In the vast hall of the sacred temple, the air echoed with the seductive murmurs born of indulgence.

A bottle of red wine lay overturned on the steps, its rich liquid cascading down the tiers, seeping into the cracks as it descended.

On the throne above, two figures intertwined in an unrelenting embrace.

Leon finally understood why Roswitha had insisted on having the throne crafted so spaciously.

Not just spacious — but wide enough to accommodate two individuals, and resilient enough to endure various postures.

She wasn't lax.

She was enlightened.

"Is this why you asked me to wait here tonight? Hmm?" he asked, his voice low and teasing.

Roswitha’s eyes were half-closed. Her flushed face was painted with a smile of deep satisfaction.

Leaning against the throne's armrest, she swayed gently with the rhythm, her tail lazily moving behind her.

Softly, she replied,

"I've told you before... didn't I?... Sooner or later, we were going to do this right here—"

The effects of the wine heightened her sensitivity, leaving her unable to even complete her sentence.

Roswitha slowly opened her eyes, and from her vantage point — with her head resting on the armrest — the entire temple hall was reflected in her luminous gaze.

The temple remained vast, opulent, and utterly devoid of life.

Yet the love she and Leon shared for each other seemed to fill the emptiness to its brim.

The tiles on the wall mirrored her image:

her silver hair disheveled, her gaze hazy—

a lofty queen entwined with a mere mortal on her throne, presenting a scene most disgusting to behold.

Yet... Roswitha found immense pleasure in this self-loathing spectacle.

Despite her innate cleanliness, she allowed Leon to kiss every inch of her body.

Despite being a workaholic, she had designed her throne specifically to make intimate moments with her fake husband more comfortable;

Despite claiming to be cold-hearted and unburdened, she had fallen deeply for a man she should never have loved.

In public, she was the aloof queen, but in private, she relished the passionate pleasures of being a wife.

She could not extricate herself from the shame and revulsion brought on by her own inner contradictions.

Suddenly, the rough hand of Leon clasped her slender neck again.

Roswitha chuckled, "Try choking me again, Leon."

The words barely left her lips before she felt the firm grip tighten slightly against her throat.

"I did try. So? How does it feel?" Leon’s voice was rough and deep.

Roswitha held onto his wrists, her lips grazing his fingertips in a tender movement. "You know this is insubordination, you captive."

"Indeed, Your Majesty. I haven’t even begun to show you the depths of my insubordination. Want to explore them?"

"Gladly. Let me, your queen, see it—"

Her dragon-like pupils dilated, her blush deepened, yet she insisted on continuing their ‘battle.’

"Show me what you’ve got."

Roswitha had a slight penchant for pain.

Of course, only *slightly.*

And Leon knew exactly how to manipulate this "slight" tendency with pinpoint precision.

He could fulfill her desires while ensuring she remained unharmed and unwronged.

Between lovers, the games might be daring and bold, but they always built upon the foundation of mutual respect.

She was first Leon’s beloved wife, and only then his partner for marital games.

Under Leon’s “bold and unrestrained” onslaught, the couple completed their first round of passion on the newly refurbished throne.

Roswitha’s slender arms hung limply from the armrest of the throne.

A tired smile graced her lips as she closed her eyes, savoring the peak of pleasure that had just passed.

The cold touch of the tiles against the back of her hands brought her a sliver of soberness.

Raising her eyes, she glanced at Leon, who was also having a rest.

Grabbing the discarded gown from the floor, Roswitha slipped it on casually, then stood up. Her bare feet made contact with the chilled tiles as she descended the steps of the throne.

Her neck bore the telltale marks of nibbles;

Her delicate back was scattered with reddened impressions;

Her silver hair messily cascaded down to her waist.

Leon, noticing her dressed, slowly put on his pants, leaving his upper body exposed.

The cold and desolate hall stood still, hosting the silver dragon queen on its stairway. Roswitha turned away from the throne and the shirtless man seated upon it.

"Leon."

"Hmm?"

"Promoting live birth alone won’t truly strengthen the Silver Dragon Clan."

Roswitha spoke softly, "As queen, I need to become stronger myself to better protect my people, do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand. So, what’s your plan?"

"Do you remember when you returned a few days ago, and I mentioned that you need to store more magic power?"

Leon nodded slightly, "Yes, I do. But didn’t you say your body hadn’t fully recovered, so that approach wasn’t an option for now?"

Roswitha turned toward him, spreading her arms. "I’ve recovered now. The method you inspired can be implemented. Do you want to hear it out?"

"Alright. Tell me."

"In truth, the method isn’t complex — the inspiration came from you."

Leon raised a brow, "Me? I provided the inspiration?"

"Yes. When you discovered that your body couldn’t store magic, you turned to the Dragon Mark as a storage organ, injecting magic into it as a repository."

Roswitha continued, "However, the Dragon Mark has a storage limit. I recall it only allows for about ten minutes of full-output magical combat, am I right?"

"Yes. Eliminating those six Dragon Kings was already my limit, and that was even with the boost of Nine Hells Gate."

Leon added, "Without Nine Hells Gate, we would have been in trouble that day."

"That’s not necessarily due to weakness. Skills you've mastered are yours, after all. Defeating opponents is the bottom line of what matters, isn’t it?"

Leon smiled lightly, "True enough. Please, continue with the idea."

"My thought is this. If a single Dragon Mark can store enough magic to sustain ten minutes of battle, then what if there were two Dragon Marks? Would the combat duration and intensity be doubled?"

Hearing this, Leon’s face lit up with excitement, his expression betraying a flicker of surprise.

"Two? A second Dragon Mark? I thought you could only mark one of these things."

"Who said that? Dragon Marks are, in essence, magical formations— you can inscribe as many as you wish on your body."

Roswitha paused, biting her lip hesitantly before continuing, "It's just..."

"Just what?"

"Just that if additional Dragon Marks are inscribed, **the sensations and feelings** brought about by the Dragon Marks— will also be doubled. Remember years ago when I branded a Dragon Mark onto your Black Gold Chariot’s exterior and made you wear it to do that with me... Do you remember?”

Leon paused, allowing the memories to resurface.

Indeed, that occurred a long time ago.

Roswitha had taken him to her private treasure room in the rear mountains, which also witnessed the moment when Leon donned the Black Gold Chariot again after two years.

Unbeknownst to him, the groove-laden armor had been heavily enchanted by Roswitha herself.

And so, under the effect of two Dragon Marks, Leon had experienced an indescribable euphoria for over an hour.

That particular occasion nearly cost him his life.

Even now, recalling that would send a subtle shiver down his spine.

"Yeah... I remember."

"That level of intensity was merely on the *external* Dragon Marks. Should a second Dragon Mark be branded directly onto **your body**, the sensations from engaging— could become significantly heightened."

Roswitha concluded, "Although, theoretically, it would greatly double the overall magical reserves."

"That makes sense… But won’t this simply serve as my method to grow stronger? Didn’t you just say that you need to grow stronger too?" Leon asked.

Roswitha nodded gently. "Exactly. So… I intend to inscribe a second Dragon Mark onto my body as well. Just like you, I’ll use the Dragon Mark to amass additional magical reserves."

Leon rubbed his temples lightly. "The approach does sound simple. But if Dragon Marks can truly do everything, wouldn’t others be able to exploit them just as we do? Wouldn’t that eliminate our unique advantage?"

Roswitha gave a faint smile as she placed her hands behind her back, moving closer step by step.

Then, she bowed slightly. As the neckline of her gown dipped lower, exposing the white skin of her chest along with the faint glow of the Dragon Mark etched there.

She grasped Leon’s wrists, guiding his palms onto the soft skin of her chest.

"For most of the Dragon Clan, Dragon Marks represent shackles, restraints, the manacle of pure love, and the velvet cage of fidelity."

"Because, in lifetimes that span millennia, who can genuinely promise to love just one person forever?"

"But for us.”

“You and me, Leon. We'll be together— for a lifetime. Won’t we?"