The maids were certain that Her Majesty was in an excellent mood today.

No.

Not just excellent.

She was in an extremely, extremely, *extremely* good mood.

And why did the maids have such a feeling?

Because their famously workaholic boss had, for the second day in a row, sent them home early—something practically unheard of.

Not only that, but Her Majesty had been smiling all day, a far cry from her usual stern demeanor.

Even while dealing with particularly tricky tasks, she would hum a cheerful tune.

All of this led the maids to two bold conclusions:

Her Majesty might be pregnant with a third child.

Or Her Majesty might be preparing to conceive her third child.

“You’ve been dismissed early, so why are you still hanging around?” Rosvisser asked from her throne, head down as she worked.

The maids immediately bowed and left the room, not daring to dwell on Her Majesty’s strange behavior.

Once alone, Rosvisser couldn’t help but hum again.

In the fifty years since she ascended the throne, she had rarely been this happy.

For five decades, her days had been a constant repetition:

Wake up, wash, breakfast, work, lunch, work, dinner, overtime, sleep.

Over and over, year after year.

The long lifespan of a dragon was like an endless sea, and Rosvisser was a lone boat drifting aimlessly, carried further by the winds and waves.

But what lay farther ahead?

More endless sea.

Her work was the same—she would finish a mountain of tasks one night, only to face another mountain the next day.

Rosvisser never complained.

She knew it was pointless.

Besides, as the queen of the Silver Dragons, she was a symbol of leadership and faith to her people. She couldn’t afford to show fear or weakness.

But did she enjoy being queen? Did she enjoy the endless work? Did she enjoy spending half her life in the prison known as the throne?

She didn’t know.

She thought that over time, she would grow to hate it.

Yet in the end, she neither hated it nor liked it.

Her heart was like a quiet forest, where birds occasionally flew out, but otherwise, nothing stirred.

What she never expected was that the person who would bring joy to her monotonous life would be a human.

A foolish man whose only talents were slaying dragons and taking care of children, yet a single drunken “I like you” from him was enough to haunt her thoughts. Rosvisser couldn’t help but ask herself if she was truly starting to have feelings for him.

But he was human, and an adversary who loved to argue with her—why would she feel anything for him?

The queen who had solved countless problems for her people couldn’t find a solution for herself.

And she couldn’t ask anyone for help.

The only person who could uncover the secret in her heart was herself.

Suddenly, footsteps echoed through the hall, interrupting Rosvisser’s thoughts.

She looked up to see Leon approaching, carrying two buckets of paint and wearing a tool belt with various brushes, along with two dark blue aprons to protect against messes.

Rosvisser eyed his attire. “What’s this? Has the dragon slayer switched careers and become an honorable... painter?”

Leon grinned but didn’t respond to her teasing as he walked closer.

“I’ve forbidden anyone from bringing paint or varnish into the throne room under penalty of losing half a month’s wages,” she said, mildly irritated.

She had a mild case of OCD, and the smell of paint was unpleasant. If it spilled, it would be a nightmare to clean up.

But despite her words, she didn’t actually stop Leon from coming closer.

Because, after all, the man didn’t have a salary to dock.

She set down her pen, propped her chin in one hand, and glanced at Leon standing below her throne.

Leon looked up at her. “When are you off work?”

“When I feel like it. Why?”

“I need your help to repaint the Black Gold Chariot.”

Rosvisser’s interest piqued immediately.

“All right, let’s go.”

She closed the work log, stood up from her throne, and quickly descended the steps, holding up her skirt.

Leon blinked. “That was fast. Aren’t you still working?”

“I told you—it depends on my mood.”

Leon raised an eyebrow. “So, you're saying you’re in a good mood now?”

“Stop talking so much. Are we going or not?”

“Going, going, let’s go.”

The two walked side by side out of the Silver Dragon Sanctuary.

They arrived at Rosvisser’s private warehouse in the mountains and entered, with Leon leading the way.

When Leon had fought dragons as part of the dragon-slaying army, none of the dragons knew his name or face. They only described him as "the man in black armor."

Gradually, this nickname spread among the dragons.

After all, a foreigner wielding lightning and attacking dragons wherever he found them was bound to get a reputation.

Just as Rosvisser’s grandmother had mentioned a few days ago.

Before reentering battle in the Black Gold Chariot, Leon had hastily splashed some silver paint on the armor to avoid being recognized by the Silver Dragons, and in the darkness, no one had noticed him.

But that flimsy disguise wouldn’t hold up forever.

Leon knew he would be staying with Rosvisser for a while longer—at least until they exposed the Empire’s conspiracy.

Since the Empire might send more Dragon Kings after him, Leon decided to prepare in advance. He didn’t want to be caught off guard like with Constantine.

After explaining why he wanted to repaint the armor, they both set to work. They laid out the various parts of the Black Gold Chariot, tied on their aprons, and began the "armor spa."

“Why didn’t you ask your daughters to help? Isn’t Noa back?” Rosvisser asked as she carefully applied paint to the helmet.

Leon hesitated. “They’re spending time with their great-grandmother. It’s their first time meeting, so I didn’t want to disturb them.”

It was a decent reason.

But Noa had come back yesterday, and the three daughters had spent the night with their great-grandmother.

Now it was evening again, and surely the family bonding couldn’t last *all* day, right?

If Leon had just said, “Who wants to help Dad paint?” Noa and Moon would probably be fighting over who got to do it.

As for Aurora?

The little one was still too young to walk steadily, so she could just stay in her room.

Besides, the daughters didn’t know the history behind the armor. Helping wouldn’t tire them out, and it could even strengthen their bond with their father.

Thinking of this, Rosvisser felt a little mischievous and couldn’t help teasing him. “Oh, so you didn’t want to bother the kids and their great-grandmother?”

Leon stole a glance at her and muttered, “Yeah.”

Rosvisser sighed dramatically.

“Why are you sighing?” Leon asked.

“I thought you wanted to do this alone with me,” she said, lightly tracing her pink nails along the helmet of the Black Gold Chariot, pouting like a wronged wife.

Leon saw through her act immediately. “... Queen, give it a rest.”

Seeing that her little trick had been exposed, Rosvisser didn’t panic. She toned down her theatrics and glanced up at him. “Oh? Now you’re telling me to give it a rest? Why didn’t you say that the other night when you told me you liked me?”

“That was because—!”

“Because what?”

“I was... drunk. Does what I said while drunk really count?”

Rosvisser snorted. “One sip of wine and you’re drunk? Who do you think you’re fooling? You were perfectly sober.”

Leon rolled his eyes and didn’t want to continue the conversation.

To be fair, he had been sober that night.

Although he couldn’t hold his liquor, it wasn’t enough to make him lose control after just one sip.

He knew exactly what he had said and how he had felt when he said it.

But bringing it up now made his face heat up a little.

“Why are you quiet now? Are you regretting it?” Rosvisser pressed.

Regret?

Definitely not.

He only regretted doing things that went against his feelings.

So that “I like you”... could be considered Leon’s honest confession.

“Tch, who do you think I am? I said it, and I meant it. No regrets.”

Leon was stubborn, but when it came to taking responsibility for his words, he was rock solid.

Rosvisser had always admired this about him.

“Then say it again,” she coaxed.

“Are you serious? I said it, and you didn’t even respond. What’s the point?”

Oh boy.

He was getting frustrated.

Rosvisser pursed her lips and muttered under her breath, “Fine, forget it. Who cares?”

She went back to painting the helmet.

As she worked, Rosvisser noticed that all the paint Leon had brought was silver.

What was this about?

Black Gold Chariot—Shiny Silver Edition—Silver Dragon Exclusive?

“Why is all the paint silver?” she asked casually.

“I like silver,” Leon responded without thinking.

Rosvisser blinked, then coughed lightly to get his attention.

Leon looked up at her.

She was fiddling nonchalantly with her silver hair.

Leon rolled his eyes and kept painting in silence.

*Cough, cough.*

He looked up again.

Rosvisser was now playing with the silver tip of her tail, still acting casual.

Leon sighed but remained quiet.

*Cough, cough.*

“Fine, fine. It’s your silver

, okay?”

Rosvisser’s hints were practically hitting him in the face, and if Leon kept pretending not to notice, she might just force the words out of him.

It was better to give in willingly.

Rosvisser, satisfied, happily went back to painting.

The couple worked for a while longer, finally completing the makeover of the Black Gold Chariot.

Looking at the newly painted armor, Rosvisser nodded approvingly. “Not bad. It looks good.”

“Mm.”

A very low and quiet “Mm.”

Rosvisser glanced at him.

The expression on his face was completely different from earlier in the throne room.

Rosvisser had a feeling she knew why—

It was because of the earlier exchange:

“Are you serious? I said it, and you didn’t even respond. What’s the point?”

This stubborn man had finally mustered up the courage to say something, but she had only kissed him in response that night, without giving him any words.

Even though he hadn’t said anything, he must have been a little bothered by it.

Rosvisser bit her lip, hesitating for a moment before quietly moving closer to him. She gently tugged at his sleeve.

“What is it?” Leon asked, his voice low, his eyes still fixed on the Black Gold Chariot.

“Cassmod.”

Rosvisser rose on her tiptoes, leaned close to his ear, and whispered, her breath warm,

“I like you.”