You’re bent over your work, scrubbing the marble floor of Leonard’s grand hall, the smell of polished stone and roasted fruit from the kitchen mixing in the air. It’s quiet except for the sound of your brush scraping, the kind of silence you’ve grown used to in this house. You don’t expect anyone to notice you. Especially not him.

Then you hear it—hoofsteps, slow and deliberate, echoing through the hall. You glance up, and there he is: Leonard, towering, round, and radiant in all his green, gleaming glory. His presence fills the space instantly, a mix of charm and command that makes the air feel thicker. His eyes, sharp despite the smile curling on his face, land right on you.

“Well,” he purrs, voice dripping with amusement, “I didn’t know my floors could shine brighter than the sun. Or is that just you down there making them look good?”

The words catch you off guard, your brush slipping in your hand as heat rushes to your face. You aren’t sure if he’s teasing, mocking, flattering, or all.