Chapter 135 — Good Morning, My Love

  At dawn, birds chimed softly beyond the shutters.

  Light had already spilled across the horizon, pale gold creeping over the wooden floorboards, yet Ivaline still wrestled stubbornly with her blankets—exhausted from a conversation that, in her opinion, rivaled every debate she had ever endured with Chronicle combined.

  Mental battles were far more tiring than steel.

  But instinct, honed over years of vigilance, never truly slept.

  Her eyes snapped open.

  Her body surged upright, hand half-raised—ready to block, to strike—

  Pomf.

  Her face sank into something warm.

  Soft.

  Familiar.

  It smelled faintly of flowers and clean linen.

  A gentle hand patted the back of her head. Fingers combed through her hair without urgency, without tension. A voice she had heard on countless mornings—steady as sunrise—murmured:

  “Good morning, my love.”

  “…Good morning, Seraphine.”

  The tension dissolved instantly.

  Ivaline relaxed, arms sliding around her wife-to-be, eyes drifting closed again as she allowed herself to be lifted—carried downstairs like a princess who had already conquered the world and now claimed her peace.

  Breakfast awaited them.

  A tub of warm water steamed gently in the corner. Towels were folded with meticulous care.

  Seraphine smiled faintly, trying to appear composed.

  “Would you like to bathe first, eat first… or take me first?”

  “…I’ll take you first.”

  “…Eh?”

  Seraphine froze mid-step when her teasing just got a serious reply.

  Ivaline pointed calmly at the couch.

  “…There.”

  The adult elf obeyed.

  Heart racing.

  Mind spiraling.

  Did she mean that kind of—

  Or something entirely innocent!?

  While Seraphine’s imagination collapsed in spectacular fashion, Ivaline—still seated on her lap, snuggled into her chest—lifted herself slightly, cupped Seraphine’s cheeks, and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

  “Welcome back, Seraphine.”

  “…I’m back.”

  Ah.

  If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  That was what she meant.

  But Ivaline wasn’t finished.

  Pomf.

  “…Eh?”

  She slid down onto the couch and gently tugged Seraphine with her, guiding her head until it rested upon her lap.

  Small hands began patting her head.

  Slow.

  Measured.

  Deliberate.

  “Today,” Ivaline said, voice monotone yet weighted with quiet significance, “you woke up before me. Prepared breakfast. Warmed the bath.”

  Each word landed carefully.

  “You’re a good wife. I’m proud of you.”

  “… … …”

  Seraphine’s brain ceased functioning.

  The kiss.

  The lap pillow.

  The head pats.

  You’re a good wife.

  I’m proud of you.

  “……HUUUUUU—?”

  She screamed silently into Ivaline’s pajama, curling her legs slightly as if struck by a fatal blow.

  If this was battle, she had been decisively defeated.

  And she had never been happier.

  They bathed together while the water still held its warmth.

  Steam clung to skin. Fingers brushed. Shoulders leaned. No urgency—only comfort.

  If something is amiss, that would be Seraphine whom today grow bold enough to kissed on Ivaline nape.

  And she’s allowed it.

  Afterward, they ate side by side.

  Seraphine’s escort mission had gone smoothly.

  Ivaline’s, naturally, had escalated into a bandit subjugation.

  “Why—of all days—why the one day I’m not there with you?”

  Seraphine clenched her teeth, frustration and faint guilt flickering in her eyes.

  Ivaline simply shook her head.

  “It’s fine.”

  A pause.

  Then, quieter:

  “You trusted me to handle it. That’s enough.”

  Seraphine blinked.

  That was true.

  And somehow, hearing it from Ivaline eased something she hadn’t known was tight.

  After breakfast, they did not go out immediately.

  They stayed in.

  Snuggling.

  Patting.

  Hugging.

  Kissing—everywhere but the lips, as always.

  It was an unspoken boundary neither crossed.

  Not yet.

  At noon, they finally stepped outside together.

  Hand in hand.

  Lovers—

  to be.

  The guild hall greeted them with its usual noise.

  “Greetings Ivaline / Miss Silver Ward!”

  Nicole, Nasha, and Bubble stood straighter than before. Their voices carried more certainty. Something had shifted overnight.

  Ivaline wasted no time.

  She introduced Nicole to Garrick and requested the man to train him properly.

  Garrick accepted with a grin—and immediately dragged the boy toward the training grounds.

  Hennel, who had once survived that regime, offered a silent prayer.

  Ayra only smiled—and followed.

  Dr. Suniel received Bubble with a simple nod.

  No encouragement. No reassurance.

  Only:

  “Stand there. Observe.”

  Bubble was placed in the corner—just as Ivaline once had been.

  Watch.

  Anticipate.

  Hand over tools before they were requested.

  Clean without being told.

  Read when there was nothing else to do.

  That evening, the guild erupted when Bubble returned holding a parchment stamped with Success.

  The second person ever to pass Dr. Suniel’s silent trial.

  She clutched it like a treasure.

  And when her eyes met Ivaline’s across the hall—

  She bowed.

  Deeply.

  Corvix allowed Nasha inside his shop.

  He dismissed Ivaline and Seraphine at the door.

  “This is business.”

  Under his crooked smirk and calculating gaze, Nasha stiffened.

  That was not the look of a kind employer.

  It was the eye of a predator assessing whether she was worth cultivating—

  Or consuming.

  The negotiation began.

  Round after round.

  Numbers. Terms. Risk.

  Corvix tested her. Pressured her. Attempted to bait errors.

  Nasha did not retreat.

  When she finally emerged, her posture had changed.

  Secretary to Corvix.

  With a promise:

  Investment into her family’s failing business—

  If she proved her worth.

  She looked at Ivaline.

  Not with gratitude.

  But with resolve.

  The rest of the day belonged to Ivaline and Seraphine.

  They visited Tomas’ bakery.

  Stopped by Edwyn’s shop.

  Maintained their weapons at Harlund’s smithy.

  Ordered fresh cuts from Edric, requesting delivery.

  Then they left through the east gate.

  A familiar halberd rested against a familiar shoulder.

  “Morning.”

  Brannic’s voice was steady.

  His eyes swept over them—professional—then paused on Ivaline for half a breath longer than necessary.

  “Heading out again?”

  “Training.”

  He nodded.

  “…Town’s been quieter since yesterday,” he added. “Guess that explains why.”

  Ivaline tilted her head slightly.

  As they passed, he spoke quietly—almost to himself.

  “Morning patrol’s been peaceful since you cleared our problems. Thank you.”

  He did not wait for acknowledgment.

  Only resumed his watch.

  In the open fields, Ivaline trained.

  Precise.

  Efficient.

  Controlled.

  Seraphine prepared tea on a woven mat nearby, watching her with undisguised affection.

  Occasionally offering water.

  Occasionally offering a smile.

  The sun dipped low.

  They returned together.

  Dined out—for once.

  Went home.

  Washed each other.

  Went to bed.

  Again—hugging.

  Cuddling.

  Kissing.

  Still no lips.

  Chronicle watched in silence.

  Recorded everything.

  Memorized each heartbeat.

  And smile silently.