The guest hall of Eldran's castle stretched far and wide, every corner brimming with quiet opulence.
The morning sun filtered through tall windows, casting warm golden light across polished floors and carved stone.
Shadows played over the gleam of gold-trimmed chairs, ancient statues, and books bound in rich leather. A scent lingered in the air—aged parchment, incense, and the faint touch of flowers that didn't seem to come from any visible vase.
Adam wandered in behind Gwendolyn, boots echoing softly with every step. His eyes roamed the room like a tourist at a Renaissance fair, half expecting someone to pull out a lute and start a ballad.
'The fantasy vibe hit hard. Everything from the architecture to the flickering sconces screamed Welcome to Ye Olde Magic Land. Even the people—they moved like background NPCs waiting for their cue.'
Gwendolyn spoke with practiced ease, her tone smooth and rich, like someone used to speaking for royal ears.
She was saying something about mana currents, sacred duties, or ancient bloodlines—maybe all of the above. Adam caught words like "prophecy" and "divine contract," but his attention was off-course.
The hood was gone. Instead, she wore a flowing dress the shade of moonlit sky, smooth and elegant, like the kind that made ballads get written.
It clung just enough to highlight the soft curves of her waist and hips, with sleeves that swept back to reveal the slender lines of her shoulders. The fabric dipped just enough to trace her collarbone, a delicate frame for the soft rise of her chest.
And her chest—yeah, Adam noticed. More than noticed. Those things deserved their own subplot.
Gwendolyn's tone carried no edge, no scolding—just a soft lift of amusement, like a cat toying with yarn. Her eyes sparkled, a quiet tease dancing in their depths.
"Are you still listening to me, Hero?"
Adam's gaze broke away with the hesitation of someone caught mid-sin. His eyes drifted up, reluctantly abandoning the view that had stolen his attention.
"Yes. I am listening, Sydney Sweeney."
She gave a slight nod, as if indulging his nonsense was part of her daily cardio.
Adam coughed into his fist, trying to shake off the warmth creeping up his neck.
"Anyway, you can call me Adam. It's way less awkward than hero or whatever royal crap you've got loaded in your vocabulary."
A soft rustle of skirts whispered through the room as a few maids entered with quiet steps, each carrying a tray with delicate cups and a polished teapot that steamed gently in the morning light.
The clink of porcelain meeting wood was soft and practiced, their movements smooth, almost rehearsed.
Their eyes found him instantly.
Not just a glance. Not fleeting. They lingered. Admiration shimmered first, followed closely by a flicker of curiosity.
And beneath it all, something deeper, slower burning—desire that curled at the edges of their expressions like smoke from a candle just snuffed.
Adam lowered himself into the chair without a word, like a man perfectly aware of the effect he had yet entirely unfazed by it.
He reached for the nearest cup, fingers brushing warm porcelain. A sip followed. Then a thoughtful pause.
He gave a small nod, like a silent seal of approval.
"This isn't bad. Could use a splash of whiskey and a dragon's scale, but hey, points for presentation."
One of the maids looked like she forgot how to blink.
Adam stayed quiet until the last swish of skirts and soft footsteps disappeared beyond the heavy doors.
Only then did he move, leaning back with a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, eyes locked on Gwendolyn like he was about to say something wildly inappropriate—and entirely intentional.
"I've got a couple of conditions. As fun as it sounds to turn this kingdom into my own personal daycare, I'm not exactly keen on being a walking donation center without a say in the matter."
His voice was casual, but there was a current of seriousness beneath it, the kind that made you pay attention no matter how many jokes he laced it with.
"I'm not trying to be the guy who wakes up every week to a new baby announcement from someone I barely remember blinking at."
He tapped a finger against the armrest, rhythm slow and deliberate.
"So yeah. I want some boundaries. Preferably the kind that keep things from spiraling into a royal soap opera where I'm the clueless main character with too many plotlines."
"I'll hear it out."
Adam rolled his shoulders back, stretching like a man preparing for a very awkward job interview.
"Alright, first off, I want a say in who I'm getting cozy with. I'm not some walking seed dispenser ready to jump the bones of every warm body you shove my way—especially if they're the kind that makes milk curdle just by smiling."
He gave a dramatic pause, clearly enjoying himself far too much for the situation.
"Second, I want compensation. This isn't charity work. If you want the magic sauce, there better be something sweet in it for me. And I don't mean good vibes and thank-you cards."
He looked skyward like inspiration might fall from above.
"Third, I pick the time and the place. If I feel like doing the deed in a sunflower field under the stars, then that's exactly where the magic happens. No awkward bunk beds. No cold, sterile chambers. Mood matters, people."
A grin tugged at the edge of his mouth, but it faded as he turned serious, voice cooling just a notch.
"And last... I want strength. Real power. If I'm supposed to be this legendary hero, then hand me the tools to back it up. Because if someone decides to treat me like property instead of a person, I want to make sure they think twice before crossing that line."
He looked at her, then. Not with arrogance, not even defiance—but calm, deliberate clarity.
Gwendolyn stayed still, her posture quiet and thoughtful, as if weighing each word that had already passed between them. Then, with a small, slow nod, she acknowledged the truth hanging in the space they shared. Her voice, when it came, was calm—gently laced with guilt but wrapped in grace.
"All of your conditions make sense. I summoned you without warning, and now I'm about to ask you to do something most people wouldn't even dream of attempting."
Adam leaned back slightly, hands sliding into his pockets with a casual ease that didn't match the gravity of the moment.
"I mean, I get it. But let's not act like this is a punishment. If the mission involves helping a gorgeous girl like you make babies, then hey—I'm basically doing charity work, right?"
Gwendolyn's breath caught. The composure she carried like a second skin cracked just a little. A flush began to bloom beneath her cheeks and climbed its way to the tips of her ears. She tucked a strand of hair behind one of them, a quiet motion that revealed the depth of that blush.
"This may sound odd, but... it's been more than a decade since a man has said something kind to me. And this... felt different."
Adam gave her a lopsided nod, like he'd just scored a point in a game he didn't know they were playing.
"No pressure. Just say the word if you want more compliments. I've got a whole arsenal ready."
Gwendolyn rose with gentle poise, her movements as fluid as wind stirring a silk curtain. Her eyes, still fixed on him, shimmered with a quiet urgency.
"Perhaps it is time I escort you to the throne room. The queen, my mother, would be most eager to lay eyes upon you."
Adam drained the last drop of tea, like finishing a decent Netflix show—satisfying, but he wasn't rewatching it anytime soon. He stood and rolled his shoulders with a soft sigh, then made his way toward the door without fanfare.
Behind him, Gwendolyn followed. Her steps were light, but her breathing betrayed her—shallow, rapid, laced with something unsaid. Her hand pressed to her chest, as though her heart was throwing a rave without her permission.
Adam glanced over his shoulder, raising a brow.
"You okay?"
She said nothing. Instead, she moved ahead, the hem of her gown whispering along the floor as she guided him toward the throne room.
"Cool, cool... totally normal behavior. Just hyperventilating behind me like a fangirl at Comic-Con."
His voice dropped to a mutter as he walked behind her.
"Somebody get this girl a Gatorade. She's out here thirsting like it's the Sahara."