[Leif's Pov—Thorenvald Mansion—Later]
The air was freezing as hell. Like, nose-falls-off, eyeballs-turn-to-ice-cubes kind of cold. I shoved the trembling owl out the door, a message tied to his leg.
"Tell Father… to send goods as soon as possible."
The poor bird looked like he regretted ever being born. He shivered, flapped his wings twice like a dying fan, and finally disappeared into the white blur. I waved him goodbye with the solemnity of a funeral.
"Farewell, feathered soldier. May your little bird balls survive the frost."
I shut the door, sighed, and muttered, "Gods, I really just want to sleep."
But nope. Of course not. Destiny—or rather, Mr. Frosty himself—was sitting on the couch in my living room like an unwanted ice sculpture.
Grand Duke Alvar. Black hair, sharp jaw, posture straighter than a sword sheath. And those eyes—colder than the weather outside. Even one of my crimson babies was sitting in the corner, watching him like, is this man secretly a weather spirit? The room was already freezing, but with him here, it felt like I was breathing icicles.
I rubbed my arms, plopped into the chair across from him, and said, "So… why are you here, Grand Duke Alvar?"
His gaze was sharp enough to skin a bear. He ruffled his dark hair—looking both tired and annoyed, which, honestly, was his default face—and said, flat as a frozen lake:
"Of course, to take you back. Pack your luggage. We leave immediately."
I blinked. Once. Twice.
Wow.
"No opening lines? No 'How have you been, Leif?' or 'What a cozy little ice-hole you've built yourself here, charming really.' Not even a fake smile? You just go straight to 'pack your shit, we're leaving.'"
His expression didn't twitch. If anything, he looked more annoyed, like my sarcasm personally gave him frostbite.
"Efficiency saves time."
"Efficiency kills moods," I shot back, stretching out like I owned the room. "You know, most kidnappers at least offer candy before dragging someone off. Or a story. You? You're like—'Come. Obey. March.' No wonder I am freezing cold."
One crimson baby growled approvingly at my sass, which I took as a personal win. I gave him a proud pat on the head.
Alvar's voice broke the moment. "Your father has requested me to bring you back and…" He paused. "…and the Saintess is worried about you."
I arched an eyebrow, leaning back with all the grace of a man who owned zero grace. Crossing one leg over the other, I smirked. "Oh? So tell me, Grand duke—are you here because my father sent you, or because she batted her lashes?"
For the briefest moment, he faltered. A crack in the ice. Barely there, but I caught it.
To be fair, the man was ridiculously handsome, all sharp jawlines and black hair that looked like it had never known a bad day. My poor gay nerves were having a riot inside me. But no amount of beauty was going to trick me back into playing loyal puppy to Saintess. That wasn't me.
Alvar drew in a sharp breath and continued, his voice like steel dragged across ice. "The Saintess is worried about you. I heard you promised to swear an oath to her. I want you to come back and fulfill that oath, Leif. This way…the Saintess—"
"She isn't the Saintess. Not yet," I cut in, sharper than steel.
Alvar's jaw tightened. His eyes, those storm-blue blades, locked on me as if daring me to continue.
So I did.
"She hasn't been chosen. Not yet. She's just another candidate, another name on the altar. And for me…" I leaned forward, my smirk gone, my voice dropping low. "…for me, she is still Elowen."
Silence. Even the fire in the hearth dared not crackle too loud. My crimson baby tilted his head, clearly sensing the sudden seriousness.
Alvar's expression didn't change, but the air between us grew heavier, like snow before a storm.
"I don't bow to titles that don't exist yet," I said slowly, each word deliberate, slicing through the frost. "...and I've decided to step back in support of Elowen."
Alvar flinched, brows drawing together in suspicion. "Don't tell me you've sided with Lady Sirella?"
I sighed, tired of this saintess soap opera. "I never said that."
His eyes narrowed. I went on, firm this time, "I've simply decided to live the rest of my life here. I'm not interested in playing supporter, pawn, or loyal dog to anyone's sainthood ambitions. I want a life for myself."
It's true. As Renji Takeda, I worked my ass off in an office from nine to nine. But life as a Leif Thorenvald? I am going to live it up—with beer, naps, and my crimson babies.
I stretched my arms lazily and walked past him toward the door, yawning like a man who'd earned his bed. "So, you should go back, Grand Duke. I'm not coming back."
My crimson baby followed me and when my hand touched the door handle—
"DON'T YOU LIKE HER?"
I froze. Slowly, I turned, jaw tightening.
"I've seen the way you look at her, Leif," Alvar's voice rang sharp, almost accusing. "People go beyond reason for those they like. They sacrifice; they stay. Yet you're withdrawing. Is this how you show affection? Is this how you love her?"
The room went silent. Even the frost felt heavier.
This man. This stubborn, irritating icicle of a man—why was he so obsessed with dragging me back?
I dragged a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. "You really won't let this go, huh?"
His stare didn't waver.
Fine. If he wanted honesty, I'd serve it—scalding hot.
I leaned forward, locking eyes with him. "I don't like her, Grand Duke."
A flicker of confusion crossed his features, the first crack in his perfectly cold mask. "You don't have to lie—"
"It's not a lie. In fact," I said slowly, each word deliberate, "I may not like any girl in the future either."
His brow furrowed, suspicion narrowing his gaze. "What do you mean by that?"
I inhaled, dragged it out, then sighed like the world's weight sat on my shoulders. "…I like men."
Alvar froze. The great, unshakable Grand Duke—stone-faced, untouchable—actually froze. "…Pardon?"
My lips twitched. Oh, he wasn't ready for this. Too late now. There was no backing out now. I squared my shoulders, words spilling like arrows.
"I. Like. Men. Grand Duke. My heart does backflips when I see a handsome man. My brain short-circuits. My nerves go haywire. I—" I jabbed a finger toward my chest, dead serious, "—masturbate to men. Not women. Men. Their hands, their jawlines, their stupid sharp eyes that look like they can slice my dignity in half—" My voice pitched higher, reckless, "—Men ruin my sanity."
I stepped closer, locking eyes with him, refusing to blink. My voice dropped to a near growl, slow and deliberate:
"…And sometimes, I feel like kissing one."
The words landed heavy. His eyes widened, his composure finally cracking. He stood, stiff as a statue, the frost in the room almost shattering with his shock.
"W-what?"
I smirked, waving my hand dismissively like this was casual dinner talk. "That's the reason why I'm here, Grand Duke. So, go back. Tell Father, tell the saintess, tell the whole damn empire if you want. I don't belong there. This—" I gestured to the crimson babies, the frozen land, and the cozy mess of my new life—"this is where I belong."
And then I yawned again. And the temperature in the room behind me?
Heavy. Tense. Unforgiving.
Alvar's eyes widened, composure slipping through his fingers like sand. Slowly, as if his brain needed extra minutes to buffer, he just stared at me.
And I knew—after hearing this—he might pack his bags and walk out right now.
Honestly? That'd be for the best.