The chamber had quieted. The fire had dimd.
Nebi's soft footsteps disappeared into the corridor beyond the throne hall, leaving behind a trace of dry parchnt and candle wax in the air.
Leonhardt didn't move.
His fingers tapped the armrest of his throne with soft, rhythmic precision, thinking.
That final line still lingered, coiled in the back of his mind.
"Only that you entrust with the mory of your reign."
He leaned against Asuka while squinting his eyes, trying to understand what it ant. Though she wasn't wrong in asking him, it was quite surprising.
But she was bold to assu.
A soft scrape broke the silence. He didn't look up.
Asuka strolled back into the light.
She hadn't left with the others.
Her tail swayed lazily behind her, that familiar smirk curling across her lips as she moved straight to the throne—not with hesitation, but the comfort of soone who'd already claid a seat.
Without asking, she climbed onto the armrest, legs draping across his lap.
"You sure you want to agree to that?" she asked, voice low, like coals still smouldering after a burn. "Letting that little scribe write your whole damn legacy?"
Leonhardt didn't answer right away.
His gaze followed the last flicker of fla on the council fire.
"She already rembers more than most forget," he said. "And she chose to serve it."
"Hmph." Asuka rested an elbow on the backrest, her cheek against her hand. "I'd get jealous if you started handing out pieces of your history to every girl with glasses and a good mory."
Leonhardt's lips twitched. "Then stay close enough to be unforgettable."
She scoffed, but it ca with a faint blush. Her claws tapped once against the polished armrest.
"You've gotten good at this."
"Ruling?"
"Flirting."
Leonhardt turned his face toward her, slow and deliberate. "I had good teachers."
The heat between them flickered—more than playful now.
She didn't look away.
Neither did he.
Her hand slipped across his chest, using her claws to trace the edge of his collar. "Then maybe I should remind you what real fire feels like."
He didn't stop her actions and instead narrowed his eyes with a faint smile and remained silent before standing from the throne.
Asuka still balanced across his lap as she let out a soft "Heh," and draped both arms around his shoulders.
By the ti the throne chamber emptied, only the crackle of cooling embers remained.
And the scent of heat, passion and fla.
—
Steam drifted across the surface of the water.
The scent of volcanic salts and heated monster oil soaked into the air, mixing with the strong musk of union. The bathhouse was carved directly from black marble, its edges inlaid with pale violet crystal veins that shimred with soft, magical light. The water, deep enough to subrge two fully grown ogres, rippled gently with movent.
Leonhardt leaned against the bath's rounded edge, arms spread along the ledge, head tilted back.
His breathing was calm.
Across his lap, half-draped over him like a lounging jungle cat, lay Asuka.
"My hips.. are sore."
Her toned legs floated just under the surface, tail coiled around one of his thighs. Asuka's damp red hair clung to her body, while steam rolled off her shoulders. Her lips were parted, and her eyes were half open with a lazy smirk.
"Why so quiet?" Asuka narrowed her eyes while watching Leonhardt. "Did I wear you out already?"
Leonhardt cracked one eye open, unimpressed. "I'm recovering. Dragonoid stamina isn't normal."
"Thanks for the complint."
Asuka pressed closer to him, as if to absorb his heat and rested just beneath his collarbone. She scratched the surface of his chest, slow and content. "You know… I could get used to this."
"Dangerous thing to say, Asuka," he replied.
She shrugged. "I didn't say I'd stop being a pain in the ass. Just that I'd do it while sitting on you more often."
"We damaged the throne... and you got it dirty."
Before she could retort, the bathhouse door clicked open.
Both their heads turned.
Sylvie stood in the doorway, wrapped in a thin silver towel. Her pale skin practically shimred in the damp air, white hair clinging to her face in long, soaked strands. She didn't speak.
But her expression said enough.
"Ah, Leon! Ugh... it stinks of wet lizard in here." She snorted, gazing at Asuka, who glared back.
Leonhardt t her eyes calmly. "You can join us."
Sylvie's steps were soft, silent like falling snow.
She moved to the water's edge, hesitated… then stepped in.
The mont her toes touched the surface, the temperature dropped. Not sharply, but enough for goosebumps to prickle along Asuka's arms.
"Damn it—" Asuka sat up. "Do you have to be so cold, even in the bath?"
Sylvie blinked. "I can't help it."
"You can, you just don't."
With a flick of her hand, Asuka splashed a wave of warm water toward her. Sylvie caught it with a silent barrier, and a ripple of cold shimred out in reply.
Leonhardt sighed. "Girls."
Sylvie finally floated closer, settling beside him, her presence like a second layer of calm on the surface. Her eyes—icy blue and unreadable—softened as they locked on his face.
"I missed you," she whispered. "Even if I didn't say it before."
"I know," he said quietly.
Asuka's tail gave his thigh a mild thump. "Tch. Just say it louder next ti."
Sylvie didn't answer, but she slid her hand along his forearm beneath the surface, interlocking their fingers.
Leonhardt closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose.
He couldn't help but love this bath, with an icy woman to one side and a hot dragonoid on the other... he kept them close and neither of them desired to let go either.
They enjoyed a long and comfortable soak before a dragon decided to fight the dungeon master and tead up with the Yūki Onna.
Yet they still suffered a crushing defeat.
—
The study beside Leonhardt's chamber was modest by comparison.
Bookshelves carved into the walls held scrolls, leather-bound journals, and crystal-bound ledgers inscribed with dungeon runes. A single enchanted candle flickered atop a darkwood desk—its fla steady, enchanted not to flicker from breath or wind.
Leonhardt sat in silence, one hand propping up his chin while the other flipped slowly through a stack of goblin reports.
Resource flow, alchemy stock, patrol rotations, and visitor logs. All filed with surprising clarity. He recognised Nebi's script instantly—precise, sharp, fast, just like her mind.
His eyes lingered on the last page.
A note written at the bottom, barely a whisper on the parchnt:
"I'll record your victories, even the quiet ones."
Leonhardt let the page drop and leaned back.
How long had it been since he truly sat in silence? Without demands. Without blood. Just… thoughts.
The room slled of ink, worn leather, and sothing faintly floral—the scent from the wine cabinet Zafira insisted on moving in here last week.
He didn't protest.
His mind drifted, just briefly, to each of them. Asuka's brash loyalty. Sylvie's soft chill. Nebi's focus. Lina's devotion. Zafira's… everything.
They've each staked a part of .
He didn't smile.
But he didn't scowl, either.
Maybe that's what being a King ans.
A soft knock pulled him back to the present.
Leonhardt didn't raise his voice.
"Enter."
The door creaked open.
Zafira stepped through in a fitted black gown of silk so thin it shimred with every movent. Her long black hair hung loose over one shoulder. In her hands, two crystal glasses and a bottle of Papillon.
"I thought you might want sothing sweeter tonight," she said, voice low and rich.
Leonhardt arched a brow. "A reward?"
Her long tail wrapped around the door handle, closing it with a click. She swayed her hips with each step and approached his desk. Then poured without asking, the wine caught the light, an amber-gold nectar with a faint pink sheen.
Zafira placed the glass on the table, then wrapped around the desk, perching on its edge while leaning forward, revealing her deep, ample cleavage.
"Not a reward," she said, lifting her glass.
Her golden eyes t his.
"A celebration."
Leonhardt took the wine. Swirled it once.
"And what, exactly, are we celebrating?"
She raised her glass.
"You. Still breathing."
They clinked glasses softly.
The candle kept burning.
And sowhere in the heart of the dungeon, gears continued to turn.
The first sip burned sweet against his tongue—ripe fruit and dark warmth.
Leonhardt let the silence sit between them, content for once not to chase the next step.
But just as he leaned back into that rare mont of peace—
The throne room glyph pulsed once in the back of his mind.
A whisper of urgency.
[◊ Sire… It's Gobbolas. He's calling from the frontier. ◊]
Leonhardt's eyes narrowed.
Zafira didn't flinch. She only drank deeper.
"Shall I prepare another glass?" she asked, golden eyes gleaming.
He stood slowly, already turning toward the hall.
"No. Keep it cold."
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