Wrong Script, Right Love Chapter 71: Lego, Pajamas, and Royal Intruders

[Leif’s POV — The Next Day—Thorenvald Estate—Leif’s Chamber]

"...my lord, you have a guest."

Nick’s voice ca slicing through my perfectly warm, blissfully soft cocoon of sleep like a knife through butter.

I cracked one eye open, still trying to rember which dinsion I existed in.

"W...h...o...?" Yeah. That’s my early-morning voice. The voice of a soul that hasn’t reconnected to its body yet.

Nick opened the door fully, far too energetic for this cursed hour. "It’s Crown Prince Arden."

I blinked. "...Crown Prince Arden?" My brain tried to boot up like an old machine. "Why the hell is he here... at..." I squinted toward the balcony. The sun had just risen, soft and annoying. "...this ungodly hour?!"

Nick, being the loyal servant who pretends this is normal, said calmly, "He’s waiting downstairs, my lord."

My soul montarily left my body. "Downstairs. Downstairs." I groaned as I dragged myself off the bed, mumbling, "Alright... alright... let’s go et the royal pain in the—"

Nick eyed warily. "Are you not going to change, my lord?"

I blinked at him. "No. If the Crown Prince wants an early audience, he gets this—" I gestured dramatically to myself—"the raw, unfiltered, half-dead version of Lord Leif Thorenvald. It builds character."

Nick, ever the professional, simply bowed his head. "As you wish, my lord."

"I an, honestly..." I muttered as we descended the grand staircase, my hair a disaster and one slipper half-on. "...who visits nobles at dawn? Did he forget the concept of tea and breakfast? Or personal space?"

"Do you wish for to at least fix your hair, my lord?" Nick asked cautiously.

I yawned so wide I could swallow the morning sun. "No. Let him know the price of disturbing my royal slumber."

And just like that, Lord Leif Thorenvald descended the stairs—half-dead.

***

[Living Room—Seconds Later]

As I pushed the door open, there sat Crown Prince Arden in all his morning glory, perfectly dressed, posture straight, sipping tea like he owned ti itself.

anwhile, I stood there with bed hair and rumpled pajamas.

"Your Highness," I said with all the grace of a man who’d just been resurrected. "To what do I owe the... pleasure of your sunrise invasion?"

Arden looked up from his tea, blinked once, and then let his eyes roam over from head to toe—bed hair, wrinkled pajamas, one slipper missing, and a general aura of I hate mornings.

Then he smirked.

"So... this is how our Leif looks in the morning. Now I finally understand why the Grand Duke’s gone mad over you."

I blinked. Once. Twice. Thrice.

"...So you’re here for—"

Before I could finish, the Crown Prince stood, closing the distance between us far too quickly for soone who wasn’t trying to assassinate .

"It’s a pity," he murmured, stopping way too close for comfort, "I was too late."

My brain froze.

What? What was he saying? What was happening? Why was he standing this close? What the actual, sleep-deprived hell was going on?

Was I dreaming?Did I die in my sleep and was this my punishnt?

He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against my cheek as he examined my face like I was so rare artifact. Then he sighed—actually sighed in relief.

"I heard you were kidnapped," he said softly. "But it seems you’re unhard."

"Oh, yeah," I muttered, still blinking. "Just a little light trauma, mild emotional damage, and one ruined morning routine—nothing too serious."

He smiled faintly. "Good. I’d hate to see sothing precious broken."

Before I could process that borderline flirty line, he turned on his heel like nothing happened and started walking toward the exit.

"Wait—where are you going?" I asked, half-asleep, half-baffled.

"I’m leaving," he said casually, waving over his shoulder. "I just ca to check if you were still breathing. See you soon, Leif."

And then—he turned around with that smug royal smile and added,"Oh, and... I’m better than the Grand Duke, you know."

My brain blue-screened."???????"

And just like that, he left.

No explanation. No context. Just emotional damage and confusion left behind in his royal wake.

I stood there in my rumpled pajamas, hair sticking up like a bird’s nest, staring at the empty doorway.

Then reality hit .

"That... that—FUCKING CROWN PRINCE!!!" I scread, clutching my head. "I HOPE YOU STEP ON LEGO, TRIP ON YOUR CAPE, AND SPILL TEA ON YOUR ROYAL ROBES FOR DISTURBING MY SLEEP!!!"

Nick sighed behind , looking like he’d already accepted a lifeti of chaos. "Shall I prepare your breakfast, my lord?"

"Yes," I growled. "And double the sugar. I need the strength to survive aristocrats with god complexes."

***

[Breakfast—Later—Dining Chamber]

That fucking Crown Prince.

If the empire had a law allowing three free acts of treason per citizen, I would’ve used all three on him before breakfast.

One for waking up.One for invading my personal space.And one for making my sleep-deprived brain think he was about to kiss .

I tore a piece of bread with unnecessary aggression.

Nick, standing by the door, had the face of a man praying for his master’s emotional stability. Good luck, buddy. I lost that sowhere between "good morning" and "I’m better than the Grand Duke."

Father cleared his throat delicately. "Leif, how are your preparations for the Rainbow Fashion Show coming along?"

I swallowed my frustration and forced a smile. "It’s going wonderfully, Father. I’ll show them how to walk before nobles like true divas. I’ve already selected so designs... I just need a little help coordinating accessories."

I turned to Mother, hopeful. "Mom, will you help ?"

She blinked innocently, slicing her pancake. "Oh, my dear, I have a tea party today. Lady Constance invited , and I simply cannot miss the gossip— I an, discussion—of the season."

I smiled understandingly. "That’s okay, Mom. I’ll call Alvar’s mother. She’ll definitely—"

"WHEN SHOULD WE LEAVE?"

The voice cracked through the air like thunder.

I blinked. "...What?"

Mother slamd her fork down, eyes gleaming with divine fury. "I said, when should we leave? Nothing in this world is more important than my son. I. WILL. CO." She leaned forward. "Do not—ever—call that extra mother again."

"Extra mother" ... aning Alvar’s mother.

I snorted. "Mom, she’s not an extra, she’s just—"

"She is temporary fabric, my dear. I am the original pattern."

I bit back a laugh, raising my hands in surrender. "Alright, alright, no extra mothers. You’re coming."

She nodded proudly, taking a sip of tea like a queen who had just conquered a rival nation.

"Then..." I said, amused, "we’ll leave in the afternoon."

"Perfect," she replied with a regal hum. "I’ll have the carriage prepared and my favorite fan ready."

Before I could even process that, Alina piped up from her seat, crumbs all over her cheeks. "I’m coming too!" she declared, patting Zephyy’s round little head. "And Zephyy will walk the ramp with !"

"Of course you are, sweetheart," I said, smiling. "The world deserves to witness your fierce model energy."

Zephyy squeaked proudly, already imagining himself in glitter, "I...I’m so excited, master."

Father, who had been quietly sipping his coffee through this entire soap opera, suddenly set his cup down with a grim sigh. His voice turned low... ominous.

"I have to visit sowhere."

The air stilled.

Mother turned to him slowly. "...Where exactly?"

He gave a suspiciously calm smile. "Just... a visit. Sowhere important."

I frowned. "Father, that tone sounds like you’re planning a murder."

He didn’t deny it.

He smiled.

"Oh no," I muttered. "You’re going to see Alvar, aren’t you?"

He didn’t answer.

He just took a long, leisurely sip of coffee.

And smiled wider.

"I..." he began, setting the cup down with the grace of a man about to commit sothing absolutely unholy, "...have to et my dearest future son-in-law, right?"

Zephyy squeaked, "May the gods protect him."

And ? I just stared blankly at my father, ntally lighting a candle for the poor Grand Duke.

"...All the best, Alvar," I muttered under my breath.

Because he was so dood.