CHAPTER 26: NOT CONFUSION, BUT CLAIM

[ThorenVald Estate—Balcony, Still Afternoon]

The silence after Sirella’s words stretched long enough for the snowflakes to start layering on the railing between us.

I scratched the back of my neck, staring at the words on the page like they might sprout legs and walk me to the nearest elf. "...So you’re telling me I need to find a race of sparkly forest people who went poof more than a hundred years ago."

"Yes," Sirella said flatly, her crimson eyes cutting to me. "If you want to stand a chance in what’s coming."

I choked on nothing. "Stand a chance in what?! Don’t just throw dramatic one-liners at me without subtitles!"

She didn’t answer. Instead, her gaze flicked toward the courtyard below, where Roland barked at my knights like a mad general auditioning for a stage play. Then, softer—yet sharp enough to slice the cold air—she said,

"Leif. You can play the fool with beer and jokes all you want, but sooner or later—you’ll need more than that to survive. The elves disappeared... but disappearing doesn’t mean they ceased to exist."

Her words settled heavy in the snow between us.

I sighed, ruffling my hair, pretending I didn’t feel the weight in her voice. "Fine, fine. I’ll think about it."

Then I squinted at her, leaning on the armrest. "But here’s the real question—why are you helping me? Don’t you hate me with every cell in your body?"

For a moment she just stared. Then her lips curved into a sly smirk. "I realized... you’ve finally recovered that lost brain of yours. So, as an old acquaintance, I thought I should lend a hand."

She flicked her golden hair over her shoulder with theatrical grace. "After all, I am a kind person."

. . .

I blinked at her. Then snorted. Then burst into laughter so hard my ribs ached. "Pfft—hah! Hahaha... Kind person?

Oh, that’s rich. That’s the best joke I’ve heard all week!"

Her expression curdled instantly, crimson eyes narrowing like daggers. "Ungrateful brat!" she snapped, rising to her feet, her boots crunching against the snow.

I leaned back in my chair, grinning, hands up in mock surrender. "Hey, hey—I heard you! I’m just saying, if you’re kind, then Crown prince is practically a saint."

Her scoff could have frozen the lake below. She spun on her heel, muttering, "Why do I even bother?"

As she stalked toward the door, I let out a low chuckle. "Because deep down, you like helping me. Admit it—it’s your guilty pleasure."

She stopped. For half a heartbeat, she didn’t turn. Then I saw it—the tiniest twitch of her lips before she smothered it with a huff and shoved the door open.

I leaned back, still smiling. Somehow, the balcony felt warmer despite the snow. Then I stared at the book and mumbled, "Elves, huh?"

***

[Leif’s Chamber—Night]

I was sprawled like a lazy king across two single couches pushed together, head propped on one armrest and legs dangling over the other. The fire snapped and hissed in the hearth, warming my cheeks while my fingers absently scratched at my belly. In my hands rested a book titled ELVES: FAIRYTALES.

The door creaked open. I peeked up—then immediately crouched low behind the book, like a squirrel spotting a Dragon.

Of course, it was Alvar. He closed the door with a soft thud.

"You’re still visible, Leif," he said dryly as he removed his cloak. "Stop ducking before your neck gets stuck that way."

I gasped, my face heating. "I—! I’m not hiding, okay?"

A smirk curved his lips. "Yes... yes."

"Hmph!" I huffed, turning deliberately back to my book, scratching my stomach with all the dignity of a man defending his territory.

Alvar’s footsteps approached, unhurried, steady. He came into the firelight, shirt half-buttoned, collar loose, and skin bronzed from cold air and fire glow alike. His gaze flicked from my belly to the book in my hands.

"What are you reading?"

"A book about elves," I mumbled without looking up.

He blinked once—Twice and then snatched it clean out of my grip.

"HEY!! I was reading that!" I yelped, scrambling upright like a squirrel after a stolen nut.

He squinted at the cover, brow arched. "...It’s a children’s fairytale."

"Give it back!" I hopped, trying to reach, but he lifted it effortlessly out of my range. His arm stretched high, his broad chest an unmovable wall between me and victory.

"You’re serious?" His eyes glimmered with quiet amusement. "You expect to learn anything from a bedtime story?"

I glared up at him, still pawing helplessly. "Don’t underestimate fairytales! Sometimes they hide the truest information—if you know how to read them."

Alvar’s smirk deepened, shadows of fire dancing across his jaw. "Mm. So I should take lessons from you then? Lord Leif, Master of... belly-scratching research."

I froze, face bursting into red. "H-hey! That’s a tactical scratch! It helps me concentrate!"

Alvar blinked at me once, then let his gaze drop—slowly, deliberately—to my belly.

"...Can I touch too?"

My entire soul short-circuited. "Wh-what?!"

His lips curved into a wolfish smirk. "It must be fun rubbing a chubby belly."

I gaped at him. Totally offended, my mouth opening and closing like a stranded fish. "Ch—chubby... chubby belly?!" My voice cracked. "How dare you—"

Before I could finish, he tossed the book onto the couch and moved. In one swift motion, he turned me toward the tall mirror by the hearth, his hand firm on my shoulder. I stumbled forward, my reflection wide-eyed and horrified, before his other hand slid under the hem of my shirt and—

"EEP!"

—grabbed hold of the softness at my stomach.

"See?" he said casually, squeezing lightly as if weighing a bag of flour. "You’ve gained plenty of chubbiness."

I froze, staring at both his hand and my reflection. "...Am... am I gaining weight?"

"Mm." His voice was low, amused, and much too close. He leaned in, lips almost brushing my ear, his breath sending a shiver down my spine. "It’s a gift... from all your precious beer bottles."

My heart hammered wildly. "M-my... beer bottles—"

"And yet..." His hand smoothed over my stomach, this time not teasing, but slow, deliberate, and almost reverent. The gesture—gentle circling, warm palm against my skin—was so absurdly domestic I forgot how to breathe.

"...It’s still beautiful."

I went rigid. My reflection showed me—red-faced, trembling, lips parted in disbelief—while Alvar, tall and calm behind me, looked at me like he’d just stated a fact of nature.

"You—" My voice cracked again, softer now. "You can’t just... say things like that."

He smirked in the mirror, eyes glinting with quiet fire. "Why not? It’s true."

My stomach flipped worse than any battlefield charge. I shoved at his chest, stumbling back, hands flying to my burning face. "Stop... touching me so casually! Y-you’ll confuse me like this!"

"Confuse?" His voice curled around me like smoke, low and dangerous. He stepped closer, closer still, until his shadow swallowed mine. His hand slid back around my waist, iron and warmth all at once, pulling me into his hold.

"Tell me, Leif," he murmured, eyes dark and unblinking, "is my touch really confusing you? Even after yesterday... was that not clear enough?"

My heart rammed against my ribs. "...You—you threatened me yesterday."

"Threat?" His brow arched.

He tilted my chin upward, his calloused fingers gentler than they had any right to be, forcing me to meet the storm in his gaze. "No. That was only your fear speaking. If my words felt like a threat..." His thumb brushed against the corner of my mouth, slow and deliberate. "...then I will clear it this time. With action."

My throat went dry. "A-actions? What action—"

The rest of my protest was swallowed when he pulled me flush against him and crashed his mouth onto mine.

It wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t soft. It was fire and steel, the kind of kiss that stole the breath right out of my lungs. His hand gripped my waist, the other cupping my jaw, keeping me pinned in place as if daring me to escape.

And God help me, I didn’t want to.

Heat flared through me, sharp and dizzying, as his lips moved against mine—hungry, claiming, yet laced with something terrifyingly tender. Like I wasn’t just a man in his arms but the very thing he’d been starved of.

When he finally pulled back, just barely, our foreheads touched. His breath mingled with mine, ragged and hot.

"...Is this still confusing, Leif?" His voice was raw now, stripped of that teasing edge. "Because for me—it has never been clearer."

My knees nearly buckled. His hand at my waist tightened, holding me up, holding me still, as if letting go would mean I’d vanish. My chest thundered loudly as I mumbled, "Y-you... kiss like a barbarian."

A slow smirk curved his lips. "Then tell me, Leif—why did you lean in?"

I blinked, throat tight, eyes darting anywhere but his. My reflection in the mirror looked like a tomato with messy hair. His grip around my waist didn’t loosen. If anything, it grew firmer, dragging me closer until my stomach brushed his.

"I—I didn’t lean!" I snapped, voice cracking. "I was... balancing! On my toes!"

His chuckle rumbled low and hot against my ear as he leaned in again.

"Then balance again."

And this time, when his mouth claimed mine, I didn’t push him away.