot them all so easily. Seems we should deploy even more hands."

"Just adding more people isn't enough. It'd be better to focus on improving disguise techniques."

When it came to matters like this, Leon was a true connoisseur.

Like a master thief turned security consultant, Leon’s advice was gold.

Roswitha took his suggestion seriously. "Alright, noted."

Their voices remained hushed; Leon wouldn't point out her minor flaws in front of her subordinates.

After all, the Queen deserved some dignity in public.

Around two hours later, the group approached the forest's edge.

Beyond the tree line lay the boundary of the Silver Dragons' domain.

At the edge of the woods, Leon spotted Constantine's severed dragon head.

It hung suspended between two massive trees, swaying gently in the cold breeze.

Though half a year had passed, its scales and keratin had already fallen away. The lone horn left on the skull was dull and brittle, looking as though it could snap with the slightest pressure.

Leon approached the grisly relic, studying it in silence.

After a moment, he gave a cold snort and muttered under his breath, "Aligning yourself with the Empire was your biggest mistake, Constantine."

Roswitha came to his side, casting a glance at the skull before turning her gaze to him.

"What, reminiscing about your little commendation?" she joked softly, ensuring Anna and the others trailing behind wouldn't hear her.

Leon smirked lightly. "An opponent of his caliber isn't even worth remembering."

"Oh? Then what kind of opponent would be worth remembering?"

Leon withdrew his gaze from Constantine's skull and looked directly into Roswitha's eyes.

Their eyes locked.

A moment of unspoken understanding passed between them.

Yet just as the atmosphere turned romantic, the Queen playfully shattered it herself.

"Hmph, foolish prisoner. Did you dream of hanging my head on your front gate?"

Leon rolled his eyes in annoyance.

This is exactly why I won't confess to you.

I'll wait. You-just-keep-waiting—wait until the end of time, the heat death of the universe, and still, I won't confess to you, you blockheaded dragoness.

After paying respects to Constantine's battered remains, the group reached the territorial border.

Beyond lay a stark and barren landscape — sandstorms, wastelands, and rocky deserts stretched out as far as the eye could see.

"There doesn't appear to be anything unusual here," Roswitha remarked. "Let's move on to the next location."

"Understood, Your Majesty."

As the group began to depart, Leon remained rooted in place.

Noticing this, Roswitha halted and looked back. "What's wrong?"

Leon crouched down, scrutinizing the divide between the grassy plain underfoot and the harsh desert ahead.

The boundary was so sharp it could have been carved by a blade.

"This dividing line is too clean... almost unnaturally so," Leon murmured thoughtfully. Rising to his feet, he turned, still facing away from Roswitha. "Increase the number of patrol shifts in this area."

Roswitha's expression was contemplative as her eyes flicked over the scene before her. After a pause, she nodded. "Alright."

Standing on that unnervingly precise borderline, Leon looked out into the shifting sands. Narrowing his eyes, he muttered under his breath, smoldering with an unshakable sense of unease.

"Trouble’s brewing..."

***

And so, the great storm brews once more!