Dragon King's Harem Chapter 471. A Little Comfort

Dragon King's Harem Chapter 471. A Little Comfort

Callum shifted slightly, but didn’t interrupt. For once.

Jyne looked between us, then back down at Kaelen, who shifted in his sleep, nestling closer into her chest.

And I sat there. Silent.

Blood still drying on my gloves.

Still feeling like I didn’t deserve to be this close to a child who only wanted peace.

No skill, no title, no crown could justify that.

I sat in silence, fingers curled loosely over the armrest, heartbeat a soft thud against my ribs.

Kaelen slept still, head tucked gently beneath Jyne’s chin. She held him like something fragile—like she could somehow shield him from the brutal mess we’d dragged into this throne hall. And maybe she could. Maybe the blood on her hands was less visible than mine. Maybe that was enough.

The chamber still smelled like old incense and fresh iron.

We didn’t talk much after that last exchange with Callum.

A few murmured words.

A few glances. The kind of quiet you only earn after a civil war screams itself hoarse.

Jyne didn’t push me.

Al had stopped his usual barbed jabs.

Even Thiphania had retreated into silence, watching from her father’s side like a well-trained blade waiting to be drawn.

No one asked for food. No one dared.

But three hours later, when the flames had died lower and the cold finally started creeping back in—she arrived.

The main doors opened with a slow, deliberate creak. Maria stood in the archway, the firelight catching on her hair and the dull silver of her wedding dress.

Yet… She wasn’t armored like a queen tonight—just a survivor. Her expression carried that weary grace only loss could grant.

She stepped in. No fanfare. No retinue save for a few servants in roughened white and gray, carrying bundles and jugs.

And her eyes, when they met mine, didn’t flinch.

“Your Majesty,” she said softly, bowing her head just enough to respect the weight of it all. “Forgive me for the delay. I should have come sooner.”

I didn’t move from my seat. “You’ve had more than enough to handle.”

“I still should’ve come.”

She turned her gaze briefly to Kaelen, then back to me. “And… thank you. For protecting him.”

Those words hit me harder than I expected. Not because of their weight, but because she still had the strength to give them.

I nodded once. “He’s safe. That’s what matters.”

She stepped forward and gave a subtle nod to her attendants. They moved with quiet urgency, unwrapping bundles of food and uncorking water jugs. No feast. No golden platters or roasted beasts. Just survival.

Some kind of dry ration loaf, dense and warm, with a faint nutty scent. Not sweet, not soft, but made to last. The locals called it garnwheat. Alongside that came wedges of aged white cheese, slices of crisproot fruit still cold from storage, and pitchers of clean water. A single bottle of dark wine sat among the pile, almost out of place.

Maria gestured to it with the smallest smile. “If you wish. I thought… maybe a little comfort.”

I looked at it. Then back at her.

“No,” I said quietly. “We’re still in the middle of a battle. Comfort can wait.”

She understood instantly. “Water, then.”

I took the cup from her hand. Our fingers didn’t touch. They almost did.

Callum, as always, was the first to break the quiet tension with words. “No offense to the chef,” he said, examining the garnwheat like it might bite him, “but this is the driest peace offering I’ve ever seen.”

Maria quirked an eyebrow. “It’s not peace. It’s fuel. And you’re still standing in my home, Lord Callum.”

He gave a wry grin. “Touché.”

Sela took a seat near me again, accepting the food with a slight nod and tearing into the bread with all the grace of a starving wolf.

“Sela is grateful,” she said through her bite. “The soldiers haven’t eaten yet.”

The others murmured in agreement. Jyne passed the fruit. Kaelen stirred, barely, but didn’t wake.

I caught the way Maria’s shoulders dropped, just slightly, when she saw him sleeping peacefully. Her hands clenched faintly at her sides before she looked to me again.

“I should take him,” she said, voice like polished frost. “When he wakes… better he sees his mother first than…”

She didn’t finish the sentence.

I didn’t ask her to.

I gave a single nod and stood slowly. My joints protested, my knees aching under the weight of the long stillness. My gloves still hadn’t been cleaned. Blood flaked off them with the movement, dry now—almost dust. It scattered like the last ashes of something I couldn’t name.

Jyne looked up at me, still cradling Kaelen close.  “Do you want to touch him for the last time, Your Majesty?”

My breath hitched—not in surprise, but in the sudden pressure those words dropped across my spine. For the last time.

I didn’t answer. My hand moved on its own, reaching for the boy’s hair. His curls were messy from sleep, his cheek flushed from the fire’s warmth. So small. So still.

Then I stopped.

My fingers hovered above him, trembling slightly. Just enough that I noticed. Just enough that maybe she did too.

I looked down at my gloves again. Streaked brown and red, cracked from the dry gore. Cedric’s blood. That man’s voice still echoed faintly somewhere in my memory. Angry, righteous, desperate.

And Kaelen had loved him. Called him uncle. Maybe hero.

I stood there frozen, my fingers just inches from the boy’s head. Close enough to feel his warmth, but not brave enough to touch it.

I lowered my arm and stepped back, swallowing the knot that had risen in my throat.

“No,” I said, my voice lower than I intended. “Give him to his mother.”

Jyne didn’t argue. She stood gently, cradling the child like glass, and walked to Maria. Their hands met—no words spoken—and the boy passed from one warmth to another. Maria didn’t cry, but her eyes dimmed, her cheek brushing his hair as she clutched him close.