Here 's Chapter 16, filled with sarcastic humor, humiliating jabs at everyone (including the author, Kazriel, Aria, the nobles, and yes, even the you my beloved pupils and readers..
Location: Kazriel's Chamber
Mood: Petty, Flirtatious, and Fully Done with Everyone's Bullshit
The chamber doors slammed shut.
Aria let out a very elegant, very noble, very dignified—snort.
"Did you see the look on that viscount's face?" she laughed, collapsing dramatically onto the nearest couch like a dying opera singer. "I thought he was going to choke on his wig powder."
Kazriel kicked off his boots like a war hero returning from battle.
"Wig powder?" he said, grinning. "I was hoping he'd choke on his own dignity. But I forgot—none of them had any to begin with."
They both burst out laughing. Somewhere, a council member's soul withered a little.
Kazriel fell onto the bed with all the grace of a drunk god. "Ugh. Remind me why I didn't just stab someone today?"
"You did," Aria said, walking over. "Emotionally. Repeatedly. It was beautiful."
Meanwhile, the author (hi, it's me) was sitting behind their keyboard, sipping tears and wondering if this novel was becoming a sarcastic rom-com or an explosive political satire where no one was safe.
Spoiler: it's both.
"Can we take a moment," Aria said, lying beside him, "to acknowledge that you, my dear Kazriel, are a walking disaster with the attitude of a war general and the patience of a spoiled cat?"
Kazriel grinned. "Thank you for noticing. And can we acknowledge that you're the only person in this entire kingdom who hasn't made me want to stab my own eye with a soup spoon?"
"Aw," she cooed, "you're romantic and homicidal."
"You complete me," he said with a straight face.
Cue internal author screaming.
---
Suddenly, Kazriel pulled her close.
No warning. No transition. Just a smooth, swift motion—wham, Aria was curled up against his chest, trapped in an iron cuddle.
She blinked. "Are we cuddling?"
He murmured against her hair. "Yes."
"Are we pretending the entire royal council didn't just get psychologically dumpstered?"
"No."
"And are we going to ignore the fact that you slept through etiquette lessons and your table manners are basically war crimes?"
"Yes."
Silence.
Then:
"…You're really warm," she whispered.
"And you're small," he mumbled back, voice soft now. "Fits perfectly."
They slept like that. No magic, no drama. Just two idiots in love, wrapped in blankets and pettiness.
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Author's Final Note:
Dear reader,
If you were hoping for a serious political chapter—congrats, you read the wrong book.
If you're here for romantic threats, emotional violence, and cuddling with sarcasm, you're welcome.
Now go drink water. You're probably dehydrated from the secondhand embarrassment.
Want the next chapter to you reading them in the morning, catching them still snuggled, and being like, "damn, I want that too"? And I warn you add comment bro ..