Dragon King's Harem Chapter 520. I Need a Break

Dragon King's Harem Chapter 520. I Need a Break

Draconis. The empire of dragons.

From the sky, it looked like a crown of flame carved into mountains and stone. Sprawling valleys, scattered wyverns circling the towers, and rooftops that shimmered like molten gold under the noon sun. Every spire pulsed with mana lines. Every square bustled with traders, some on feet, some on wings, some slithering or floating or riding beasts I hadn’t even named yet.

And yeah, despite the ancient prejudice, all the tribes were here now.

Elves. Dwarves. Sirens. Dryads. Even trolls if you knew which districts to visit and which alley food stalls to avoid unless you had an iron stomach.

The civilians were thriving. The merchants were scamming each other with flair. The wyverns screamed every fifteen minutes like demonic pigeons with attitude. It was a good day.

Sunny. Warm. Too peaceful.

And where was I?

Inside my palace.

Inside a room so gray and dull I swear even the sunlight hesitated before entering.

The windows were open, wind brushing through the drapes like a reminder that freedom still existed somewhere outside. Meanwhile, I was stuck in the middle of this royal office surrounded by documents so high they cast shadows on me.

Stacks of reports, military expenses, grain tariffs, letters from nobles who still didn’t accept that their king was a dragon married to a snow elf queen, and yes, one of those letters was fourteen pages of passive-aggressive floral calligraphy about my “unorthodox interkingdoms coupling” being a bad omen.

I was one blink away from torching everything on my desk and calling it a religious purge.

Seriously. I flexed my fingers once. My palm warmed.

Fire magic was right there.

But no…

Somehow, I preserved my sanity. Sat back in my royal chair like a totally functional, normal, emotionally regulated king.

It had been two weeks since I returned to the capital. Two whole weeks of delayed hell, because apparently when you marry a queen and disappear for some personal time, the bureaucracy mutinies. I was still catching up on bills, debates, guild disputes, border policies, and some cult incident in the south that may or may not involve cursed eggs.

Thankfully, Eir had sorted the documents into what was urgent and what could rot.

He even color-coded it. Red meant “respond immediately.” Blue meant “this can wait until you’re in the mood.”

Bless that man.

Still, it was endless. A slow bleed of soul through paper cuts and red ink and mandatory royal signatures that drained more stamina than a wyvern duel.

So when the knock came at the door?

I didn’t even flinch. I was already dead inside.

“Come in,” I said.

I expected another scroll. Another envoy. Maybe a trembling advisor saying one of the lesser dragon clans had threatened to challenge a coastal duke to a dominance duel.

But then she walked in.

Evelina.

My beautiful wife in high heels and healer silk. Her pale blonde hair was braided in that elven way that said modest princess but the sway of her hips said temptation with a certification in holy regeneration.

She carried a tray.

And on that tray was… tea? Maybe tonic? It was bubbling.

Bubbling.

No, it was moving.

And the snacks beside it looked like lava stones rolled in pepper ash and garnished with what I hoped were edible crystals.

The human side of me? Absolutely disturbed.

But my dragon instincts?

That shit looked delicious.

The spices hit my nose like a punch. Salty. Sulfurous. Slightly metallic. It reeked of something hunted, cooked, and murdered in a volcano. I was interested.

But not as much as I was interested in her.

“I came to—” Evelina started, her voice that usual perfect calm, like the start of a blessing.

I didn’t let her finish.

I stood up.

Walked straight to her. Grabbed her waist and kissed her like a man who had absolutely had enough of diplomacy and restraint.

She gasped against my mouth.

“Your Majesty—” she managed, but her hands were already on my chest.

I plucked the tray from her grip with one hand, set it on the desk behind me, and kissed her again. Deeper. With tongue. With intent. With the kind of hunger that didn’t care how many noble crests were stamped on the next death threat.

My hands moved fast. One found the dip of her back. The other slid up her thigh, under the slit of her gown. Her skin was warm. Her breath was warmer.

“Y-your Majesty…” she whimpered, but she didn’t pull away.

I was barely holding it together.

“The documents are killing me,” I whispered against her throat. “I need a break.”

“I… I brought you the snacks for that,” she said.

I pulled back just enough to meet her eyes.

And smirked.

“Oh, I count you as a snack too.”

Her ears twitched.

“I need an heir,” I said, dragging her to the couch near the fireplace. “So let’s do something productive to make one.”

“Here?” she squeaked, blushing so hard it reached her collarbone. “The guards—”

“Will not come in unless I scream.”

I spun her and pushed her gently down onto the cushions. She bounced once, flustered, then stared up at me with that healer innocence cracked wide open.

I peeled my blazer off. Tossed it to the floor.

“Strip,” I said. Calm. Not a request.

She obeyed. Slowly. Tension in her fingers, breath shallow, but excitement shimmering in her eyes. Her dress hit the floor in a soft rustle. She wasn’t wearing much under it. Maybe nothing.

“Eve,” I said, kneeling between her legs. “You come here to calm me down?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

I leaned closer. “Too late.”

My mouth found her skin. My tongue traced the line of her thigh. Her breath caught. I grinned and licked higher, until her fingers gripped the armrest and she whimpered.

And I didn’t stop.

Because I was the Dragon King.

And I needed a break.

A long, deep, screaming, heir-making break.

And Evelina?

She was going to give me exactly that.

Over and over and over again.