To be fair, even if they hadn’t looked like they had all come straight from the runway, it would have still been difficult for Riley to leave.
Because in the grand scheme of things, every single one of these so-called "servants" was far stronger than him.
If he even tried to shove them aside, it would be like slamming into a wall. Not quite the Kael kind of wall—thankfully—but still a wall. And with this many? What exactly was he supposed to do?
Politely reject, of course.
Starting with a strained smile, Riley bowed his head slightly. "Really, there’s no need. I wouldn’t want to trouble you."
One of them bowed back, serene as a saint. "But it is our honor, my lord. Please allow us."
"No, truly, I mean it. I’ll manage myself."
Another one stepped forward smoothly, smile so bright Riley swore he could hear harp music. "It is our duty. Please, let us."
And so it began—a duel of politeness.
Riley parried with gracious refusals, the elves countered with gracious insistence, and back and forth they went like fencers in a glittering ballroom.
But the polite sparring shattered the moment someone reached for his suit jacket.
From out of nowhere, Riley felt every hair on his body rise as goosebumps rippled down his spine.
"No—no, no, I’ll do that myself," he said quickly, stepping back.
But the elf’s expression didn’t falter. "If we fail to perform our tasks, we will be punished. So, please allow us."
Oh hell no. Riley’s mind raced.
He needed another strategy. "I apologize. I understand your situation, as I myself am in one. I can’t really rest yet. At least not until I’ve checked on Lord Dravaryn."
He was certain he heard a snicker somewhere behind him, but he didn’t dare look. Because another voice was already assuring him smoothly, "That won’t be necessary. There is a team specifically tasked to attend to Lord Dravaryn. So, please relax, my lord."
And of course, that voice carried with it all the charm of a predator luring prey into a trap.
The elf even leaned forward ever so slightly, movements fluid, tempting, deliberate, though it seemed it took all their willpower just to call him ’My Lord.’
Riley sidestepped, heart hammering, and plastered on his most professional smile. "I really can’t. Not unless Kael says it’s fine."
That was a lie. A huge lie.
There was no such thing as "Kael’s approval required." But Riley was convinced these elves were up to something, and after what he’d overheard earlier, he wasn’t about to let them swarm him like this without resistance.
Another voice chimed in, saccharine and confident. "Do not worry. The maids selected for him are the best of the best. They will serve Lord Dravaryn to the fullest."
That was the breaking point.
Swamped, ticked, and about two seconds away from combusting, Riley’s professional smile froze into something slightly terrifying, his eyes sharpening with manic energy. "Well, it seems that won’t do," he snapped, almost hyped by his own desperation and definite annoyance.
"Because Kael wouldn’t like it. It’s understandable if you’re not aware, but I figure it wouldn’t be nice if I didn’t inform you. He doesn’t really like being touched, much less approached. So you might want to reconsider."
If Riley were being honest, he’d actually given them the sanitized version, the downplayed one that didn’t make him look that insane.
Because, really, Kael even disliked those who tried breathing next to him. But he couldn’t really go out there and say that, right?
The elves faltered, but only slightly. For a heartbeat, they were taken aback by Riley’s odd smile. But who were they? They were proud elves. They wore beauty like armor. Their confidence held strong.
One tilted his head, placating. "Then surely, my lord, if it’s not the dragon lord, then it should be fine, right? We should be able to serve you with no issues. That much should be acceptable, no?"
Riley gaped. "That’s even worse!"
Another elf, lips curled into what was technically a smile but far too sharp, murmured, "Surely it could not be that bad? Or are you saying we’re not enough to serve you?"
Riley nearly rolled his eyes. Nearly.
They weren’t even keeping their animosity hidden now, huh.
But instead of taking the bait, he exhaled hard, trying to keep his voice steady. "I don’t know about all of you, but I’m saying this for your own good. If you so much as look, come near, or worse, touch, he won’t tolerate it!"
A silence fell.
One brave elf finally asked, voice soft but mocking at the edges, "So, Lord Riley, what exactly are you saying?"
Riley drew in a deep breath.
Either these elves were truly unaware and couldn’t take a hint, or just as expected, they’re completely ignoring his words. So his smile stretched wider, his eyes flared, and his voice rang out like a battle horn. To hell with it.
"What I’m saying is, my boyfriend is a possessive dragon! So, I’m asking all of you again if you really have a death wish?!"
There.
He said it.
Sent himself straight to hell in the name of salvation. He was definitely going to wash his mouth later, but judging by their faces, it had at least worked.
The elves froze.
Success. Or... maybe?
Because instead of gasps, outrage, or even laughter, Riley was just met with silence.
Hmm.
Was it not sensational enough? Should he have added dramatic hand gestures? Maybe a line about molten fury raining down from the skies?
But then he noticed something was off.
The silence wasn’t for him.
Everyone’s gaze had shifted. Past him. Toward the door.
Riley frowned. "What are you—" He turned, and the words died in his throat.
Because there he was.
From the door, which hadn’t been closed, a certain figure, in all his glory, leaned lazily against the doorframe as though he had been there all along. His posture was relaxed, arms crossed, one brow arched in quiet amusement—as if silently asking, Oh, why stop on my account?
"..."
"..."
"!!!"