"I'm telling you, the rooms are in the back. You've got the wrong door."
Samael shook the uninvited guest awake, speaking with open irritation.
"Mmm… No. This is the right one."
The little girl in a white silk camisole nightdress was dragged out from under the covers. She rubbed her sleepy eyes, glanced around in a daze, then yawned and tried to burrow back in.
"What? This is my room. What are you doing here?"
"I want to sleep with you…"
"Are you out of your mind? Why?"
Samael's expression froze in disbelief. He hauled Nero up again and lifted her in front of him to make sure she was fully awake.
In the darkness, two small hands suddenly cupped his face. Her fingers traced the outline of his features, then boldly patted and pinched as if she were inspecting something she found highly satisfying.
"Umu… because you're good-looking. I really like you!"
The future tyrant of Rome held his face close, studying him like a priceless work of art. Her emerald eyes sparkled as she clicked her tongue in admiration and nodded with satisfaction.
"Thanks for the compliment. Now that that's settled, could you please get off my bed?"
Samael's face darkened.
He had nearly forgotten that this girl would grow into a complete beauty enthusiast, the kind who appreciated good looks regardless of gender.
Who would have thought that even as a god, he'd one day be coveted for his appearance?
"Don't be shy. I'll make you a prince and take responsibility for you."
"No interest."
"Don't worry. I'll marry you when I grow up!"
"I refuse."
"If that doesn't satisfy you, then you can marry me instead?"
"Thanks, but I'm already spoken for. Non-negotiable."
"That's fine. I won't mind. I won't even care about your past!"
After being rejected again and again, Nero straightened her expression and thought for a moment. Then she placed a small hand on Samael's shoulder, looking at him with a touch of pity as she spoke earnestly.
The problem is, I mind.
Samael's breath caught. Faced with this self-assured and utterly troublesome child, he nearly lost his composure. When he realized he had somehow been dragged into her bizarre line of reasoning, he simply shut his mouth, unwilling to continue arguing.
Just as the Ancient Serpent decided to stop wasting words and carry her straight back to her own room, the small figure standing on the bed suddenly wrapped her arms around his waist. She buried her face against his chest and rubbed against him like a kitten, her voice soft.
"I know now. You've always cared about me. You didn't leave me behind. I'm happy… really happy…"
…
Feeling the tight grip around his waist, Samael let go of the collar he had been about to grab. He exhaled slowly, the sharpness in his eyes softening.
Hope found in the depths of despair was priceless. It left a deeper mark than anything else.
When Nero had been at her lowest, he had reached out a hand. In her heart, he likely already occupied a place of real importance.
This was not desire. It was self-preservation. An instinctive closeness toward someone she trusted.
That was why, during these days of rest in the Celtic camp, Nero had always found ways, consciously or not, to stay near him and cling to his side.
For the sake of nurturing a good relationship between Nero and Boudica, he had repeatedly refused her attempts.
But now it seemed that pushing forward the alliance between Britannia and Rome had been somewhat rushed.
Boudica's gentleness and wisdom did not necessarily represent the views of all the Celts. They had never held a favorable impression of Romans to begin with. It was unrealistic to expect that sentiment to change overnight.
And during the period she had been living under someone else's protection, Nero might not have been as carefree and openly optimistic as she appeared.
No matter how clever she was, she still had the heart of a child. The sense of crisis and fear had never truly left her.
So once she confirmed his attitude today, the little girl who had spent days on edge, afraid of being abandoned, immediately came seeking his closeness.
"It's so warm… let me stay a little longer…"
Nero rubbed her cheek against him, letting out a soft, contented hum.
Samael's raised hand paused for a moment before settling on her head, gently stroking it almost unconsciously.
The golden ahoge on top of Nero's head twitched happily. She narrowed her eyes and nodded in pleasure.
"Umu, umu… just like that. Don't stop…"
She looked exactly like a kitten sprawled out on a couch, belly exposed, waiting for its owner to scratch it.
After fully indulging in the bliss of being patted, Nero yawned, then lazily lifted her face. With a mischievous little grin, she reached up and pinched Samael's cheek.
"Samael, my dear, I'm sleepy. I want to sleep. You may attend me. I permit you to hold me while I rest."
"As you command, future Your Majesty."
Samael gently patted her head again, an elegant smile spreading across his face. Then one wicked hand slowly reached toward the future tyrant of Rome…toward the back of her neck.
A moment later, before Nero could react, Samael strode out of the room in long steps, crossed to the rear courtyard, and neatly deposited the little girl back into the bed that belonged to her.
To ensure Her Majesty fell asleep promptly, he even thoughtfully bound her with a rope of mana.
The bed creaked as she struggled indignantly, and from her silenced mouth came faint, aggrieved whimpers.
A night raid, huh?
Calling me Samael, my dear, huh?
Attending your sleep, huh?
Climbing the ladder pretty fast for someone with "psychological issues," aren't you?
Samael locked the door without hesitation, turned crisply, and returned to his own bedroom. He slipped under the covers and stretched out comfortably, a look of complete satisfaction on his face.
This bed is huge. Sleeping alone really is the best.
Want to share it with him? Not happening.
In Greece, he had Athena and a whole group of Typhon's offspring to deal with. In the North, Fenrir and Hela, whom he had practically raised from childhood. Now in Rome too? Another child to look after? Absolutely not. Go play by yourself.
The Ancient Serpent stretched lazily, pulled the quilt up with contentment, and closed his eyes. As his consciousness drifted off, a faint smile curved his lips.
The long night passed in quiet stillness, and dawn arrived.
The next morning, Samael rose refreshed and strolled leisurely through the camp. On the way, he exchanged a familiar greeting with Boudica, who was already up inspecting the camp, before turning toward the kitchen to check on breakfast.
Before long, members of the Celtic tribe woke one after another, gathering in small groups, eagerly waiting to see if there would still be meat to eat.
Amid the drifting smoke of cooking fires, Boudica carried her meal to the grass and sat down beside Samael. She casually brought up the next round of preparations and arrangements.
For example, selecting one hundred elite soldiers to form a unit and subjecting them to strict military and Mystical training, so they could escort Nero safely back to Rome.
As for the most suitable instructor, naturally it would be the Roman centurion rescued by the Druids, whose injuries had mostly healed by now.
In addition, Britannia was still in the stage of a tribal confederation. Boudica's previous campaign had suffered heavy losses, and she was beginning to struggle to keep certain tribes in check.
This elite unit could conveniently make a circuit through nearby territories, intimidating the restless tribes. If necessary, they could carry out targeted decapitation strikes to eliminate potential threats before departure.
With Brynhildr overseeing the operation, success would be guaranteed, and it would also help rebuild her confidence.
As the two refined the overall preparations through detailed discussion, Boudica felt a sudden clarity. The gloom that had hung over her for days seemed to lift.
On impulse, the queen began asking about governance and livelihood matters she had found difficult to decide. Drawing on his extensive experience and knowledge, as well as his time assisting two different kings, Samael provided solutions with effortless precision. Each suggestion struck at the heart of the issue, dissolving problems one after another.
Before they realized it, Brynhildr, the two Britannian princesses, and a certain future tyrant with heavy dark circles under her eyes, yawning repeatedly, had all gathered nearby, sitting on the grass to listen.
Within half an hour, the final piece of tribal business that had been piling up for months was resolved casually by the man in front of her.
Boudica's shoulders relaxed at once, and she felt lighter than she had in a long time.
"To be honest, I'd rather have you as king. If you were here, I might finally get a good night's sleep…"
"Ahem!"
Before she could finish, Nero coughed sharply, tugging at Samael's sleeve and casting a wary look at the queen.
Boudica snapped back to her senses and hurriedly covered her mouth, a faint blush spreading across her face as she fell silent in embarrassment.
If he became king, then that would mean…
Yes. That had been far too abrupt.