CHAPTER 16: PROTECT HIM... FROM ME

[Leif’s Pov—continuation]

Alvar finally let go of my hand and strode forward, cloak swishing dramatically like some winter god descending from the heavens. He stopped right in front of Sirella and Crown Prince Arden.

He said something. Something very smooth. Something very Grand-Duke-y.

I wanted to hear. Really, I did. But they were too far, and my ears were tragically mortal.

What I did catch, though, were the reactions.

Arden’s eyebrow twitched. Sirella’s smirk cracked like old porcelain. And both of them... glanced at me.

Squinted. Hard. Like they were trying to solve the mystery of Leif Thorenvald—enigmatic man, decorative burrito, occasional walking disaster.

I quickly looked away, internally screaming, DON’T LOOK AT ME. DON’T LOOK AT ME. I AM BUT A HUMBLE PIECE OF FURNITURE. POLISHED. FUNCTIONAL. NOT WORTH INTERROGATING.

And then—they sighed. In perfect, unified teacher-disappointment fashion.

Just like that... they left.

Gone. Cloaks swishing. Boots clacking. Leaving behind only the faint trail of perfume, ego, and a cloud of icy contempt.

I blinked.

I blinked again.

"...What the hell just happened?" I muttered eloquently.

That’s when Alvar came back, slipping into my space with the casual ease of someone who always assumes I belong next to him. He set one large, warm hand on my shoulder, grounding me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Come," he said, his tone light, almost amused. "It’s time for lunch."

I nodded automatically, though my eyes were still glued to the retreating royal siblings. "...What did you say to them?"

Alvar didn’t miss a beat. He just plucked the beer bottles from my hands like I was a helpless child who couldn’t be trusted with groceries.

"You’ll know soon enough," he said, casual and smooth, "But first, we have something to discuss. Something important."

I nodded, "Alright."

Meanwhile, my crimson baby trotted happily beside us, tail wagging as if to say: Finally. They are done with the drama. Time for lunch.

***

[Thorenvald Estate, Dining Chamber—Later]

Chicken. Meats. Salads. Cakes. Macrons.

An entire feast, all glittering like treasure under the chandeliers. Honestly, I half-expected a choir of angels to descend and start singing "Hallelujah" the moment the roast was set down.

I raised my beer, gulped, and slammed the glass on the table with a victorious THUD.

"Hah! This—THIS is heaven, ladies and gentlemen!"

... There were no ladies and no gentlemen. Just me. And Alvar. Who was staring at me like I’d just declared war on table manners.

I leaned forward eagerly. "Do you want some?"

His eyes narrowed the tiniest fraction. "No. I don’t—"

Too late. I poured. Beer foamed right to the brim of his untouched glass.

He sighed. "Why did you even bother to ask?"

"Because I’m polite," I said proudly, tearing into my chicken leg. Grease dribbled down my fingers. "And also because I’m a good drinking buddy. Now c’mon, drink it. It’s delicious."

He gave me the slow blink of a man rethinking all his life choices. "Leif... I don’t drink much."

I tilted my head, chewing thoughtfully. "Why? Low tolerance?" I leaned across the table with a wicked smirk. "Will the mighty Grand Duke Alvar Ragunlfsson get drunk and—oh, I don’t know—kiss a chicken?"

For a heartbeat, silence.

Then—he looked at me. Just looked. And slowly, deliberately, that icy composure cracked into a smirk.

"Maybe not a chicken," he murmured. His gaze slid over my lips, sharp and intent. "But a panicked count’s son... that seems more likely."

My brain exploded.

"COUGH—COUGH—HACK—!!" I slammed my chicken on the plate, flailed for my beer, and chugged it like holy water. Foam sloshed down my chin.

When I could finally breathe, I pointed my greasy chicken leg at him with all the authority of a drunk knight swinging a bent sword.

"You...! You—!"

Words failed. My face was burning so hot I could probably roast marshmallows on it. I dropped my gaze and muttered into my plate like a shy maiden in a bad romance novel.

"...please, let’s not talk about that."

The silence stretched.

When I dared to peek up, Alvar was watching me. That same damned smirk on his lips. A slow, dangerous curve—like a predator toying with prey that thought it was safe.

He didn’t say anything. Just lifted the glass I’d poured for him earlier, swirled the beer like it was wine, and drank.

One swallow. Smooth. Effortless.

My heart did something very stupid in my chest.

"...You’re evil," I whispered, clutching my chicken like a teddy bear.

"Mm," Alvar hummed, casually licking a drop of beer from his lip. His eyes never left mine."Am I?"

My lungs gave out. My knees shook. My rainbow baby—yes, the one I keep locked in my ribcage—did a cartwheel.

THIS BASTARD. How dare he—how DARE he wake my rainbow baby without permission?!

I shoved more chicken in my mouth to shut up the shrieking inside my skull. Grease therapy. It’s a thing. Desperate to change the subject, I mumbled, "S-So... what was it you wanted to talk about?"

Alvar, unfazed, cut his steak with the elegance of a man dissecting my sanity. "As you know... your estate has very limited rooms."

I nodded furiously. "Yes! But they’re very comfortable. Cushions. Blankets. Pillows that don’t try to assassinate you in your sleep. Five stars!"

He nodded once. "Yes. However, since the crown princess and Princess Sirella will be staying here for the time being... there are not enough rooms."

I paused mid-bite. "...Oh."

Damn it, he’s right. Thorenvald really is more like a comfy inn with character than a Imperial palace.

Then he leaned closer, his voice dipping just enough to make my pulse riot. "That’s why I have come up with an idea."

I froze. His eyes locked onto mine like he was about to announce my execution. "...What idea?"

And then—calm, serious, like dropping weather reports—he said, "I shall give my chamber to the crown prince and... share a room with you."

...

...

...

My chicken leg slipped from my hand and landed on the plate with a sad, greasy SPLAT.

"...WHATTTTTTTTTT?!?!?!"

My voice cracked like a dying goose.

Across the table, Alvar just... sipped his beer. UNBOTHERED. UNMOVING. UNFAZED. Like this was the most normal sentence ever uttered.

Meanwhile, I—

—slammed both hands on the table, nearly flipping the salad.—stared at him with saucer eyes.

"Y-You...! You—you can’t just—WHAT—??" My words tangled like spaghetti thrown at a wall. "Do you—do you understand the CONSEQUENCES of what you’re saying?! You know... you know I like men! And yet you still want to share a room with me?!"

Alvar didn’t even blink. "Yes." He glanced up, calm as a glacier. "But why... do you seem so distressed?"

"DISTRESSED? DISTRESSED?!" I flailed so hard I almost knocked over the salad. "Sir, I am not distressed—I am having a near-death experience! Do you know what happens when two people share a room?!"

Alvar smirked faintly, spearing his steak. "...They save space."

"NO! THEY—THEY—!!" I nearly stood, arms windmilling like an exorcist banishing demons. "They create misunderstandings! And misunderstandings create drama! And drama creates—"

"Love stories?" he finished smoothly.

I choked on air so violently I saw three of him. "...EXCUSE ME?!"

He finally set down his fork, leaned across the table, and said in that maddeningly calm voice, "Relax, Leif. It’s only a room."

ONLY. A. ROOM.

Inside, my rainbow baby screamed: "LIES! LIES! HE WANTS TO STEAL YOUR DIGNITY!"

I jabbed my finger at him desperately. "Y-You could share a room with the crown prince! Or—or Sir Haldor!"

Alvar’s eyebrow twitched. "Sharing a room with royalty is disrespectful. Only a wife may share the crown prince’s chamber." He sipped his wine, unhurried. "And Sir Haldor... sleeps with your dozens of crimson packs."

I slapped the table. "THEN SLEEP ON THE SNOW! Build a snow cave! A treehouse! I’ll even help decorate it with pinecones and icicles!"

He sighed, long-suffering. "Leif... why are you so afraid?"

I froze. My chicken leg hovered halfway to my mouth. My brain scrambled for an answer.

Why? Because if I share a room with this man...

...I won’t survive.

Does he think I’m a saint?! Seeing the hottest man in the empire sleeping beside me, breathing all calmly, looking like sin sculpted into human form—what if... what if I accidentally do something?!

Like... roll over and drool on his chest?

No. No, no, no.

I must protect this man. Not from assassins. Not from politics. Not from his enemies.

But from me.

I have to save him... from myself... BECAUSE I AM AN ANIMAL!!!!!

And somewhere deep inside my chest, my rainbow baby wailed like a dramatic opera singer:

GOODBYE, DIGNITYYYYY~~~