CHAPTER 41: A PROPOSAL OF PURE LAZINESS

[ThorenVald Estate—Hallway—The Next Day—Leif’s POV]

Step one: walk.

Step two: regret.

"Ahhh—damn it! Ow—OW—my everything hurts!" I hissed, one hand dragging along the cold wall like I was some tragic war hero returning from battle. Which, technically, I was. Except my battlefield was a bed. And my enemy? Alvar’s... absurd equipment.

"My lord!" Nick’s voice cut in from behind. He hurried toward me, eyes wide with concern.

I froze.

Oh, perfect. The last person I wanted to witness my limp-of-shame.

Nick reached me in two strides. "My lord... are you alright? You look pale!"

I wished I could scream: No, Nick. I was consumed by the devil himself. My poor, innocent body is no longer mine. But alas, dignity demanded lies.

"Yes," I croaked, attempting a smile that looked more like constipation. "Why do you ask, Nick?"

His gaze ran up and down me with obvious worry. "Grand Duke Alvar told us you weren’t in good condition. He said you could barely walk."

That smug bastard. Spreading tales of lies about his victory like some glowing god of sin.

Nick leaned closer, scanning my legs with absolute worry: "I heard... you were wounded in the legs. Is that true?"

My eye twitched. "Yes. Correct. I cannot walk properly because of... wounds." Wounds of the flesh. Of the pride. Of the—

"Leif."

My spine froze.

Of course. Speak of the devil and he appears.

There he was—Alvar—striding toward me with his shirt loose, his aura blazing, and his voice sliding over me like honey poured on a blade. He reached out, wrapping me into his arms as if the whole hallway wasn’t watching.

"Why are you out of bed, leif? You should be resting."

Just look at him, Sweet honey words after absolutely annihilating me all night? Oh, the audacity of this smug monster.

I pressed both hands against his chest, glaring up at him while pretending to be calm. "I... am all good, Grand Duke. Just a mere wound on my legs. Nothing serious. It will heal in no time."

He smirked, of course. I dug my fingers harder into his chest until he actually winced. Small victory achieved.

Nick, meanwhile, looked at us like he was watching an opera without subtitles. Confused, worried, and maybe a little curious.

And in my head, I was screaming: NICK. I AM FUCKING GAY AND GRAND DUKE ALVAR DESTROYED ME WITH HIS MONSTROUS DICK! I NEED 100 DAYS OF HOLIDAYS!! THERE, MYSTERY SOLVED.

But aloud, I only sighed.

Nick cleared his throat awkwardly. "Oh, right, my lord... the two elves have arrived. They’re waiting in your office."

I blinked, still half-draped against Alvar’s chest. "...Right. Of course. Let’s... go, then."

God help me.

Alvar’s arm stayed firm around my waist as we walked, his grip steady, his smirk absolutely insufferable.

"Let me help you," he murmured, voice dripping with that smug gentleness he always wore after thoroughly ruining me.

I glared up at him, sighed through my teeth, and muttered, "...thank you."

***

[Leif’s Office—Later]

We entered my office, where the two elves were seated on the couch, waiting patiently. Both rose as I stepped inside.

"Ah... hello. I’m sorry for making you wait," I said with a polite bow of my head.

The elves blinked at me, exchanged a glance, and then looked back at me.

"Is something wrong?" I asked, brows furrowing.

Eryndor’s lips curved into a faint smile. "Oh, it’s nothing... merely that it’s our first time seeing a human noble apologize for such a thing."

...Ah. That explained a lot. Clearly, their past experiences with Human nobles had been about as pleasant as kissing a swamp toad.

Before I could reply, Nick popped in dramatically, chest puffed like a rooster. "Our lord is unique! He is the best noble in the noble world! He is the SAINT OF FROJNHOLM!"

. . .

. . .

. . .

"Hahaha... Nick, you need to stop before you actually build a statue for me."

Nick’s eyes glinted mischievously. "Oh, but the villagers already requested permission to build your statue at the center of the village."

. . .

. . .

. . .

I slowly turned my horrified gaze toward Alvar. "...Alvar. Do something. Before they make me a god."

Alvar only looked down at me, lips tugging in the faintest of smiles as he pulled me closer. "Don’t worry. I’m here."

Not helpful, you infuriating man.

Thankfully, Thalion saved me from spiraling further into impending sainthood. "Congratulations, Leif. I heard your village has been recognized as an independent territory. That means no emperor will be involved in decisions here. We can finally work freely."

Relief washed over me. "Thank you. Please feel free here and I’ll prepare a workshop for both of you."

"Nick," I called.

He straightened up immediately.

"Inform the baron at once."

"Yes, my lord." He bowed, then dashed out like a soldier off to war.

The elves and I settled back; my damn butt hurts and Alvar sat near me, still radiating warmth like a protective dragon marking its territory.

Eryndor leaned forward slightly. "We would also like some workers for the workshop."

Before I could speak, Alvar replied smoothly, "Don’t worry. There are plenty of men and women in the village who’d be happy to help. I’ll personally appoint some good ones for you."

The elves both nodded, visibly relieved. "Thank you."

But then... Eryndor’s eyes shifted. And landed on me. He studied me—too intently. His eyes lingered on my face, my pale skin, and the curve of my posture. "Leif... you look exhausted. Is your health failing?"

I forced a smile. "Ah, just tired from the journey... and my wounds still ache."

Eryndor’s brow furrowed. He stood, stepping closer. "Then allow me to check you. I can prepare medicine instantly—something to ease your pain."

He reached for my hand—

—and Alvar’s larger hand snapped around his wrist like a steel trap.

The entire room froze.

Alvar’s lips curved in the barest imitation of a smile. Polite. Civil. But his eyes—those glacial blue eyes—burned with a silent warning so sharp I felt it in my bones. "Thank you. But it will be enough if you provide the medicine. My Leif already has someone to tend to him."

My Leif. Oh gods, he said out loud. Is he going to reveal that we are in love, one day?

The silence stretched thick and suffocating. Even Thalion looked rattled. Eryndor blinked, visibly thrown. "...I... see."

I slapped Alvar’s hand sharply and hissed. "Alvar, you’re crushing the poor elf!"

He released him, but his thumb brushed the back of my hand as though branding me. His jaw stayed tight, his aura heavy, like the whole room belonged to him—and I was his crown jewel.

I cleared my throat hastily. "Sir Haldor can escort you both to see the Trivium Core Stones. They’ll be helpful for your work."

The elves nodded, though Eryndor shot me one last lingering glance.

A mistake.

Because the moment his gaze lingered, I swore I felt Alvar’s arm tighten around my waist, his chest press against my back, and the low rumble of a growl vibrate through him.

Gods above. If this continues, I’ll need two remedies: one for my body... and one to survive Alvar’s jealousy without spontaneously combusting.

Still, the elves’ arrival meant one thing—our territory was about to explode with wealth. Trivium core stones turned into jewelry, elven medicine flooding in... coin would flow like rivers. Frojnholm would rise, stronger than ever.

...And this will all lead to...

"More work!!!" I slumped against Alvar’s shoulder with a pitiful groan.

He blinked down at me. "...What?"

Ughh... The more money flows in...the more cockroaches will crawl here too! Merchants, nobles, tax leeches, and gods forbid—bureaucrats!

But then... then I had a glorious idea. A life-saving, world-shattering idea. I whipped my head toward him, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Alvar..."

"Yes?"

"Let’s get married!"

His arm froze around me. His expression? Priceless. Somewhere between startled wolf and calculating predator.

If I marry him, he’ll also be Lord of Frojnholm... and I can dump all the paperwork on him.

Ha! Perfect plan! I am such a genius.