Once life settled down just a bit, Roswitha would promptly awaken her jealous trait, adding a slight ripple to what might have become a dull routine.

And countless past experiences had taught Leon that whenever she got jealous, besides expressing her dissatisfaction, she always had an ulterior motive.

He had no doubt this time was the same.

Thinking of this, Leon slowly pressed down on the wrist wrapped around his neck and asked in a soft voice, "If there's something you want, just say it. You don't have to use jealousy as an excuse."

Roswitha didn’t answer right away. She tilted her head slightly, escaped Leon’s grasp, and raised her arm to wrap it around his neck once more.

Leon pushed her arm down again.

She raised it again.

And he pushed it down again.

And again, she raised it.

And yet again, Leon pressed it down.

After a few rounds of this back and forth, Leon ultimately chose to surrender.

After all, what can you do with a dragon this stubborn besides giving in?

Satisfied with her arms firmly looped around Leon’s neck, Roswitha gave a charming smile.

She leaned in closer, breathing the same air as the man before her. Her silver eyelashes were distinct, brushing gently against Leon’s skin with each blink, leaving a faint tickle.

And her unique scent lingered around him, invisible and untouchable, yet undeniably present—like a spirit encircling and wrapping itself around him.

In the past, her fragrance was light and elegant, almost unnoticeable.

But after giving birth to Aurora, it became richer and more intoxicating—still pleasant to the senses, but even more enthralling.

“First of all, your question was too rational,” Roswitha murmured softly.

“Rational? What do you mean?”

“What kind of husband will directly ask his wife why she’s throwing a jealous tantrum? Hmm?”

Roswitha's tone and expression were subtle—a mix of teasing and coquettishness.

It seemed she thoroughly enjoyed the atmosphere of the moment. It wasn’t overly sweet, but it was enough for her to immerse herself in it.

Perhaps it was simply because the fool in front of her fascinated her so much. Every time they found themselves entangled in such moments, she would savor every little detail.

Moreover, Roswitha was remarkably good at "enhancing" such atmospheres.

Like a skilled mixologist, she carefully crafted this potent, intoxicating cocktail of ambiguity between herself and Leon.

“To put it simply, you’re just… too straightforward.”

“You’ve known me for long enough.”

"And you’ve known me long enough too."

The queen moved closer, the tip of their noses brushing lightly against each other. “Indulge me.”

“I seem to recall that my wife is supposed to be a queen, not a dainty little woman.”

“Oh? You don’t like your queen showing a softer side?”

Leon sighed helplessly. After mulling it over for a moment, he made a decision.

In the next second, Leon decisively kissed Roswitha on the lips.

The beauty gasped slightly in surprise but quickly accepted the kiss—a fleeting, delicate exchange.

Yet just as Leon was about to deepen the kiss, Roswitha pulled away, though she remained close, their faces still intimately pressed together.

With a mischievous curve of her lips, she asked, “What are you doing? I told you I was jealous, and you just went ahead and kissed me?”

“Well, since we always end up here anyway, why not just skip the preliminaries?”

“Hah, my sister was right, after all.”

“That genius sister of yours, who uses all her intelligence for gossip and scandal, said what?”

“She said, once men have been married long enough, they lose patience.”

Roswitha’s thumb gently traced over the slightly flushed lobe of Leon’s ear. “You used to take your time indulging me, making me happy before even thinking of touching me. Now you want to jump straight to the finish line. Tsk… men!”

Leon rolled his eyes speechlessly.

It wasn’t that he lacked the patience to soothe this dragoness, nor that he was overcome by primal urges to act impulsively.

The reason he wanted to skip the prelude was simply that he didn’t want her leading him by the nose.

Roswitha was unlike other women—instead of being at the mercy of her emotions, she mastered them completely. This mastery extended even to her jealousy.

Her fits of envy were just strategies for her to “coerce” Leon—a dynamic she referred to as nothing more than a bit of marital fun.

Historically, these playful jealous episodes ended with Leon indulging her whims, doing whatever she wanted to achieve her unstated goals.

But this time, Leon refused to be played so easily.

As a married man, he wanted to assert his stance—to resist!

“Why are you so silent? Hmm? Don’t tell me I’ve hit the nail on the head—ohhm~…”

Before she could finish, Leon wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, pulling her close into his embrace.

Her softness pressed firmly against his chest. Due to their height difference, Leon only needed to glance down slightly to see the Dragon Mark resting above that mesmerizing and mysterious curvature.

Yet Leon kept his gaze fixed on her striking silver eyes instead.

Compared to her other feminine attributes, it was her eyes he adored most.

Beautiful and profound, like galaxies one could willingly lose themselves in.

“Roswitha, what if I said that I intend to touch you? What could you possibly do about it?”

“Well, as your wife, what else could I do? Of course, I would let you… do as you please~.”

Roswitha’s laugh was both alluring and provocative. “But afterward, you’d better make it up to indulge me twice as much.”

An intimate night could never last forever.

It always reached its end by the break of dawn.

Leon hesitated briefly. He wasn’t looking forward to placating this capricious wife of his once they were both completely drained.

Sensing his reluctance, Roswitha smiled faintly. “Alright, fine, if you don’t want to sweet-talk me, you don’t have to.”

“It’s not that…”

“Well, just save those sweet words for another time.”

With that, Roswitha unwrapped herself from Leon’s hold.

Leon quietly exhaled in relief.

But just as he thought their little moment had ended, Roswitha walked over to the phonograph and restarted the previous piece of music.

“If you don’t want to appease me, that’s fine. But don’t think we’re done here.”

Roswitha turned around lazily, slowly bent at the waist, and made an elegant hand gesture inviting him.

“May I have this dance, Mr. Casmode?”

“...Please, spare me, Your Majesty!”

Roswitha straightened, raising a delicate brow. “What’s that supposed to mean, Leon? You were willing to dance with that senior of yours but not with me? Fine, you scoundrel! Don’t you dare set feet in my bed again!”

“Okay, okay, fine! Let’s dance!”

“Too late, I don’t feel like it anymore.”

Roswitha crossed her arms and turned her head away.

Yet she didn’t leave, nor did she turn off the phonograph.

Her hint was as obvious as could be.

Before the music shifted into its next segment, Leon stepped forward, bent slightly at the waist, and extended his hand.

“Ms. Roswitha, may I have this dance?”

“Hmph…”

The queen’s lips barely restrained her smile. “You’d better count yourself lucky—just this once, I’ll graciously accept.”

She slid her hand into his, and the two reconnected in each other’s embrace, swaying gently to the rhythm of the music.

It wasn’t a fast-paced tune, so their movements were slow and deliberate.

Roswitha danced barefoot. Leon glanced down, then asked, “Aren’t your feet cold?”

“They are. What are you going to do about it?”

“You can step on my feet.”

“Well then... I won’t hold back.”

She lightly lifted her feet and placed them atop Leon’s.

The slow rhythm and lack of exaggerated moves made this arrangement viable without disrupting the overall grace.

As a reward for her obedient husband, Roswitha leaned forward slightly, raised herself on tiptoe, and planted a soft kiss at the corner of his lips.

Coincidentally, this tender kiss aligned perfectly with the music’s transition into its next phase.

With a slight increase in tempo, Roswitha no longer stood on Leon's feet.

The two danced in seamless harmony within the confines of their bedroom.

Roswitha’s nightgown swirled in the warm amber light, her silver hair catching the glow as it danced in tandem.

Dancing with Roswitha reminded Leon why he had rejected that senior of his in the first place:

She lacked individuality.

She sought only to accommodate, throwing away all sense of self in the process.

Leon disliked that. What he sought was an equal partnership, not someone changing themselves entirely for him.

Roswitha, however, perfectly exemplified equality.

Even in this dance, she wasn’t pandering to Leon or trying to please him by surrendering completely to his lead.

And it was precisely by maintaining her personality and independence that she elevated the dance into something exceptional.

Leon admired her—not simply because of her stunning beauty.

Her allure was undeniable, but what captivated him most was her steadfast and proud heart.

“Why are you smiling?” Roswitha suddenly asked.

Leon only then realized he had been smiling unconsciously.

He shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

“Tell me.”

They continued their steps, gradually nearing the large bed in their room.

“I was just thinking how much of an achievement it is to conquer someone like you.”

“Conquer me? Hah! If you think you’ve conquered me, Leon, you’ve got another two hundred years to go.”

The music reached its end.

Silence engulfed the bedroom, save for the quickened rhythm of their heartbeats.

“Two hundred years is far too long. Let’s focus on seizing the day.”

“Seizing the day?”

“We can make it… from the sun sets… till the dawn breaks.”

Leon leaned in, claiming Roswitha’s lips once more.

They slowly turned, yielding to the pull of gravity as it carried them toward the soft expanse of the bed.

Before Leon slipped her nightgown off, Roswitha reached out with her tail, the tip catching the bed curtains and bringing them softly down.

As the drapes fell, only faint sounds could be heard drifting from within.