SIR ALEX POV
Gods above. I had survived monster raids, political interrogations, and five consecutive nights of my men snoring like dying ogres…
…but nothing prepared me for Seraphine's new "soap and shampoo factory."
The moment she dragged—no, escorted—me inside, I understood why the entire West Territory had transformed into a bustling botanical frenzy.
The old duke's warehouse, once dusty and depressing, had become a temple of scents.
And chaos.
Mostly chaos.
THE FACTORY
Rows of large iron cauldrons bubbled with thick mixtures—some creamy, others suspiciously neon. Women and men stirred them with long wooden paddles like witches brewing potions. Barrels marked coconut oil, lavender extract, aloe pulp, peppermint essence, and mystery goo lined the walls.
Everywhere I looked something steamed, simmered, dripped, dried, or sparkled.
The air was a storm of scents—fresh floral, minty-strong, fruity-sweet, and something caramel-like that made my stomach growl.
Workers rushed past holding baskets of herbs, molds for shaping soaps, glass vials of shampoo, and scrolls where Seraphine's handwriting screamed:
"NO! THIS BATCH IS TOO SLIMY. FIX IT."
"MORE FOAM!! PEOPLE LIKE FOAM!!"
"WHY IS THIS ONE GREEN?? I NEVER SAID GREEN!!"
They were smiling while obeying, which was the strangest part.
The whole place felt alive.
I blinked, overwhelmed. "This… this is bigger than last time."
Seraphine beamed beside me, hands on her hips, chest lifted proudly. "Well, yes. You can't expect the Goddess of Innovation—me—to stay small."
And then she winked.
I nearly choked on air.
"So," she purred, stepping closer, "see anything you like?"
The unhinged part was—she was pretending to refer to the factory.
The vast majority of her employees were pretending not to stare.
"I meant the soap," I said stiffly. "I'm inspecting the soap."
She sidled closer until her shoulder brushed my arm. "Mhm. And you're absolutely not admiring my new hair? My perfectly smooth, shiny, goddess-level hair created by the best shampoo in the entire realm?"
Her hair really was ridiculous. Soft waves, glossy as polished obsidian, reflecting sunlight like she had magic woven into it.
She flicked a lock over her shoulder. "Go on. You can say it."
"I'm here for inspection," I repeated, crossing my arms very tightly to avoid touching anything I shouldn't.
"Oh? Inspect away, Commander," she said in a voice so sultry my brain malfunctioned for a solid three seconds. "Would you like to start with my soap molds?"
"That's not— you know that's not—"
She stepped in front of me, walking backward as she led me deeper inside, grin smug and wicked.
"Careful, Sir Alex," she teased, "you look a little flushed. Is it the peppermint batch? It does have a cooling effect."
"It's not the peppermint."
She arched a brow. "Oh? Is it me?"
Gods help me.
I may or may not like how she looked at me but it gave me shiver.
We stopped beside a row of drying soap bars—lavender, lemon, eucalyptus, aloe, rose, and one that smelled like sweet milk and honey.
I reached for a finished bar to test the texture.
Seraphine leaned in close—too close—watching my fingers like it was a romance scene in a bard's scandalous play.
Her voice dropped. "That one makes your skin soft. Very… touchable."
A beat.
Two beats.
My grip tightened on the soap.
Every worker within earshot froze, listening.
I cleared my throat so aggressively I almost coughed up my soul. "Your products," I said, stepping back before I combusted, "will change the market entirely."
She lit up. Eyes sparkling. Smile victorious. "Oh, I know," she said. "But I want to hear you say it."
"They're incredible," I admitted. "You're… incredible."
Her breath hitched—just slightly—before she covered it with a smirk. "Well," she said, twirling a strand of hair like she was flirting with the wind itself, "since you think I'm so incredible… can I show you the shampoo mixing room? It requires very… hands-on supervision."
I stared at her.
She stared back.
Behind us, a worker whispered: "She's gonna eat that man alive."
Another whispered back: "He looks like he'll let her."
Both were correct.
I EXHALE SLOWLY.
This woman was going to be the end of me.
And the beginning of everything else.
*****
SERAPHINE POV
Of course I can tease the male lead.
I mean—why not? If fate insists on putting one of the hottest men in the book inside my garden, inside my factory, inside my peripheral vision while flexing his biceps like some divine sculpture… that is NOT my fault.
Also, let me be clear:
I am NOT stealing him from the princess.
The story hasn't reached that part yet.
They're endgame.
I am just… uh… enriching the plot.
Enhancing the male lead experience.
Giving him character development through thirst.
You're welcome, future princess.
*****
An hour later, after inspecting too many cauldrons for his sanity, I dragged Sir Alex Canva to the garden for tea. The weather was perfect—sun warm, wind soft, flowers blooming like they owed me money.
The tea table was beautifully set:
• fresh pastries
• lavender honey
• cucumber sandwiches
• and my father, the Duke, sitting like a regal statue judging my entire life.
Alex took the seat across from me—poor man was still too dazed from the factory tour. Probably still recovering from when he leaned too close to the soap molds and accidentally smelled my hair.
Ah yes.
The moment.
THE GREAT HAIR-SMELLING INCIDENT
We were both reaching for a soap sample.
I stood.
He stood.
My hair swayed. Of course, I knew the move. I've seen it too many times in shampoo commercials and I'm not stupid not to try it.
And then—
Alex inhaled.
Accidentally.
Right beside my neck. Just like every shampoo commercial in the universe. It was that moment when he knew he fucked up.
His spine locked.
His soul left his body.
His internal organs filed complaints.
His Adam's apple bobbed so hard I thought it was about to abandon ship.
And the best part? He froze like a guilty wolf pup caught sniffing the Alpha's coat.
Meanwhile, I was like:
Oh yes. That's right. Sniff the product, sir. "Product."
I swear his ears turned red.
BACK TO THE GARDEN I poured him tea, smiling like the queen of shamelessness. I think I smiled too…too wide, too flirty…too obvious. I don't care.
"So," I asked sweetly, "did you enjoy your inspection, Sir Canva?"
He nearly spilled his cup. "It was… thorough."
"Mm. I noticed," I said, flipping my glossy, divine, accidentally-sniffed hair.
Across the table, my father raised one eyebrow so high it reached another dimension. "Seraphine," the duke said, voice dangerously neutral, "you seem… enthusiastic today."
"Oh Father," I replied, patting his hand, "I'm just excited to share my new products with the realm. You know—soap. Shampoo. Opportunities. Gold. Fame and yes gold."
My father squinted at me like he was mentally writing a very long report titled:
"My Daughter Is Flirting With a Commander and I Can't Stop It."
Alex cleared his throat. Again. For the hundredth time. "I must say, Lady Seraphine," he said, trying to regain composure, "your innovations are impressive. Revolutionary, even."
"Oh? Impressive?" I leaned forward, resting my chin on my hand.
"Is that the only thing you found impressive today?"
He choked on air.
My father set his teacup down very slowly.
One maid giggled. Another made the sign of the gods. The gardeners pretended to prune but were clearly listening.
Finally, Alex managed: "Your… hair is… very—uh—very healthy."
"My hair?" I gasped dramatically. "Why Sir Canva, did you examine it?"
His soul combusted.
My father pressed his palm to his forehead.
And somewhere in the bushes, one of the guards whispered: "She's going to torment him to death."
Another whispered: "And he's letting her."
Correct.
I TAKE A SLOW SIP OF TEA
This is the best subplot I have ever written for myself.
The princess will have him later.
But for now?
He's in my territory.
My garden.
My factory.
Breathing my scented shampoo like it's holy incense.
I grin at him over the table. Let the female lead have the male lead eventually.
Today? He's my emotional support eye candy.