CHAPTER 100: THE DAY MY FIANCÉ TRIED TO MURDER A PRINCE

[Leif’s Office—Continuation—Leif’s POV]

"STEP AWAY FROM MY FIANCÉ!"

The words cracked through the air like thunder—and I swear, the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.

I turned slowly. And there he was.

Alvar. My very calm, totally not jealous, definitely rational fiancé—standing in the doorway like an avenging god with murder in his eyes. His aura flared so violently that even the shadows were trying to evacuate.

Caelum, still hugging me, went stiff as a statue. "...Ah," he whispered, voice slightly trembling, "I think your fiancé wants to kill me."

"Wants to?" I said, deadpan. "He’s about five seconds away from doing it."

Alvar’s eyes narrowed. "Five seconds is generous."

Oh. Wonderful. We’ve hit the death threat phase.

"Alvar," I said carefully, prying at Caelum’s arms like one peels gum off their shoe, "this is not what it looks like."

"It looks," Alvar said, taking slow, deliberate steps forward, "like a prince of another empire decided to wrap his hands around my fiancé."

"I—okay, yes, but context—"

"Context won’t save him," Alvar growled.

Caelum immediately stepped back, hands raised in surrender, that diplomatic smile never quite leaving his face. "Now, now, let’s not resort to violence. I assure you, Grand duke Alvar, this was purely a gesture of gratitude—"

"Gratitude?" Alvar echoed, voice dropping dangerously low. "You hug my fiancé out of gratitude?"

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Alright, both of you, let’s not start another inter-kingdom war in my office—again."

Caelum, brave or stupid (probably both), smiled faintly. "You’re rather protective, aren’t you, Grand Duke Alvar?"

Alvar’s eyes flicked to him, expression cold. "I’m possessive. There’s a difference."

Oh gods. He said it.

My heart did a weird flutter thing that I pretended not to notice. "Alvar—"

He ignored me completely and continued, stepping even closer until his presence practically smothered Caelum. "If you value your life, Second Prince Caelum, you’ll remember one thing: Leif is mine."

. . .

Caelum smiled, tension flickering behind his eyes. "I see. A healthy, territorial relationship. How charming."

Alvar’s aura spiked again. "You want to test its health?"

"NOPE," I interjected, jumping between them before one of them decided to rearrange the other’s face. "Alright, that’s enough testosterone for today! Alvar, breathe. Caelum, stop smiling like you’re flirting with your execution."

They both stared at me.

I stared back.

Silence.

Then, because the gods apparently hate me, Caelum had the audacity to grin and say, "You really do attract interesting men, Leif."

I sighed, dead inside. "Yeah. And apparently, they all want to fight each other or kneel at my feet."

Alvar’s glare sharpened. "He knelt too?"

"...Oh, apparently and unfortunately yes. He just wanted to stay here to protect himself."

And then—silence.

Not just any silence. The kind that makes your soul pack its bags and say, ’good luck surviving, I’m out.’

Alvar’s expression didn’t move for a full three seconds. Then... he smiled.

Not the charming, gentle smile I usually get when he’s pretending to be civilized. No. This was the kind of smile that said: ’I’ve already buried him in my mind, and I’m picking the coffin color next.’

My stomach dropped.

Oh, gods help me—he was calm. Too calm.

"Alvar," I said slowly, hands raised like I was trying to tame a wild beast. "Let’s... take a deep breath, okay? Inhale peace, exhale homicide."

His eyes flicked to me—sharp, glacial, and full of a terrifying kind of affection. "I’m perfectly calm, my love."

That’s what every man says right before they commit arson.

"Uh-huh," I said carefully. "And what’s that expression for, exactly?"

He tilted his head, still smiling, voice sweet as poisoned honey. "I was just thinking... if he enjoys kneeling so much, perhaps I should help him stay down."

"...By help, you mean—?"

"With my sword."

"Oh great," I muttered. "He’s entered poetic murder mode."

Caelum, standing a few feet away, actually gulped. "Grand duke Alvar," he said quickly, forcing a diplomatic tone, "I assure you, it was purely a respectful gesture. A knightly one!"

Alvar chuckled lowly, the sound too smooth to be safe. "You’re not a knight."

"Yes, well, I was trying to be polite—"

"Then learn better manners."

I jumped between them again, waving my hands frantically. "Okay! Enough murder vibes for today! This is my office, not a dueling arena!"

Alvar blinked as if I’d just suggested we replace his sword with a knitting needle. Then he folded his arms, that terrifyingly calm look settling over him. "Alright, my love... then let’s duel. At the field."

. . .

. . .

". . . Eh?" I squeaked.

He just smirked—the kind of smirk that made kingdoms surrender—and I turned to Caelum, whose royal confidence was visibly crumbling. "All the best, Caelum... I hope you survive."

Caelum managed a nervous grin. "I... will try."

***

[Training Field—Twenty Minutes Later]

And that’s how we all now... standing at the training field twenty minutes later, surrounded by chaos that could only be described as "royal madness with snacks."

Apparently, word spread faster than gossip around the whole territory—because not only were the knights gathered, but also villagers, merchants, and that one old lady who sells apple pies on Thursdays.

And my people? Oh, they were thriving.

"Alright! Ten silver coins on the Grand Duke!" someone shouted.

"No, no—five on the Crown Prince! He’s got royal abs!" another yelled.

Meanwhile, me?

I was sitting comfortably at a table near the edge of the field with a massive bowl of popcorn, legs crossed, living my best spectator life. Nick was beside me, expertly collecting bets like a professional bookie in shining armor.

I popped another piece into my mouth. "Alright, listen up, everyone! If my fiancé wins—and let’s be honest, he totally will—I’ll give everyone a bonus! So bet wisely and don’t come crying to me later!"

The crowd exploded.

"YAAAAAYYYY!" someone screamed.

"I’m betting twenty silver coins!"

"Make it thirty! The Grand Duke’s abs alone are worth that much!"

Another shouted, "What if the Crown Prince wins?"

I shrugged dramatically. "Then I’ll give you emotional support!

"

And then...people became more excited and someone brought drums. Someone else was selling skewers. Some of my knights started painting their faces with red streaks like this was the Crimson Cup finals.

What was supposed to be a friendly duel had somehow turned into a full-scale festival of competition.

Even my crimson babies are waving their tails dramatically in the wind, as if it too wanted to witness the chaos.

Caelum was stretching nervously on one side, muttering a prayer under his breath. The poor guy looked like he was about to face a dragon instead of my mildly-possessive fiancé. Meanwhile, Alvar stood calm, collected, and absolutely glowing with "I’ll destroy you politely" energy.

Zephyr munched happily beside me, eyes sparkling. "Ohhh, this is going to be so good! It’s been ages since I’ve seen a duel. Think he’ll cry?"

"Which one?" I asked, sipping my drink.

Nick gave me a flat stare. "My lord, you do realize they’re fighting because the Second Prince hugged you, right?"

I shrugged, crunching down on my popcorn. "Details, Nick. Just... background noise of life."

Then I stood dramatically and cupped my hands around my mouth. "EVERYONE! CHEER FOR MY FIANCÉ!"

Caelum yelled from the field, "Leif, this is unfair!"

I grinned. "Priorities, Caelum!"

The villagers roared with laughter, banging cups and shouting. Someone had already started a chant—"GRAND DUKE! GRAND DUKE! GRAND DUKE!" — while another yelled, "I bet my goat on Grand Duke Alvar!"

Zephyy nearly choked laughing. "Your fiancé started a festival out of jealousy!"

I nodded proudly. "I call it—The Tournament of True Love and Bad Decisions."

And somewhere in the middle of the chaos, Alvar unsheathed his sword with the calm of a man about to win both a duel and an argument. The crowd went silent—well, as silent as they could while still crunching snacks and whispering bets.

Baron Sigurd stood between them, pale and trembling, holding up a handkerchief like it was a flag of doom. "A-Alright, are the two of you ready?"

Alvar’s grin was sharp, dangerous, and—if you squinted—just a bit too excited. "Yes. Totally."

Caelum swallowed hard, muttering, "No, but sure, let’s die with dignity."

Baron looked between them, clearly regretting his entire career, then sighed and raised the cloth high. "Then on my count—one... two... three—"

He dropped the handkerchief to the ground—then immediately bolted for safety, yelling, "START!!!" like a man fleeing for his life.

And just like that, the duel began—

Alvar moved first, a blur of motion, his blade slicing through the air with that terrifyingly elegant precision only he could pull off. The sound of metal meeting metal rang through the training grounds—clang!—followed by another, sharper clash! as Caelum barely managed to block the next strike.

Sparks flew, scattering like fireflies in daylight. Each time Alvar swung, the ground itself seemed to flinch. Caelum, to his credit, ducked, rolled, and blocked like a man with absolutely no desire to die before dinner.

"Holy Saints—he’s fast!" someone gasped from the crowd.

"Yeah, and the prince still has his head! That’s impressive!" another yelled back.

Zephyy bounced up and down, shouting, "HIT HIM HARDER! SHOW HIM WHO OWNS THE HUGGING RIGHTS!"

"Ah yes... nothing says diplomacy like my fiancé attempting to murder royalty."

The crowd roared as sparks of mana flickered across the field.And me? I just leaned back in my chair, smirking.

"This," I said, popping another piece of popcorn into my mouth, "is so going in the history books."