Dragon King's Harem Chapter 565. The Morning Banquet V
Dragon King's Harem Chapter 565. The Morning Banquet V
“I, Seranaya, daughter of the Nymph Tribe, take you, Durharn, as my husband and king,” she replied softly. “I vow to bring warmth where stone has grown cold, patience where pride has grown heavy, and life where old wounds have refused to heal. I vow to honor your people as my people, your burdens as my burdens, and your throne as the place where our futures become one.”
Wow.
Beautiful.
Also terrifying.
Because if I didn’t know the context, I might actually clap.
Marissa didn’t move beside me.
Not even a blink.
Sela’s jaw tightened just slightly.
Evelina’s fingers brushed the antidote bracelet at her wrist.
Al stood behind us like a statue, but I knew him well enough to sense he was listening very carefully.
The high priest lowered the hammer until its glowing head hovered over their joined hands. “Stone remembers oath,” he said.
The runes brightened.
“Flame tempers oath.”
The light spread down the hammer, spilling across the floor in circular patterns around them.
“Blood carries oath.”
Durharn and Seranaya each extended one finger. The priest touched both lightly with a thin ceremonial blade.
A drop of Durharn’s blood fell first.
Dark red.
Heavy.
Then Seranaya’s.
Lighter.
Almost glowing faintly green.
The two drops landed together on the stone altar between them.
Immediately, the runes flared.
[Observation Activated]
I couldn’t help it.
My sight sharpened.
Mana moved.
Dwarven earth mana rose from below. Nymph wood mana descended from Seranaya’s blood. The two forces curled together in the altar, twisting into a symbolic binding pattern.
Not poison.
Just ritual.
Real ritual.
Ancient and clean.
That surprised me a little.
Either Seranaya wasn’t using the blessing itself as the delivery method…
Or she was smarter than that.
Probably the second.
The priest pressed the hammer down gently against the altar. “Oath witnessed.”
A deep pulse rolled through the hall.
The chandeliers trembled softly.
The flowers woven around the pillars bloomed wider.
Durharn smiled.
Seranaya smiled back.
The hall practically melted.
The priest raised both arms.
“By the authority of mountain, flame, crown, and sacred oath, I bless this union. From this moment forward, King Durharn and Princess Seranaya stand bound as husband and wife.”
The hall erupted.
Applause.
Cheers.
Dwarven fists striking armor.
Nymph attendants releasing petals into the air.
Music swelled again, louder this time, triumphant and warm and completely unaware of the corpse-shaped shadow standing behind the celebration.
Durharn took Seranaya’s hand and kissed her knuckles.
The crowd cheered harder.
Then she leaned up, delicate and graceful, and kissed him.
Soft.
Perfect.
Public.
The kind of kiss that made nobles sigh and poets reach for parchment.
I watched the Nymph Queen.
Because while everyone else looked at the bride and groom…
Queen Elowen looked at the hall.
Counting reactions.
Measuring loyalty.
Checking who smiled.
Who didn’t.
Then her gaze flicked to me again.
One heartbeat.
A soft smile.
Ah.
So the ceremony was over.
The real wedding was about to begin.
Not the vows.
Not the kiss.
Not the blessed union under mountain and flame.
No.
That was the pretty wrapping.
The expensive ribbon.
The part bards would sing about if they were paid enough and threatened properly.
The real wedding began when King Durharn turned toward the hall with his new wife beside him, cheeks flushed with pride, eyes bright with joy, and a grin wide enough to make every politically aware person in the room develop stomach pain.
“Honored guests,” he said, voice booming through the ceremonial hall. “Thank you.”
The applause slowly faded, but the warmth in the room remained. Nobles smiled. Dwarven warriors struck their fists against their armor. Nymph attendants looked graceful and teary. Servants stood near the walls, waiting for the next command.
Durharn lifted Seranaya’s hand.
His fingers wrapped around hers with such open affection that, for one tiny second, even I felt bad.
Not because I liked him.
No.
Let’s not go insane.
But because stupidity caused by love was still sad when you watched it this close.
“Today,” Durharn continued, “you witnessed more than my marriage. You witnessed the birth of a new bond between stone and root, mountain and forest, forge and bloom.”
Ah yes.
The marketing slogan.
Very poetic.
Seranaya lowered her eyes modestly, smiling like dawn sunlight had personally blessed her face. The hall loved it. I could practically feel half the nobles melting.
Pretty people were dangerous.
I knew this personally.
I had married several.
Durharn turned slightly toward her, his expression softening again.
“From this day forward, Princess Seranaya is no longer a guest in our halls.”
A pause.
He raised her hand higher.
“She is my wife.”
The hall cheered.
Another pause.
Then…
“She is my queen.”
The sound that followed was heavier.
Not as united.
Still loud, yes. Still respectable. Still enough that no one could openly call it hesitation.
But I heard the difference.
The dwarves did too.
The nobles closest to the royal platform shifted subtly. Some clapped with proper enthusiasm. Some clapped because not clapping would get them noticed. Some stared with those stiff noble smiles that said I am processing betrayal in real time but cannot scream because I own land.
Sela’s fingers curled against her lap.
Marissa’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Seraphel sat across from us, perfectly composed, but her gaze sharpened in that terrifying phoenix way.
Durharn continued, completely unaware the shift beneath his own floor.
“I will share my kingdom with her,” he declared. “My burdens, my throne, my future, and my trust. Let every noble house know this clearly. Queen Seranaya speaks with my confidence and stands beneath my crown as my equal partner.”
Oh, wonderful.
Authority granted publicly.
In front of every tribe.
In front of every noble.
In front of every witness.
A beautiful ceremonial suicide.
Queen Elowen Vireth stepped forward gracefully from her place behind Seranaya. Her smile was warm enough to fool anyone who desperately wanted to be fooled.
Durharn faced her.
“Queen Elowen,” he said, his voice softened by ceremonial respect. “May this alliance between our peoples last forever.”