CHAPTER 23: HUSBAND MATERIAL? WRONG ANSWER

[Leif’s POV — Office, continuation]

"...wow," I whispered, still gawking at Sir Roland like he’d stepped right out of my secret dream Pinterest board titled ’Hot Husky Men With Green Eyes Who Could Kill Me and I’d Say Thank You.’

The man bowed stiffly, his voice rumbling low like an avalanche. "Roland Eisenhart, reporting for duty, my lord."

My eyes widened.

TINGLE!!! SPARKLES!!! FIREWORKS!!!

DAMN IT! HIS VOICE IS HUSKY TOO. A handsome captain with a husky voice... what a combo. The ultimate combo.

I—I think my heart just rolled down to his boots. No—knelt before him. It’s pounding against my ribs like it’s auditioning for a heavy metal band.

Before my brain could stop me, the words slipped out. "Sir Roland... are you perhaps... interested in romancing with... men?"

. . .

. . .

FUCK!!!! ABORT! ABORT! DAMN IT LEIF WHY DID YOU SAY THAT OUT LOUD?!

. . .

Silence.

Sir Haldor froze mid-blink. Sir Roland Blinked in confusion. Two grown knights looked at me like I’d just started juggling flaming chickens.

Oh no. OH NO. I forgot... I’m the only rainbow flag in this medieval, hetero-heavy empire. Damn it, Leif, control your mouth!

I cleared my throat, coughed into my fist, and scrambled to fix it with the speed of a man covering a fart in church. "D-Don’t mind that! Aha-ha! Joking, joking! Pure comedy, yes! Just testing your reflexes!"

Both knights stared at me with a big question mark in their expression.

I slammed my palms on the desk, leaning forward with my best responsible lord voice. "What I meant to say is—it makes me extremely happy to finally see a Captain for Frojnholm. I trust you’ll take care of this land with us, Sir Roland."

The man dropped to one knee, bowing low like a knight straight out of an epic ballad. "Yes, my lord. I shall serve Frojnholm with all my sincerity... and loyalty."

Oh gods. Oh gods. He’s even kneeling. My gay heart is screaming in 87 languages.

I pasted on a smile that was one muscle twitch away from insanity. "Thank you, Sir Roland. You may... return to your duties now."

He nodded, towering back up like a walking statue carved by horny gods, then left with Sir Haldor at his side.

The door shut. Silence.

And me? I slumped back into my chair, face red, chest thumping like war drums, and muttered into my hands, "He is exactly my type. 100%. 11/10. I’m doomed."

But... but... BUT...

I REALLY FUCKED UP!!!

Leif, you absolute idiot... why couldn’t you just say something normal like ’Nice to meet you, Captain’? No, you had to go and drop the ’Do you romance men?’ bomb like a drunk bard at karaoke night!

I collapsed at my desk, cheek smushed. "I’m never going to live this down. Never. Maybe I should fake my death and move to another duchy. New name. New identity. No more questions about men."

***

[Leif’s Chamber—Later]

"AAAGHHHHH!!!!!" I plopped onto the bed, limbs spread like a tragic starfish, my loose night suit dangling off me like I was some washed-up noble on the beach of despair.

Alvar, who was already used to my nightly tantrums and occasional death groans, didn’t even glance at me. He just kept scribbling on parchments like some cold, unshakable iceberg in human form.

"I hope... he wouldn’t think I’m a crazy jerk!!" I mumbled into the mattress, voice muffled, body sagging like melted butter.

"Who?" Alvar asked flatly, not even looking up.

I turned my head slowly... painfully slowly... until my dead-fish eyes locked onto him. "The captain of Frojnholm... Sir Ronald."

That got him.

His quill stopped. He finally looked at me, glacier gaze sharpening. "...So... you have a captain now."

"Yes," I said, suddenly smiling like an idiot at a festival. "And he’s soooo handsome. Like... the type of man I saved my virginity for~~~"

. . .

. . .

Silence.

The only sound in the chamber was the fire crackling in the hearth. I swear, even the flames went huh??

Alvar’s expression darkened. His jaw clenched. His glacier-calm mask cracked into something sharp, dangerous, and very much not amused.

"...What," he said, voice low, cold, and dripping with a jealous edge that could slice steel. "...did you just say?"

I sighed dramatically, slumping back onto the mattress like a tragic noble bride abandoned at the altar. "But it doesn’t matter! I already fucked up, okay? I... I asked him if he liked romancing men. OUT LOUD. TO HIS FACE. I AM DOOMED!!!"

I groaned, rolling around like a burrito of despair, while Alvar sat there, hands trembling faintly as he tried to keep his composure. His voice was tight; each word dragged like he was holding back the urge to strangle me.

"You... asked him... that."

"Yes!" I wailed, throwing my arms in the air. "Why am I like this?! I ruined everything!! My one shot at husband material—GONE! Lost in the northern winds!"

I collapsed back dramatically, sighing into the pillow. "Grand Duke... do you think we have a magic spell to erase memories?"

"Leif."

The way he said my name—low, clipped, sharp—made the hairs at the back of my neck rise. I turned my head. Damn. He looked pissed.

"What happened to you?" I asked, blinking innocently.

Alvar exhaled slowly, ruffling his hair with a trembling hand, as though forcing himself to stay calm. "We don’t have such a spell."

"Ugh, how tragic!" I groaned. "Isn’t this world already full of illogical, impossible nonsense? Why not add something useful for once? Honestly..."

Then my lips curled into a wicked little smirk. I wiggled my brows like the horny rainbow disaster I am and whispered, "If we had such a spell... I’d make Sir Roland forget he ever liked women."

I giggled, rolling side to side like a drunk goblin. "Hehehe... just imagine—Sir Roland, forever mine~~ wouldn’t that be fun?"

Then—

SNAP!!!

"Huh?"

I looked over and froze. The quill in Alvar’s hand had snapped clean in two, ink bleeding across his parchment like a wound. His eyes weren’t just glowing—they were burning with the icy fury of a frost dragon about to unleash hell.

"Why..." his voice was low, shaking, and dangerous. "Why... the hell... do you need another man?"

My heart did a full somersault in my chest.

What’s wrong with him?

I sat up nervously, crawling back to the edge of my bed. "W-what’s wrong, Grand Duke?"

Then—suddenly—he shoved his parchments aside, papers scattering to the floor like fallen snow, and in the next heartbeat he was there, looming over me. His hands slammed down on either side of me, caging me in, his cold fury pressing down like a storm.

"You ever speak of that captain again..." His voice was low, sharp, and trembling with restrained rage. "...and I swear, Leif—"

He cut himself off, jaw tight, eyes blazing. "...I’ll make sure you’ll never even think of anyone else but me."

. . .

My eyes flew wide, my brain short-circuiting. "...What—what do you mean by that?"

He scoffed, a dangerous sound, his lips curling in a humorless smirk. "Husband material?"

Before I could even squeak, he leaned closer—so close I could see the black mole on his jaw and feel the heat of his breath ghosting over my lips. My heart thudded like war drums in my chest, traitorously loud.

"You don’t need any other ’husband material,’" he murmured, voice deep and rough, every word slicing straight into me. His eyes burned like frostfire as he whispered, "When I’m right here... Leif."

....

WHAT THE FUCK.

Why—why the hell does it feel like he’s... confessing to me?!!

My soul yeeted itself into the astral plane while my body stayed frozen, pinned under the most terrifying, most gorgeous man alive.

And most importantly—

THE MALE LEAD OF THIS FUCKING NOVEL!!!!

His breath brushed against my lips, his eyes burning holes into me, and... gods above... he was looking at me like he’d devour me whole the very second I so much as glanced at another man.

....

I am utterly, absolutely, cosmically doomed, right?