"Why don't you join us, dear queen?"

Mercedes froze in place.

Not the figurative kind of freeze.

Literally, the air around her dropped ten degrees.

Her expression was a mixture of:

horror,

shame,

exhaustion,

and that kind of shock that only someone who has slept badly for six consecutive days and heard things they shouldn't have would feel.

"WHAT??!" Mercedes choked, almost tipping her own icy scepter. "I DIDN'T—YOU—HOW—"

The words came out truncated, as if each syllable was an attempt to restart her internal system.

Strax blinked, too innocent for someone who had caused a six-night auditory diplomatic collapse.

"Calm down," he said with a nonchalant smile. "It was just a joke."

It was a lie.

He wasn't joking.

And Mercedes knew.

All the color drained from her body to her face.

"You— YOU—" She pointed at him, trembling. "Don't make that kind of provocation with me when I'm… when I'm…"

She searched for words.

She couldn't find any that weren't humiliating.

Seeing this, Strax moved closer—close enough that Mercedes took a step back, purely out of defensive reflex.

He tilted his head.

"When you're… what?"

Mercedes pressed her lips together.

She breathed.

She tried to maintain her dignity.

"Vulnerable," she admitted at last, almost inaudibly. "And exhausted. And—and hearing things that no monarch should hear from guests staying in her own palace."

Strax gently cupped her chin with two fingers—but unexpectedly enough to make her hold her breath.

"I'm really going to reinforce the sound barrier," he said, in an unexpectedly soft tone. "You shouldn't suffer because of… well… the two of us."

Mercedes looked away, her face burning.

"Thank you," she murmured, in a whisper.

Silence.

But not a comfortable silence.

It was the kind of silence that had tension,

awkwardness,

and also a hint of something Mercedes refused to name.

When she finally composed herself, she cleared her throat, trying to pull away from his touch—but he still held her chin, and she had to give his hand an almost embarrassed tap to release it.

Strax stepped back, but still smiled as if he knew exactly what he was doing.

Mercedes, red to the core, turned her face away.

"Just… go reinforce the barrier," she said, trying to regain her cool tone. "And… please… just try… just try not to turn my entire palace into a musical instrument for your… encounters."

Strax chuckled softly.

Mercedes bit her lip, annoyed and embarrassed for responding to the sound in a way she shouldn't have.

"I'll be discreet," he promised.

"You're never discreet," she retorted.

He tilted his head thoughtfully.

"True."

Mercedes closed her eyes as if praying for mercy from the ice deity.

Strax turned to leave.

But before leaving the room…

"Strax."

He looked over his shoulder.

"Hm?"

Mercedes cleared her throat, avoiding direct eye contact.

"Just so you know…"

She crossed her legs, uncomfortable.

"I… would prefer… that Scarlet didn't scream so loudly."

Strax winked.

A slow, mischievous smile crept onto his lips.

"I understand."

Mercedes realized too late that he'd misunderstood.

"STRAX! THAT'S NOT WHAT— I— COME BACK HERE! DON'T GIVE THAT WOMAN ANY IDEAS—!"

But he was already gone.

And Mercedes could only throw her head back and collapse onto the throne, muttering, "I really… need a new pair of panties… again… because that bastard gets me so wet with just the little insinuations."

Strax left the room before Mercedes could start yelling again—or freeze him against the wall, which he honestly thought was a real possibility.

The door closed behind him with a soft click.

And then…

He started laughing.

Not loudly. Not mockingly.

A low, muffled laugh, the kind that escaped on its own when something really caught you off guard.

"She's… unbelievable," he murmured to himself, walking down the icy corridor with his hands in his pockets.

The image of the blushing monarch, trying to maintain her sovereign posture while basically begging for peace and quiet, was… well, hilarious. And surprisingly adorable.

A stubborn innocence.

A fragile but firm sense of dignity.

A constant strength, even when exhausted.

And most unexpectedly: she wasn't afraid of him.

She got irritated.

She got worked up.

She blushed.

She complained.

She gave orders.

But fear? Not a shadow of it.

Strax stopped in the middle of the corridor, staring into the void with an intrigued smile.

"…I really liked her."

The statement came easily, naturally, as if he were simply describing the atmosphere.

Mercedes was… different.

She had an air of fragility that wasn't weakness—it was effort.

And that strength wasn't arrogance—it was responsibility.

Even with dark circles under her eyes, her patience shattered, and her head about to explode, she remained there, carrying an entire kingdom on her shoulders.

And doing it alone.

Strax tilted his head, thoughtful.

"Should I… have her for myself?"

He didn't say it with lust.

Nor with a promise.

Nor with hunger.

He said it like someone analyzing an unexpected possibility.

Scarlet was his flame.

His madness.

His woman, his fury, his existence.

But Mercedes…

Mercedes was ice that defended itself with its whole body, but still sought warmth without realizing it.

She was strong without boasting.

She was fragile without admitting it.

She was tirelessly dedicated.

And kind without intention.

A rare combination.

Very rare.

He continued walking, his footsteps echoing through the icy corridor, while he reflected silently, the smile never leaving his face.

"She would be great in the harem," he murmured to himself. "She's innocent… but not foolish. She's strong… but not arrogant. And she knows how to command."

He scratched his chin.

"…even though she wasn't in the best condition right now."

Yes. Exhausted.

Stressed.

Frustrated.

Ashamed.

Overwhelmed with responsibilities that crushed her.

And yet, she still found the strength to face him with her head held high.

Strax rubbed the back of his neck, thoughtful.

"She needs rest… she needs someone to make her laugh again."

A small, affectionate smile appeared.

"…and maybe… someone to hold her arm before she falls to the ground."

He sighed, resuming his walk.

When he realized it, he was smiling to himself like a fool.

Mercedes had this strange effect on him.

And that, he knew well, could be a problem.

Or… something much more interesting.

As he approached his quarters, he murmured to himself:

"I'll think about it." And he finished, with a mischievous glint in his eye, "…but I think I want her."

…

The blizzard was dense, but not for Shura.

The tigress walked among the frozen trees like a white shadow—silent, precise, fierce. Each step was calculated, each rustle of snow above her carefully observed. Her bushy tail swung behind her muscular body, showing her growing anxiety.

She had been searching for hours.

Hours sniffing, listening, analyzing footprints almost erased by the wind.

The Snow Tiger Race—her people, her blood, her origin—had been almost decimated. The few survivors had scattered like dust carried by the wind, some hidden, others captured, others simply… disappeared.

But Shura didn't give up.

Never.

She sniffed a faint, almost imperceptible trail, mixed with the smell of old ice and gunpowder. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, letting her animal mana sharpen her senses.

"…Three. Maybe four," she murmured, her deep voice echoing in the cold clarity.

She ran.

And when Shura ran, the entire forest felt it.

The sound of heavy paws in the snow, the wind cutting against her feline-human face, her steady, steady breath—all part of a single movement: pure determination.

A rustling.

Shura immediately dropped to a crouch behind a gigantic tree trunk, flaring her nostrils to catch the scent.

It wasn't an ordinary animal.

It wasn't human.

It was one of them.

She advanced slowly, silent as the snow itself.

Between two blocks of ice and twisted roots, she spotted movement—two small, furry bodies, huddled together, trembling. Cubs. Snow Tigers in feral form, frightened, too thin, too dirty.

Shura's eyes gleamed with a mixture of relief and pain. "…finally."

The pups growled immediately, recoiling even further, menacing despite their fragility. Shura raised her hands in a peaceful gesture.

"I won't hurt you. I am one of you." Nothing.

Only trembling. And fear.

Shura swallowed hard.

"Strax…" she thought, remembering his words, his confident smile, the way he touched her head when he promised he would take care of them all. "…I said I would bring them all. I won't fail."

She took another step.

The pups growled louder, but their little paws slipped on the snow and they fell sideways, too tired even to support their own bodies.

Shura's heart tightened.

Without thinking twice, she went to them and held them before they tried to escape. They struggled, scratched, bit, but Shura only held them tightly against her chest.

"Shut up… I won't let you get hurt ever again." And then, for the first time, they heard her voice not as a predator… but as an older tigress, a protector. "…I'm here. You're safe now."

The cubs cried—small, muffled sounds of those who had held back tears for too long. Shura hugged them tighter.

But something behind her roared. Loud. Deep. Ancient.

Shura turned, immediately putting the cubs behind her back.

The snow lifted like a veil as a colossal shadow emerged from the trees. An immense tiger, three times larger than Shura in her hybrid form, with deep scars on its back and eyes gleaming with icy mana.

Shura whispered, almost in disbelief, "…General Ralkar…"

One of the greatest warriors of the Race. Presumed dead. One of the only ones who could face a dragon—and survive.

The tiger didn't advance. Didn't roar again. He merely observed.

Until he recognized her.

Shura stepped forward, placing herself between him and the cubs.

"It's me. Shura." Her voice didn't waver. "From the Frostmoon Clan."

The tiger lowered its head in respect.

Shura took a deep breath—a mixture of relief and reverence.

"I found you…" she whispered. "Finally."

Ralkar stopped. His eyes, however, retained their animal ferocity.

"You're back," he said, his voice hoarse, broken. "We thought… you had died too."

Shura felt her chest boil—anger, pain, accumulated loneliness.

"No. I survived." She met his eyes. "And I found someone strong enough to give us a home."

Next chapter will be updated first on this website. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.