~Chapter 6~
“Do you like it? If you do, you can hold on and lean into me.”
His soft touch and the refreshing scent that surrounded him were pleasant. Lovelace felt tempted to simply surrender herself to that gentle warmth.
But she knew very well—he wanted to regain his power through physical contact. That’s why he kept trying to get close to her at every opportunity.
Lovelace scowled and pushed his hand away. There wasn’t any special sensation from the brief touch—perhaps it wasn’t enough for the power transfer.
Even after being rejected, Larvihan didn’t look the least bit offended. He simply leaned back against the chair, widening the distance between them.
And just like that, the scent that had lingered around Lovelace grew faint.
Living with him, she had slowly gotten used to that scent—cool and crisp, like the early morning air in a dewy forest. It whisked her away to an open meadow whenever she caught a whiff of it.
If I stay here any longer, something’s bound to happen!
Lovelace abruptly got up.
“I’m going to sleep!”
She shouted grumpily and dove into the bed.
Burying her face in the pillow, she shook her head furiously. She was flustered but didn’t want him to see how sensitive she was to his every little move.
Her neck still felt warm with embarrassment as she fumbled for the blanket to pull over herself.
Then, suddenly, Larvihan sat down on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight.
“Let’s do it.”
“I told you—we’re not doing anything before marriage!”
Startled, she shot upright. Larvihan leaned in close.
Does this man think about anything else all day long?
His flawless, striking face filled her vision, and though she’d done nothing wrong, her eyes darted in panic.
“I mean let’s date. I don’t want to be some shameless thief.”
Thump. Her heart sank.
If someone with a face like that asked you out and your heart didn’t skip a beat, you should probably see a doctor—or a mortician.
“So, what do we do first? Start with a love confession?”
He smiled mischievously, and that teasing grin snapped Lovelace out of her daze.
She suddenly felt embarrassed for letting her heart flutter. Snatching up a pillow, she smacked it at Larvihan.
“Get out!”
In the end, Larvihan was chased out of the room by Lovelace’s fierce protest.
“Pfft.”
Outside, leaning against the slammed door, Larvihan covered his mouth and chuckled.
Just then, Maxmuel came around the corner. He looked at Larvihan with a puzzled expression.
“Something good happen, Your Grace?”
“I got rejected.”
Maxmuel had long since accepted that his master was far from ordinary, but moments like this still left him quietly stunned.
“More importantly, I’m starting a relationship today, so I’ll be busy. Adjust the schedule, Maxmuel.”
“Re… lationship, sir?”
His voice cracked slightly in disbelief.
“Reschedule everything.”
He’d worked hard to create that schedule, and now he had to start over. Another late night for Maxmuel. A wrinkle formed on his forehead.
Meanwhile, someone else in the mansion also couldn’t sleep. Davidson opened his eyes in the dim dawn light.
These days, he barely slept four hours a night. Ever since Larvihan abruptly announced he was getting married, the mansion had been in chaos.
It was the first official event at the estate in nearly twenty years—since Larvihan’s birthday banquet.
There wasn’t enough prepared, and the staff lacked experience. With the deadline looming, Davidson felt like a painter staring at a blank canvas with trembling hands.
“M-Mr. Davidson… I broke a glass window…”
“Sir, we can’t get the golden mushrooms in time…”
On top of it all, the once-reliable staff were suddenly making uncharacteristic mistakes, as if their competence had vanished overnight.
Davidson, afraid of drawing Larvihan’s ire and staining this happy occasion with blood, was frantically covering up and managing even the tiniest mishaps.
“At my age, what kind of suffering is this…”
Had he married earlier, he’d be watching his grandkids play by now. Maybe he should’ve run off with that maid who liked him thirty years ago.
He rubbed his tired eyes and got up.
“You’re just waking up?”
Do mages not need sleep? Do they have some magic to recover their energy?
Larvihan, who had gone to bed even later than Davidson the night before, was sitting at Davidson’s desk, flipping through the unfinished wedding plans with a fresh face.
“Good morning, Your Grace. If you had rung the bell, I would have come to you… why the trouble?”
“I’m busy. I’m in love now.”
Davidson, getting out of bed, misstepped and tumbled back onto the mattress. Larvihan silently frowned at the sight.
“I deeply apologize, Your Grace!”
Davidson scrambled upright and bowed.
“The wedding seems a bit too modest. Make it grand—lavish. And…”
Larvihan’s expression turned serious.
“Strengthen the mansion’s security.”
Only then did Davidson notice the bloodstain on Larvihan’s shirt collar.
Sparring with Larvihan drained more energy than expected.
Though her stamina had improved since coming to the mansion, Lovelace still tired easily from walking too long or talking too much.
As a result, she didn’t wake until the sun was high. The warm rays pouring into the room felt unreal. She lay there for a while, soaking in the sunshine.
“You’re hungry, right? Come sit. Or should I just carry you over?”
He made no sound, but Lovelace jumped up in surprise at Larvihan’s voice.
On the tray he held were warm bread, sweet-smelling soup, and a salad topped with cheese and fruit.
Larvihan, like a seasoned waiter at a fine restaurant, gracefully placed the tray on the table and approached her.
Then, he bent down and slipped his hands under her back and knees, lifting her—blanket and all.
“Just dating, of course.”
He smiled innocently.
It was the blanket’s fault.
Lovelace turned her flushed face away, blaming the blanket for her embarrassment.
Larvihan gazed down at her as she ducked her head into his chest. Her innocent reaction was so entertaining, he couldn’t help teasing her—though he knew it didn’t suit his usual self.
If I push more, she’ll cry.
He reined in his smirk and gently set her down on the chair.
“Aren’t you eating?”
Larvihan didn’t eat. He silently tore a piece of bread and placed it on her plate. Lovelace, watching his long fingers, asked curiously.
“Just seeing you eat makes me happy, Love.”
“Wha—What did you just call me? Looove?!”
Goosebumps ran up her arms. She scratched both arms and scooted her chair back. The screeching noise made both of them grimace.
“Yeah, that wasn’t great. I agree.”
Shameless. He admitted it so casually, as if nothing had happened.
Lovelace shook her head and took a bite of bread. She scooped up a spoonful of soup—then something sparkled.
Seriously… could it be any more cliché?
“Touched, are you?”
“Not at all. This is not my thing.”
She gave her honest opinion.
“I thought you’d like it.”
Larvihan replied, sounding a bit disappointed.
“I’ll use a bigger gem next time.”
And he meant it. That very afternoon, Lovelace received box after box of gemstones. She grew too tired to even ask them to be set aside—eventually just motioning silently.
He’ll get tired eventually, she thought.
But Larvihan was more persistent than expected. He was a man who took responsibility for what he said.
For days, he showered Lovelace with rare and precious gifts from across the world—so many that she barely had time to open them, let alone react.
Maxmuel had advised him to take it down a notch, but Larvihan couldn’t help it.
He needed this relationship to move quickly.
Why waste time waiting for reactions to every little gift? Everything he gave was the best in the world. Surely, she’d be touched once she opened them.
She could always open them after they were married and reminisce about their courtship.
Imagining Lovelace finally realizing the value of what she’d received and staring wide-eyed brought a smile to his lips.
“You seem to be in a good mood, but… I’m sorry.”
Maxmuel spoke with obvious discomfort.
“Don’t say it.”
Larvihan already knew what Maxmuel was about to bring up. They’d worked together too long.
Maxmuel never fidgeted like this—unless he had to deliver news involving someone unpleasant.
“We can’t delay it any longer, Your Grace.”
Sigh.
Larvihan let out a long breath and swept back his dark hair.
“They said if you don’t go, they’ll come here themselves.”
Maxmuel placed a letter on the desk, sealed with a golden unicorn crest. Larvihan grabbed it with a snarl.
Damn you, Arwen.
He practically growled, snatching his jacket from the rack.
Maxmuel rubbed his aching temples.
When a tiger meets a dragon, how can the sky stay calm? With no one suitable to mediate between them, Maxmuel felt like his lungs were about to burst.
