Dragon King's Harem Chapter 564. The Morning Banquet IV

Dragon King's Harem Chapter 564. The Morning Banquet IV

He was old, even by dwarven standards, with a beard white as carved bone and robes layered in dark red and gold. A massive ceremonial hammer hung at his side, not as a weapon but as a symbol of blessing. Runes glowed faintly across his sleeves as he took his place near the central altar.

The marriage blessing was ready.

Everything was ready.

Too ready.

Then one of the guards near the entrance struck his spear against the floor.

-THUD!

“All rise in honor,” he announced, voice booming, “for Princess Seranaya of the Nymph Tribe, bride of His Majesty King Durharn, and Her Majesty Queen Elowen Vireth of the Nymph Tribe.”

The doors opened again.

And the entire hall seemed to inhale.

Princess Seranaya entered first.

Yesterday, she had been beautiful.

Today?

She looked like a story crafted to deceive lonely kings.

Her bridal gown flowed around her like living petals. Layers of pale green, white, and soft gold shimmered with every step. Flowers were woven into her brown hair, small luminous blossoms that pulsed faintly with wood mana. A thin veil draped behind her shoulders instead of over her face, framing her beauty rather than hiding it.

Her movements were elegant.

Too elegant.

She wasn’t walking to a wedding.

She was performing innocence.

And damn, she was good at it.

Durharn’s face changed the moment he saw her.

Softened.

Brightened.

Completely open.

Yeah.

Bad.

Behind Seranaya walked Queen Elowen Vireth.

And there she was.

The root of this lovely nightmare.

She was beautiful too, but in a different way. Older. Mature. Polished. Her brown hair shimmered under the chandelier light like polished chestnut threaded with gold dust. Her gown was deeper green, more regal, embroidered with curling vines and tiny gemlike seeds that probably cost a disgusting amount.

She smiled as she walked.

Not too much.

Just enough.

A queen’s smile.

A predator’s patience wrapped in maternal grace.

Her gaze swept the hall slowly.

Assessing.

Measuring.

Counting.

Then it landed on Marissa.

Only for a heartbeat.

Less than that.

A glance.

A dismissal.

She looked at her daughter of the tribe, a former daughter, and simply ignored her.

No reaction.

No anger.

Just passing over her like Marissa was furniture.

My fingers tightened slightly around my teacup.

Not enough to break it.

Barely.

Then Queen Elowen looked at me.

And blinked.

Slow.

Deliberate.

A tiny bat of eyelashes.

Intentional.

Flirtation?

Manipulation?

Testing?

Probably all three.

Her brown hair shimmered as she moved, catching the light the same way Seranaya’s did, mother and daughter looking like spring had entered the hall wearing funeral intentions.

I smiled back politely.

Because of course I did.

A king should be polite.

Even when mentally measuring how strong a magic restraint needed to be to survive a screaming queen.

Beside me, Marissa stayed still.

Too still.

Sela’s eyes remained on Durharn, but I could feel her attention split toward Elowen too.

Evelina’s hand brushed lightly against my sleeve.

A quiet touch.

Control.

Yeah.

I knew.

Seranaya reached Durharn.

She lowered her head gracefully. “My king.”

Durharn looked like the words almost melted him alive. “Seranaya.”

Gods help this idiot.

The high priest lifted his hammer slightly, and the hall fell into sacred silence.

The bride had arrived.

The groom was smiling.

The queen was watching.

And the poison had not yet been served.

Which meant this was still the pretty part.

The part everyone wanted to remember.

The part before bodies collapsed, before accusations flew, before kings became monsters or victims or both.

The high priest stepped forward, his old boots scraping softly against the polished stone. He raised the ceremonial hammer with both hands, and the runes engraved across its head began to glow. Deep orange first. Then gold. Then something heavier, like molten earth trapped inside holy metal.

Dwarven magic.

Old magic.

Not flashy. Not delicate. Not like elven blessings or fairy songs or nymph rituals that smelled like flowers and emotional manipulation.

This one felt like a mountain deciding to speak.

“Before stone, before flame, before blood and crown,” the priest said, voice rough but powerful, “there was oath.”

The entire hall lowered their heads slightly.

Even Seraphel did.

Even I gave a respectful tilt.

Because whatever I thought about Durharn’s brain currently being rented out by love and bad decisions, this ritual itself was ancient. Sacred. Bigger than him.

The priest turned first to Durharn.

“King Durharn, son of the mountain halls, bearer of crown and hammer, do you stand here by will, by heart, and by oath?”

Durharn didn’t hesitate. “I do.”

His voice rang clear.

Strong.

Happy.

Damn it.

The priest turned to Seranaya.

“Princess Seranaya of the Nymph Tribe, daughter of root and blossom, bearer of green blood and living grace, do you stand here by will, by heart, and by oath?”

Seranaya lowered her head beautifully.

Perfect angle.

Perfect softness.

Perfect bride.

“I do.”

Her voice was sweet enough to make half the hall sigh.

I didn’t.

Mostly because I still had survival instincts.

Beside her, Queen Elowen’s smile remained gentle.

Too gentle.

That woman smiled like a knife wrapped in silk.

The priest lowered the hammer between them.

“Then speak your vows before the ancestors, before the living, before the mountain that remembers every promise.”

Durharn turned toward Seranaya.

The way he looked at her.

That wasn’t just love.

That was surrender.

“I, Durharn, King of the Dwarven Realm, take you, Seranaya, as my wife and queen,” he said. “I vow to protect you with my strength, honor you with my crown, and walk beside you through stone, fire, war, and peace. I vow that no wall of my heart will stand closed to you. I vow that my kingdom shall know you not as an outsider, but as family.”

Oof.

That last one landed hard.

Some dwarven nobles shifted.

Not loud.

But enough.

Yeah, not everyone liked that.

Seranaya’s eyes shimmered as if touched by tears.

Fake?

Maybe.

Probably.

Very effective either way.

She lifted her hands, palms upward, and tiny vines unfurled from her sleeves, blooming with small white flowers.

Pretty.

Very pretty.