[Leif’s POV—ThorenVald Estate—Continuation]

CLASH! CLANG!

SLASH!!!

The ringing clash of steel finally fell silent. A single strike—clean, fast, and decisive—sent Caelum’s sword flying into the dirt.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Dust swirled in golden light. And there stood Alvar—calm, hair slightly tousled, blade pointed at Caelum’s throat like he’d just finished slicing through boredom itself.

The Baron raised both hands. "Aaaand that’s enough! We have a winner! Nobody’s dead—fantastic job, everyone!" He looked like a man who just wanted to retire and open a bakery.

The villagers erupted into cheers.

"Grand Duke Alvar wins!"

"Make way for the love champion!"

"Where’s my twenty silver coins?!"

"Someone check if the prince still has all his limbs!"

I sighed, lowering my popcorn bag. "Well, that’s that. My fiancé just publicly destroyed a royal. I should feel proud."

Alvar didn’t move, still glaring down at Caelum with that quiet, terrifying possessiveness that could curdle milk.

"Alvar..." I called, walking up slowly, careful not to make any sudden moves—like one does when approaching a predator mid-hunt. "The duel’s over. You won. Everyone’s impressed. You can stop now before we have to rename the festival ’Caelum’s Memorial Day.’ "

Caelum, to his credit, was trying to look dignified while lying on the ground. "I yield," he wheezed. "Please tell your fiancé to lower his sword. I’d like to keep my neck attached for diplomatic reasons."

"Next time," he said, voice calm and smooth as a polished blade, "keep your hands off my fiancé... or I might forget you’re a royal."

The crowd collectively went "oooooooh."

Caelum, still flat on the ground and trying to look dignified while clutching his pride (and possibly his ribs), stared up at him. "So... You remembered I’m royalty until now ?"

Alvar tilted his head slightly, a faint smile ghosting across his lips. "That’s the only reason you’re still breathing."

Caelum blinked, deadpan. "Ah. How generous of you, Grand Duke Murder-Charm."

I coughed into my fist. "Alright, alright—before this turns into Royal Funeral: Live Edition, let’s all calm down. Alvar, honey, sheathe the sword. Caelum, maybe... stop breathing so loudly. It’s triggering him."

Zephyy snorted so hard he dropped his pastries. "Master...Oh, this is gold. You should ask someone to paint this scene! We’ll hang it in the council hall—title it ’Diplomacy, My A—Fiancé Edition.’"

Even Nick, the ever-serious one, muttered, "At this point, I’m not sure if we need peace treaties or popcorn refills."

I sighed dramatically and turned to Baron Sigurd. "Alright, Baron... please give everyone a big treat since my fiancé—"

WHOOSH!!!

. . .

Huh?

. . .

Why is the ground suddenly so close? Why is my hair dangling upside down?

It took me three seconds to realize I was slung over Alvar’s shoulder like a sack of flour. Upside down. In front of my entire domain.

The crowd collectively gasped in awe. Some even clapped. CLAPPED.

"Ohhhhhh! Live romance!" someone squealed."I ship them!" yelled the same farmer girl.

And me? I was too dizzy to care about public reputation anymore. "Alvar," I said, trying to sound calm while dangling like laundry. "What are you doing?"

"Taking care of you," he said flatly, marching toward the manor with terrifying determination.

"...By carrying me upside down?"

"You need a bath," he said firmly.

"I already took a bath this morning!"

He didn’t even glance down. "Not enough. You need to thoroughly cleanse your body... and your soul. "

I blinked.

"My soul???" I yelped, kicking my legs. "This isn’t a demon exorcism, Alvar! It was just a hug! "

He scoffed. "A hug that lasted three full seconds."

"YOU COUNTED!?"

"Of course I did," he said calmly, walking straight toward the mansion gates. "I count everything that touches you."

The crowd behind us lost it. Zephyy was wheezing, Nick was smiling because he is too used to it, and Baron pretended to be busy with air.

And me? I just sighed, arms dangling uselessly. "For the love of all divine beings... why do I feel like I’m the one who lost the duel?"

"Because you did," Alvar said smoothly, opening the door with his foot and walking inside. "And your punishment... begins with soap."

"SOAP?! Alvar, I swear if you even—HEY PUT ME DOWN YOU—"

The door slammed shut behind us, leaving behind a very entertained audience and one very doomed fiancé.

***

[Later—Leif’s Chamber]

SLAM! BAM!!!

Alvar didn’t stop until we reached our chamber. He kicked the door open like a man on a mission, still carrying me upside down.

"Alvar, put me down! " I barked, flailing helplessly. "This is undignified! I am a lord—your lord—your fiancé—stop treating me like a... like a laundry bag! "

He finally dropped me—very gently—onto the couch. And still I landed with a thud that rattled my spine.

"Undignified?" Alvar tilted his head, arms crossed, eyes gleaming with quiet, dangerous amusement. "You let another man hug you casually. I’d say that’s far more undignified."

I groaned, rubbing my head. "Oh, for heaven’s sake, it was a thank-you hug, not a declaration of eternal love!"

He leaned closer, voice low and smooth. "Did he have to press that close to thank you?"

. . .

My brain short-circuited. "He—what— it wasn’t that close! "

His smile deepened, slow and wolfish. "I saw everything, my love. I was two corridors away and I still felt territorial."

I threw my hands up. "You sound like a dragon guarding a gold pile!"

He shrugged. "You are my treasure."

"Flattering," I muttered, "but dragons also burn people who touch their treasure, Alvar. You literally almost dueled a royal prince."

"Correction," he said, lowering his head until our faces were a breath apart, " I did duel him. And if he had hugged you a second longer, I might have forgotten he was a prince."

I stared into his eyes—dangerous blue, sharp, and stupidly, annoyingly beautiful. "You’re insane."

He smiled faintly. "Only for you."

There was a long pause. My brain tried to reboot while my heart decided to run a marathon.

Then I cleared my throat. "So...since you know I am a fragile flower. So the bath is canceled?"

"NO," he said, straightening. "You’re tainted. I’ll wash you myself."

"WHAT—NO—WAIT—"

Before I could finish, he scooped me up again—this time in a bridal carry, which was somehow worse.

"Alvar, listen, this is an abuse of power—!"

"Relax," he said in that maddeningly calm tone. "It’s just a bath. With soap. And maybe a lecture."

"A lecture? "

He smirked. "On personal boundaries."

"FOR THE LOVE OF SAINTS, ALVAR—!"

And just like that, I was carried—again—into the bathroom, my dignity trailing behind like a lost spirit.

***

[Private Bath—Later]

Steam curled lazily through the marble chamber, the air thick with lavender... and bad decisions.

And then— WHOOSH! WHISSSSSHH!!

I blinked.

And realized, to my eternal horror, that I was very much, completely, utterly naked in front of him. I gave up. Just... gave up on life. My soul clocked out.

"...So this is what it feels like to be a prisoner of cleanliness," I muttered, deadpan.

Alvar didn’t even flinch. He rolled up his sleeves, muscles flexing like he was auditioning for the title of Saint of Unnecessary Temptation.

Which, frankly, should be illegal.

My eyes—traitorous little devils—wandered over the way his veins popped, and I muttered, "You do realize hugs don’t transmit curses, right?"

He ignored me completely. Of course he did.

The next thing I knew, there was a gentle push, and—SPLASH!— I was in the tub, sputtering like an offended cat. Water everywhere. Dignity? Gone. Vanished. Probably filed a missing person’s report.

Alvar knelt beside the tub, utterly unbothered, rolling his sleeves higher like a man preparing for sacred duty.

"Still," he said calmly, picking up a sponge, "contamination happens."

"Con... contamination?" I repeated, staring at him like he’d just accused me of spreading dark magic via hugs.

He nodded solemnly. "You were touched by another man."

"...Ah. I see. A truly horrifying crime."

"Yes."

"Punishable by...?"

"Thorough purification."

"Ah, yes. Of course. Logical. So nice to experience being kidnapped by my fiancé into a bathtub."

He smirked slightly, dipping the sponge and brushing it across my shoulder. "I just don’t like you covered in someone else’s aura," he said softly.

"...Are you jealous of aura now? "

"Very."

The man didn’t even blink while he gently scrubbed my hair, as if this was a normal thing for powerful nobles to do—bathing their lovers out of righteous jealousy.

I just stared at him, deadpan, water dripping down my face.

His fingers slid through my hair with ridiculous care, like he was washing away not dirt—but every trace of someone else’s touch.

And I hated how my heart fluttered at that.

Because no matter how absurd, how jealous, or how possessive this man was... I couldn’t stop falling for him. Every look, every touch, every maddening word—pulled me in deeper.

And no matter how much love we shared... it was never enough. Because with him, I always wanted more.

More warmth.More closeness.More of him.

We needed refills—of love, of madness, of whatever this beautiful chaos between us was.

And maybe... that was okay. Because loving him was never about peace. It was about choosing the chaos—again and again.