Dragon King's Harem Chapter 549. Lonely Witch I
Dragon King's Harem Chapter 549. Lonely Witch I
Almeric’s PoV
Almeric hated dwarven chairs.
He had decided that within three seconds of sitting down.
Stone.
Iron.
No cushioning.
No curvature.
Just a slab pretending to be furniture.
He shifted for the fifth time, then huffed softly and leaned back anyway, boots propped against the edge of a carved stone table.
Not far from Argod’s chamber.
Close enough to feel the faint ripple of Evelina’s wards through the stone.
Good.
That meant the Dragon King was alert.
Which meant Almeric had to be useful.
He ran a hand through his dark hair and muttered under his breath, “Right… now I need to search where they will put the poison.”
Air-type, according to the information.
That word had been sitting wrong in his skull since the briefing.
Air-type poison wasn’t a cup.
Wasn’t a stew.
Wasn’t a goblet.
It was diffusion.
Breath.
Ventilation shafts.
Incense.
Perfume.
But yeah, she also could use a water-type poison.
He leaned forward, elbows on knees.
“So that woman is planning to kill the entire city?” he murmured.
His lips twisted.
“That’s insane.”
But insane didn’t mean impossible.
If you disperse something subtle enough…
Low concentration.
Slow exposure.
Confusion first.
Submission later.
He exhaled sharply through his nose.
“Yeah… I need to stop it.”
He stood and walked toward the door.
Paused.
Pressed his ear lightly to the stone.
Bootsteps.
Metal.
Low murmured dwarven voices.
He cracked the door open a fraction.
There were four guards outside.
Four.
And dwarven guards did not nap.
They planted themselves like decorative statues carved from iron and stubbornness.
Almeric blinked slowly.
“How exactly am I supposed to sneak past that?”
He shut the door gently and leaned his forehead against it for a moment.
This palace was built for containment.
Thick walls.
Limited passages.
Narrow windows.
You couldn’t just melt into shadows and float through like mist.
Well.
He could.
But not without being noticed.
And dwarves hated unauthorized magic in their halls.
He walked back toward the chair and slumped into it again, arms dangling over the sides dramatically.
“I swear this is torture furniture,” he muttered.
Stone and iron.
That was all dwarves knew.
No wood softness.
No velvet.
No velvet.
His eyes flickered.
Velvet.
Fabric.
Servants.
Movement.
Access.
He straightened slowly.
“I guess I’ll use my new invention then.”
A grin began to form.
He adjusted his collar, smoothed his sleeves, and practiced the most harmless expression he could manage.
Witch tribe members were not often perceived as harmless.
He had worked very hard on this look.
He stepped out into the corridor.
The guards immediately straightened.
One blinked slowly.
Almeric raised his hand sheepishly.
“Ehm… guys.”
They stared.
“Yes?” one of them rumbled.
Al shifted his weight from one foot to another.
“So… this is awkward.”
The guards exchanged glances.
Al scratched the back of his neck.
“I’m a bit lonely tonight.”
They blinked again.
“Lonely?”
He nodded earnestly.
“Yes. You see, I’m not used to sleeping in stone boxes alone.”
One of them coughed.
Another squinted suspiciously.
Al leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially.
“Could you maybe… provide a girl?”
The guards stiffened.
“A girl?” one repeated carefully.
Al waved his hands quickly.
“No, no, no! Not like that. I mean— not a prostitute or anything. Just, you know. Someone who can sing. Or dance. Or talk. Yes. Talk is fine. With snacks. And maybe ale.”
The guards looked at each other.
One whispered, “Does he mean…?”
The other shrugged.
Al flashed an innocent grin.
“I’m from the Witch Tribe,” he added helpfully. “We get moody in quiet environments.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. It’s a medical condition. Very serious.”
Silence.
One guard scratched his beard.
“So you want entertainment.”
“Yes! Harmless entertainment. Cultural exchange.”
They hesitated.
Al widened his eyes slightly.
“Please?”
Another guard finally said, “I will inform the housekeeper chief. See what can be arranged.”
Al beamed.
“Thank you. You are the best.”
He retreated back into his room before they could reconsider.
Door shut.
Lock clicked.
His grin vanished immediately.
Lonely.
He snorted softly.
If Argod heard that excuse he would never let him live it down.
But this was infiltration 101.
You don’t sneak past the guards.
You make the guards open doors for you.
He moved quickly now.
From beneath the stone bed, he pulled out a small leather pouch.
Inside?
Powder.
Not poison.
His own creation.
He sat back in the cursed stone chair again and tapped his fingers lightly against the armrest.
Footsteps.
Voices.
A knock.
Al immediately softened his expression and opened the door.
Two dwarven servants stood there.
And behind them, a girl.
Not a prostitute.
Not dressed suggestively.
A palace performer.
Simple silk dress.
Hair braided neatly.
She looked nervous.
The housekeeper chief stood behind them with a stiff expression.
“She will sing and converse,” the chief said flatly. “You are not to disturb other guests.”
Al bowed slightly.
“Of course. Thank you.”
Once they stepped inside and the door closed, Al’s posture changed immediately.
The performer blinked at him uncertainly.
He gave her a small reassuring smile.
“What’s your name?”
“Lira,” she answered softly.
“Lira. Wonderful. Now sing for me.”
Her lashes fluttered for a second, confused by the directness of it, but then she nodded and began. Her voice rose carefully at first, testing the room, brushing against stone walls and iron beams like light touching cold water.
It wasn’t overly trained or dramatic. It was steady, warm, the kind of voice that knew how to survive inside hard places. The melody drifted through the chamber door, out into the corridor, just loud enough to be heard by the guards who had stationed themselves outside like armored furniture.
Almeric leaned back in the stone chair and made a show of enjoying it. He closed his eyes halfway, tapping his fingers lightly on the armrest as if he were some mildly tipsy noble indulging in harmless company. Inside, though, his mind was calculating angles and distances and timing.
Good. The guards were relaxed. One even chuckled quietly when Lira’s voice rose into a higher note.