Dragon King's Harem Chapter 468. Drama is Better Than a Dead Prince
Dragon King's Harem Chapter 468. Drama is Better Than a Dead Prince Thiphania offered a small, knowing smile, but I could already feel her r
Dragon King's Harem Chapter 468. Drama is Better Than a Dead Prince
Thiphania offered a small, knowing smile, but I could already feel her recalculating. The weight of her eyes hadn’t changed, still sharp, still steady—but there was a shift behind them. She’d tested the waters. Now she was measuring the depth.
Callum, of course, just sipped his wine and watched, as if we were all actors in a well-written play he’d commissioned for his personal amusement.
And then—
Boots. Armor. Heavy steps.
The rhythm of home.
My head turned just a second before the doors opened fully. The cold wind carried through, but it was the scent of dragons that hit first—iron, smoke, and ash. Sela stood at the front, shoulders straight, eyes bright. Snow still clung to the edges of her cape, but her presence filled the hall like a conquering general returning from a crusade.
Behind her, the dragon soldiers marched in, formation intact. Tight. Alert. And in the arms of one of them—
Kaelen.
Still asleep. Curled gently in a soldier’s grasp, his small form bundled in a fur-lined cloak too big for him. His face nestled against the armored chest like it was just another pillow. Not a scratch on him. Not a bruise.
Still breathing.
I let go of a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
Sela strode forward with the pride she wore when a mission was done right. “Sela has returned, Your Majesty,” she announced without hesitation. “Target secured. All routes cleared. Minor resistance outside the southern wall, but nothing that survived past ten seconds.”
I nodded slowly. “Well done.”
Callum tilted his head slightly, gaze flicking toward the boy. “Why bring the child here?” he asked, voice smooth but skeptical. “Wouldn’t it have been wiser to hide him somewhere secure?”
Sela didn’t flinch. She turned her head slightly toward him, voice clear. “Because Sela doesn’t know who the enemies are. Who still breathes for the duke. Who smiles and waits. The palace is full of shadows. Until Sela sees them all burned away, Kaelen stays where Sela can see him.”
Callum gave a half-smile, raising a brow like he’d just been politely slapped. “A bit dramatic, don’t you think?”
“Sela thinks,” she replied, stepping up the stairs and taking her seat beside me without missing a beat, “drama is better than a dead prince.”
I almost laughed.
Instead, I glanced toward the soldier still holding Kaelen. Jyne had already moved, arms outstretched gently, and the soldier passed the boy over without protest.
Kaelen’s head drooped softly into her chest, his hair tousled against the pale silk of her formal robe. Her arms wrapped around him, careful and quiet, like holding something sacred.
He didn’t stir. Not even a twitch. Still dreaming.
“Do you want to hold him, Your Majesty?” Jyne asked softly, looking up at me. “He’s warm. Breathing fine.”
I looked at him.
He looked so peaceful.
Like none of the hell outside had touched him. Like the fires, the screaming, the betrayal—it all stayed outside the blanket wrapped around his shoulders.
His lashes fluttered slightly. His mouth twitched in some dream. There was something about a sleeping child that softened everything. The noise. The politics. The blood. Even time itself.
And I…
I didn’t know when I’d have one of my own.
But for a moment, I let myself imagine it.
I reached out.
Just my hand. Just fingers, slow and steady, moving toward the strands of his hair to brush them aside gently—maybe tuck it behind his ear. Maybe just feel something alive after the grave I carved into Cedric's chest.
But I stopped.
Midway.
Froze.
My hand hovered, inches from his forehead.
And I saw it.
The wet blood still caked along the side of my fingers. The tiny fracture on my glove. A stain running down to my wrist like a trail of guilt.
Cedric’s blood.
The man Kaelen once called uncle. The man he once smiled at. Trusted.
Maybe even loved.
And I had killed him. Brutally. Personally.
No… I couldn’t.
Touching this boy, right now—like this—it felt wrong.
Not just inappropriate. Wrong.
I pulled my hand back slowly and sat upright again.
“No,” I said. Quiet. Firm. “It’s alright.”
Jyne glanced at me gently but didn’t press. She just adjusted her arms to hold Kaelen closer, like she understood something I wasn’t saying out loud.
But the silence was heavy.
And I could feel eyes on me.
Not just Sela’s.
Not just Jyne’s.
Thiphania… was watching.
Her gaze hadn’t left me since I froze.
She’d seen it. She’d caught the pause. The hesitation. The retreat.
Callum saw too. Of course he did. He was probably already scripting it into some political theatre.
I tried to shift the energy again, eyes locking on Sela. “Everything secure?”
“Sela says yes. But eyes are still moving in the dark. Sela recommends full lockdown until dawn.”
“Looks like it depends on Maria now,” I said, nodding once.
Thiphania finally spoke. “He looks like he trusts you.”
I looked at her, not replying.
“I mean,” she continued, “he didn’t flinch when the soldier carried him in. Didn’t stir in your presence. It’s rare, for children… especially ones who’ve been through trauma.”
"He is sleeping. Unaware."
Callum leaned forward slightly, tone still far too casual. “Was it personal, killing Cedric?”
The question came like a punch wrapped in velvet.
Jyne stiffened.
Sela’s eyes narrowed.
Thiphania simply watched.
I tilted my head just slightly. “It was necessary.”
“That wasn’t the question,” Callum said, swirling his wine. “I asked if it was personal.”
I leaned forward, resting one blood-stained elbow on the armrest. “You’re very comfortable asking questions that could get someone set on fire.”
Callum smiled. “You haven’t, though.”
“That’s because this floor is still wet and I haven’t eaten yet,” I muttered, then glanced at Thiphania. “Maybe you could teach him some restraint.”
She didn’t smile. “He has none. That’s why he sent me.”
A beat of silence passed between us.
Then I looked at Kaelen again. “He’ll wake up to a new kingdom. That’s always the hardest kind of grief.”
She glanced at me again. “You sound like someone who’s had to wake up that way before.”
“I have,” I said, voice barely above a whisper. “Once.”