Dragon King's Harem Chapter 507. I Want Your Approval
Dragon King's Harem Chapter 507. I Want Your Approval
She pressed her lips together. Her shoulders tensed.
I could see it in her eyes… that storm of emotions trying to manifest. Anger. Embarrassment. Hurt. Pride. Hope. And under it all… desperation.
“Then what?” she whispered. “Do I walk away? Pretend I never wanted you? Go back to my father and live under his boots until my soul rots?”
“That’s not my decision to make.”
“But you’re the only one who looks at me differently,” she said fiercely.
“I didn’t let you get close enough,” I said.
“I don’t want your pity!” she snapped, her eyes suddenly wet, gleaming in the firelight. “I want your approval. Your attention. Your choice.”
I stared at her. ‘So I'm some kind of her thropy?’
And slowly, I let down the barrier… not fully, just enough that her hands could feel the warmth of the room again. Just enough to let her breathe the same air.
Not as an invitation.
But as an acknowledgment.
“You want to be chosen?” I said. “Then earn it. With something real. Not a lie. Not seduction. Not mimicry. Not manipulation.”
She stayed frozen for a moment.
Then whispered, “You think I’m incapable of that?”
“I think you’ve never had to try.”
She looked down. Her fingers curled into her palms. Her body trembled slightly… not from fear. From restraint. From anger aimed at herself.
“I don’t want to be like him,” she said finally. “I don’t want to become what he made me.”
“Then prove it,” I said.
She looked up. Her eyes were brighter now. Still wet. Still shadowed. But burning.
“Will you ever want me?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “But if I do, it will be because you became someone worth wanting. Not someone skilled at pretending.”
She exhaled, shaky.
And then… she smiled.
Not the seductive kind. Not the sharp, curled lip of the Witch King’s daughter.
A smaller smile.
Raw. Uncertain.
“I’ll try,” she said.
I nodded once.
“That’s all I’ll accept.”
She gave a small bow. Almost mockingly, but not quite. Her usual flair still lingered at the edge of her spine, but it was quieter now. Contained.
“I won’t wear your wife’s face again,” she said.
“See that you don’t.”
She turned, not vanishing this time. She walked to the door with careful steps.
Before leaving, she glanced back.
“And if I come back as myself?”
“Then we’ll speak again,” I said.
She held my gaze one last time.
Then slipped out into the night.
I exhaled sharply and ran a hand through my hair.
All I wanted was to sleep with my wife. Properly. In a bed. With no threats, no politics, no illusions, no creepy witch girls pretending to be her.
How did it end up like this?
A few of the outer guards had shifted positions, but I could still sense them standing watch. Sharp minds, all of them. Trained to see mana distortion, trained to…
"You released her just like that?"
The voice cut through the quiet.
I didn’t need to look.
Al.
Of course.
I turned just slightly, eye narrowing as I caught him standing at the threshold of my chamber, flanked by two dragon guards who were clearly trying not to look uncomfortable.
The door was open.
He wasn’t shouting, but close enough that his voice echoed a little off the stone walls.
I sighed. "You’re still awake."
"I am," he said, stepping inside without asking. "Hard to sleep when she and her father are anywhere within five miles."
I waved the guards off. They hesitated. I gave them a look. They vanished like smoke.
Then I huffed, dragging my hand down my face.
"This was supposed to be a simple night," I muttered. "Bedding Maria. That’s all I wanted. One single act of warmth and sanity."
Al crossed his arms, looking unimpressed. "So your idea of sanity now includes tea with the Witch King’s daughter?"
I gestured inside. "Get in. Let’s talk. Quietly."
He stepped in.
I shut the door behind him, sealed it with a flick of my fingers.
We didn’t sit.
Neither of us wanted to stay long. This wasn’t a long wine-and-candles kind of talk. This was quick, blunt, and full of sharp edges.
I stood near the fireplace, hand braced on the mantle.
Al paced a little. The tension was radiating off him. If he had a tail, it would’ve been lashing.
"She came by herself," I started, low and even. "At least… that’s what I saw."
He stopped. Turned.
"Where the hell did that assumption come from?" he snapped. "Your heart? Or did she just kill your brain with cleavage and pretty eyes?"
I raised an eyebrow. "That should be my question. Your grudge. I know you hate them. But you can’t just assume everything is an attack."
He scoffed. "She is an attack. Existing in this space is an act of war. She’s not some wandering acolyte. She’s blood of the Witch King. That line doesn’t wander. It infiltrates."
"She didn’t try to stab me, Al."
"Not tonight. But give her time. She’ll find her angle."
I clenched my jaw. Felt the heat rising again. Not from his words, but from the weight. The sheer weight of it all. The way every choice had a hundred consequences. The way even a simple bedroom had turned into a war council.
"She’s wrong," I said finally. "I’m not arguing that."
"Good," Al snapped. "Because she is. You let her go after she trespassed, mimicked your wife, insulted your crown—"
"And this is between us and the Witch Tribe," I interrupted sharply. "Not between you and your personal ghosts."
He went still.
"You can’t keep projecting your pain onto every witch who breathes near you."
"Pain?" he repeated, voice dangerous. "You think this is about pain?"
"You think it’s not?" I shot back. "You think I haven’t noticed how tight your voice gets every time her family is mentioned? How your hand rests near your potions without even realizing it?"
He was silent.