Dragon King's Harem Chapter 515. Am I still Dreaming?

Dragon King's Harem Chapter 515. Am I still Dreaming?

Kaelen puffed his little chest with pride, his cheeks glowing pink, which somehow made the sugar glaze on his lips look even more dangerous. The crown sat slightly crooked on my head, tilting to the right between my horns, and I could feel it every time I turned my head. A subtle, delightful crinkle of pride and handmade craftsmanship from a child who just decided I was his father.

I didn’t adjust it.

Hell no.

I wore that thing like it was made from enchanted mythril and blessed by the high council of celestial dragons.

“Alright, Your Highness,” I said to Kaelen, reaching for a slice of bread. “Since you’re in charge of breakfast diplomacy this morning, I need you to pass me the jam. Critical negotiations with my toast are about to begin.”

“Jelly operation, commencing!” Kaelen declared, dramatically grabbing the jar.

The door creaked open again.

And that’s when the mood started to shift.

One by one, the nobles began to arrive. First the usual early birds, those stiff-necked warlords who thought showing up before everyone made them look powerful instead of painfully eager for attention. Their robes fluttered. Their bodyguards loomed. But when they saw me sitting there in my very normal tunic, shirt half-wrinkled, breakfast roll in hand and a paper crown proudly wedged between my horns?

Their faces twitched.

Sela leaned back in her chair and muttered under her breath, “And now begins the royal show.”

I nodded at each delegation as they entered. Civil. Cordial. My tail even flicked with casual amusement. I didn’t need to roar this morning. I had bread, jam, and child-made royalty.

Then came Al.

Ah, my dear, dependable royal mage.

He looked… dead.

Sleep-deprived.

Grumpy.

His coat was immaculate, sure, but his eyes were red-rimmed, his hair slightly out of place, and his expression somewhere between “I will murder someone” and “why did I get promoted.”

He walked in holding a small notebook and moved like a ghost dragging his soul behind him.

“Morning,” I said with a grin.

He blinked at me.

Then stopped dead in his tracks.

His gaze zeroed in on my head.

“Am I…” he said slowly, voice gravelly from either fatigue or trauma, “am I still dreaming?”

I smiled wider.

Al squinted harder. “Or are you actually wearing a paper crown on top of your head, Your Majesty?”

I gestured to Kaelen with a roll of my wrist. “The new king of the snow elves gave it to me.”

Kaelen gave Al a triumphant grin. “I made it! With magic glue!”

Jyne whispered, “It wasn’t magic.”

“Glue is glue,” Kaelen replied seriously. “All glue is a little magic.”

Al stared.

Then slowly pulled out a chair. He dropped into it like his bones had been replaced with wet parchment and reached for the tea pot without asking. Poured a full cup. Sipped. Said nothing.

Jyne leaned in, eyes glinting. “Rough night?”

“Someone,” Al said calmly, staring into his tea like it might whisper the names of those responsible, “was extremely loud.”

I coughed. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Sela raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure the windows steamed over.”

Al looked at me deadpan. “Do you know how many guards asked if they should check the chamber because it sounded like a banshee was being interrogated?”

I picked up my cup and sipped, casual. “And yet, no one came in.”

“Because we respect your boundaries,” Al hissed.

Kaelen tilted his head. “What’s a banshee?”

“Nothing,” everyone said at once.

And then.

Of course.

The temperature in the room dipped.

Not magically. Not literally.

Just… subtly.

Because she walked in.

Thiphania.

And right beside her, tall and silent like a carved nightmare in black silk, was her father, Callum.

The Witch King.

He didn’t speak. At least not in rooms where he could let his silence speak louder.

Thiphania didn’t look at me. Not directly.

But she felt me. Oh, she knew I was watching.

Her walk was controlled. Elegant. None of the overbearing flirtation from last night. No sultry sway of the hips. No tongue-traced lips.

Composed.

Ice in a wineglass.

But not Maria’s kind of ice.

This was strategy. Calculation. A girl who knew she pushed too far and was now wearing the face of someone who could be taken seriously.

I said nothing.

Neither did she.

She bowed slightly. Callum gave the barest nod.

I returned it.

The chair she chose was far, far from mine.

And I didn’t miss how she glanced once at the paper crown, blinked, then looked away like her eyes needed therapy.

After that, the rest of the delegations trickled in. The whole colorful mess of political tension wrapped in expensive cloaks and old grudges.

They bowed. They sat. They watched me.

And then…

Maria.

She entered like a queen who didn’t need to rule to own a room.

No crown on her head. No heavy robes. Just simple snow-silk, her hair braided down her shoulder, her aura soft but immovable. She moved with the same calm authority as ever.

She looked at me.

Then at Kaelen.

Then at my crown.

Her lips twitched.

“Did I miss a coronation?” she asked, walking over.

I gestured to Kaelen. “Your son crowned me.”

Kaelen lifted both hands in the air. “I’m the Crown Crafter now!”

Maria gave him a kiss on the forehead. “You did beautifully.”

Then she looked at me again. Her eyes dropped to the crinkled paper between my horns.

“You’re keeping it on?”

“I swore an oath,” I said dramatically. “Until it falls off on its own. Or until I die. Whichever comes first.”

Al sighed beside me. “Please don’t die wearing a child’s glue crown. That’s a diplomatic nightmare.”

Jyne looked thoughtful. “Actually, it might start a trend.”

Sela nodded. “Better than the ruby-spiked nightmare the Flame Lords wore.”

“I’m keeping it,” I said firmly. “It has magical properties. Improves toast accuracy.”

Kaelen looked so proud.

Maria sat down beside me, folding her hands neatly.

She leaned in and whispered, just for me.

“We were loud.”

I leaned back in.

“I earned it.”

She flushed slightly.