October 26, 2025

Dragon King's Harem Chapter 499. Not Just a Dragon With a Crown

Sela nodded slowly. Her fingers curled around my thigh under the water, small and rough and steady.

Jyne stretched luxuriously beside us, her wet tails drifting through the bath like sea serpents. “We’re like a sandwich. A very warm, very naked sandwich.”

“Sela doesn’t like sandwiches,” Sela murmured.

“Too late,” Jyne said. “You’re in one.”

I chuckled low. Couldn’t help it. For all the weight sitting on my shoulders today, for all the political tension, the royal court expectations, the proposal I was supposed to deliver later—this moment? This one slice of peace in a bath barely warmed by a fire stone?

It mattered more than any crown.

They both leaned against me now. One sly and slinky, one strong and silent. My arms wrapped around them without thinking. Their warmth bled into mine. My heartbeat slowed.

The fire stone pulsed faintly beneath us, still glowing gold under the water.

I sighed, brushing a kiss to Sela’s temple.

“I’ll need you both with me today.”

Jyne tilted her head up, lips brushing my jaw. “You mean in spirit, or in full noble-wife glare mode?”

“Yes,” I said.

Sela blinked up at me. “Sela doesn’t glare. Sela… frowns with power.”

“That’ll work.”

Jyne snorted softly, curling closer in the bath, her nine tails lazily drifting like smug river reeds. “We’re gonna need that frown today. Especially if the elves start crying ice cubes when we make the announcement.”

“I’ll handle the crying,” I muttered. “You two just keep looking like threats with good posture.”

Sela tilted her head up, steam curling around her cheeks. “Sela doesn’t have good posture. Sela has shoulder tension.”

“You need a massage," Jyne said, flicking water at her playfully with the tip of a tail.

“Sela doesn’t want one from you,” she grumbled.

“She wants one from me,” I said, reaching over and dragging her half onto my lap. Her skin was warm now—thank the fire stone—and she didn’t resist, even if her ears were bright red.

The bath sloshed lazily around us, scented steam rising with a mix of herbs and faint citrus-mint. It wasn’t the bathwater I was used to, but it was better than being flash-frozen by elven hospitality.

Jyne leaned back across the other edge of the tub, reaching for the little washcloth, grinning like a priestess who’d just found a particularly wicked prayer. “Should I help him wash, Sela?”

“Sela thinks you’ll mess it up.”

“I think I’ll mess him up. That’s the point.” She winked at me, and then not-so-innocently reached forward and started washing my horns. Carefully. Intimately. “These need polishing.”

My tail twitched beneath the surface. Jyne noticed. Of course she did.

“Still responsive,” she hummed.

Sela grabbed a second cloth and started cleaning my shoulder. Her version of washing was far more businesslike—blunt, methodical, and oddly grounding. She scrubbed like she was preparing me for battle. Because she was.

“I’ll be clean enough to deal with Callum and his daughter,” I muttered. “If one of them breathes the wrong direction, I swear…”

“They’ll be vaporized?” Jyne offered.

“I was going to say verbally eviscerated, but yes. Maybe both.”

Eventually, the water cooled, the fire stone’s magic fading. Time to move.

We dried off—somewhat. Jyne took her time, fluffing her tails with a vanity only foxes could master. Sela wore her robe like armor and still managed to grumble about elven sleeves being too “airhead-shaped.”

I dressed in something formal enough for a royal breakfast: black infernal-layered robe with gold trim, soft but thick against the cold.

By the time we opened the door to leave—

Al was already standing there.

And he looked like death in a robe.

Flat-eyed. Unamused. Probably had been waiting a while.

I raised my brow. “A good morning, Your Majesty, will be nice, Al.”

He stared at me. Then, very dryly. “Good morning, Your Majesty. You were so loud last night.”

Jyne choked back a snort.

Sela froze like she’d been hit with a freeze spell.

I cleared my throat.

“Let’s… not talk about it now.”

Al gave me a hard look. Then sighed and fell in beside me as we walked toward the dining hall.

“You look like you didn’t sleep well, Sir Almeric,” Jyne said sweetly, brushing her hair behind one ear.

Al made a strangled sound. “I didn’t.”

I tilted my head. “Because of me?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “Also… I can’t sleep with Callum around. You know that bast—”

“Language,” I cut him off. “We’re in a snow elven palace, not the dragon’s court.”

He huffed. “Fine. Simply put… I can’t relax if he’s nearby.”

I nodded, sympathetic. “You have protection scrolls and enchantments. Use them.”

“That’s not the problem,” he grumbled.

“I know,” I said. “But you still need to rest. You can’t do anything if you’re dead on your feet.”

He rubbed his face. “I hate when you’re right.”

“You love when I’m right.”

Sela looked between us, confused. “Why is Callum so… annoying?”

Al snorted. “He breathes wrong. That’s a start.”

Jyne laughed. “Is that a royal opinion or a personal vendetta?”

“Yes,” he said flatly.

We entered the dining chamber—a long frost-glass table with glowing runes underneath, making it shimmer like morning snow. Elven servants moved quietly, laying out plates of honeyed bread, salted venison, berry preserves, and crisped snowfruit slices.

I sat at the head. Jyne beside me. Sela across from her. Al took the seat nearest the window and scowled into his teacup like it had personally betrayed him.

One of the snow elf advisors peeked in, saw us, paled slightly, and quickly retreated.

Jyne smirked. “Reputation spreading?”

I shrugged. “Maybe they finally heard I’m not just a dragon with a crown.”

Sela spooned berries into her bowl. “Sela thinks your ‘roar’ last night broke three windows on the north wing.”

I paused. “That wasn’t… that loud.”

They all gave me a look.

Even Al.