CHAPTER 27: BETWEEN DESIRE AND DUTY

[Leif’s Chamber—Night—Continuation]

His lips pressed against mine again, slower this time, deliberate, as if he wanted to memorize every line, every gasp, every heartbeat, every tremor that I didn’t know I could make. My hands fisted against his chest, trembling, desperate to anchor myself to reality while a storm of something I couldn’t name raged inside me.

"Leif..." His voice was low and rough, a dangerous whisper brushing my lips between words. "Stay with me."

Then, almost effortlessly, he wrapped one arm around my waist and lifted me slightly, pressing me closer. My legs dangled uselessly, and my chest hammered so fast I was certain my heart might escape my ribs.

It was wrong. I knew it. Kissing him like this... giving in like this... it wasn’t supposed to happen. It’s against the script. He was confused. I was confused. Everything was a tangle of "should," "couldn’t," and "maybe I shouldn’t."

But the way he devoured me—slow, insistent, every press of his tongue a declaration—made me question if any of that mattered. Was he really confused... or was I simply giving myself excuses?

And at that moment, I didn’t want to know. I only wanted to sink deeper into him, into this fire, into the heat of being wanted like this.

His hands slid back along my spine, grazing under my shirt, and a shiver raced across my body, unbidden. My breath hitched, and I gasped, breaking the kiss, trembling against him.

"Grand duke..." I whispered, voice cracking, heart thundering like a war drum. "Please... not now."

He held me closer, unyielding, like a magnet I couldn’t fight. "But I... I want to feel you more, Leif. I may not know... not really... how two men... how we... pleasure each other..." His words stuttered, rough and honest, "...but I know...you’ll teach me."

I blushed furiously, cheeks burning, heat spilling through every nerve. My fingers dug into his tunic, almost as if I could anchor myself back to reason. "I... I... it’s not that time yet."

I stepped back, trying to regain control, trying to make sense of my own racing pulse. But before I could put any distance, his hands were on me again, gentle but firm, wrapping me in an embrace that pressed my chest to his.

"I get it," he murmured against my ear, the warmth of his breath curling like smoke along my neck. "We can go slow... very slow... but..."

He tilted my chin upward, his eyes locking with mine, intense, molten, and unyielding. "You have to realize... you belong to me, Leif. Every inch, every breath... you’re mine. So... don’t you dare look at another man. Or else..." His smirk was teasing, but his eyes were deadly serious. "...there will be punishment. A punishment you won’t forget."

I froze. Words failed me. Thoughts scattered into the firelight. And deep inside, I knew he was right—my body, my heart, my first taste of desire, my first kiss... it had already begun to belong to him.

I couldn’t speak, because maybe I was a man out of my time, a stranger in this world of strange desires. Maybe I was discovering that I was... different. And yet, this—this moment, this fire, this closeness—it felt like home.

His hands held me steady, his breath brushed mine, and the storm of my emotions—the shame, the desire, the confusion, the thrill—wove into a singular, dizzying truth.

I belonged to him, yes. And maybe... I wanted it.

He was still holding me tight, chest pressed against mine, fingers lingering along my back as if memorizing my shape, my warmth.

I swallowed, trying to find my voice, and murmured, "...It’s... better we go back to sleep, Grand Duke. Father’s letter arrived—he’ll be here tomorrow. And..." I slumped like a dried fish. "I need to... look for beings who disappeared a hundred years ago."

He let out a low, amused chuckle, the sound vibrating against my chest. Then, impossibly gentle, he brushed his lips against my temple, then my cheek—soft, fleeting, yet making my heart skip as if it had wings.

"Alright," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. "We’ll face the lost world... together."

I felt the corners of my lips twitch. And somehow, I had snatched a male lead from a heroine. But... should I worry about the original script? Should I care about the story’s path? Or should I... be selfish, just for once?

I didn’t have an answer. And for the first time, I didn’t want one. Not tonight.

***

[Thorenvald Estate—The Next Day]

I was standing at the massive estate gate, blinking at the approaching carriage like it had just landed from another planet. And then I saw him.

Father—Viktor Thorenvald.

That cold, unreadable face, like it had been carved from ice and sprinkled with doom. He stared. I stared. The snow swirled around us, indifferent to the tension, as if it were judging my failure to act like a proper son.

He started first. I stared harder. He stared harder. And then... the words dropped like a hammer.

"Aren’t you going to greet your father?"

I blinked rapidly, the gears in my brain sputtering like a malfunctioning carriage. "...G-greeting, father. Long. Time. No. See." I bowed with all the exaggerated solemnity of someone who had watched too many heroic sagas and still wasn’t confident in their performance.

He didn’t move. He didn’t even blink. Just let me stew in my awkwardness, then slowly, impossibly, glanced at the crimson baby by my side—my prideful little pack of warriors in fur and fire.

"So... the rumors weren’t false," he said, voice low and calculated. "You really tamed the Crimson Packs."

I tried to smile, faint and nervous, like a performer caught mid-flop. "Yes... Father. I did tame them."

He gave me a long, icy look, as if he were measuring the weight of my very soul against the snow beneath our boots. I felt my knees buckle slightly under the intensity of that glare.

And then, like an awkwardly timed drumroll, Baron Sigurd stepped in, bowing so low I was half-expecting him to snap his own spine.

"My lord! Welcome to Frojnholm! Please... get in, get in!"

Father gave a subtle nod and started forward, boots crunching in the snow like a warning drumbeat.

I moved to follow, and my brain screamed, keep it together, Leif!

I turned to Baron Sigurd, trying to regain some control, saying, "Baron Sigurd... please take him to the workshop where the Trivium Core Stone is stored, and also—"

"AND SHOW ME THE GREENHOUSE PROJECT, MY DEAREST SON! I HOPE MY DEAREST SON WILL BE GUIDING ME PERSONALLY THROUGH EVERY SINGLE GREEN LEAF AND PETAL, INCLUDING THE WORKSHOP!"

. . .

. . .

The tension slammed into me like a thousand hammers. I froze, snowflakes landing on my hair like tiny, judgmental spotlights. My heart did a complicated tap dance in my chest.

"Ah... y-yes, Father," I stammered, voice trembling like a leaf in a blizzard. "I will... personally... guide you."

Father’s eyes narrowed in that ice-carved way again, making me feel like a squire caught stealing a horse... in front of the king... during a war. Baron Sigurd cleared his throat behind me, muttering something that sounded like, brace yourself, boy; this is going to be a long tour.

I swallowed hard, straightened my back as if I could suddenly become heroic under pressure, and followed my father toward the gates of the estate... secretly praying that the Crimson Packs weren’t planning a dramatic display right now.

Because if they did... I’d be the one needing taming.

***

[WORKSHOP—LATER]

Father’s eyes scanned the workshop like a hawk examining prey—or maybe a man trying not to look too impressed. He crouched slightly, fingers brushing lightly over one of the stones. "Are you saying this... is the Trivium Core Stone?"

I nodded, puffing up a little. "Yes. They melt easily over fire and turn into... well... sparkly stones."

He hummed, a sound I couldn’t quite read. Then his gaze drifted to another stone, darker, almost brooding. "The one the Crown Prince owns... it produces from trees. And it’s extremely hard to dissolve."

I froze. "A... stone that comes from a tree?"

He gave me a flat look. "Yes. And it has a much more stable core. Safer to craft. More valuable."

I swallowed, my pulse racing.

Then he looked at me with those piercing eyes. "...So... you’re saying our territory is filled with these stones?"

I blinked. Then my grin spread, wide and mischievous. "Yes. Isn’t that great, Father? Just think about it—we could swim in gold coins! And... once we find elves..." I leaned closer, lowering my voice like a villain revealing the grand plan. "...we can create jewelry from the Trivium Core Stones and..." I grinned, almost wickedly. "...we’ll be richer than rich. Richer than anyone in the kingdom could even dream!"

For a moment, the world held its breath. Father didn’t move. He didn’t speak. I started wondering if I’d overplayed the evil-genius act, if my dramatic gesturing had scared him off.

And then... his hand landed on my head. Light. Solid. Gentle.

"You’re doing a great job, Leif."

I froze.

What was this? A sudden, unexpected wave of... parental warmth. It felt strange, unfamiliar, but... good. It had been so long since I’d felt anything like this, not since Mother passed. A flicker of home, of safety, of approval that I didn’t know I was still starving for.

I tried to respond, tried to form words... but only a shaky, half-proud, half-surprised smile came out.

Father’s eyes softened just a fraction, enough to let me know this moment wasn’t fleeting. That, despite the harshness, despite the cold, despite everything—he was proud.

And somehow... that made all the sweat, nerves, and snow outside the estate gate completely worth it.