Dragon King's Harem Chapter 569. Poisoned Flower I
Dragon King's Harem Chapter 569. Poisoned Flower I
Her eyes watched me closely.
Too closely.
“Not even when she is beautiful?”
I chuckled softly.
“She is beautiful.”
A pause.
Then I glanced toward Durharn, still glowing with happiness like a doomed lantern.
“But beauty does not make her mine.”
Elowen’s smile remained.
But something in her eyes sharpened.
“Such restraint.”
I lifted my cup slightly. “Such basic manners.”
Marissa coughed softly beside me.
Elowen tilted her head, still studying me. “And yet dragons are known to take what they desire.”
I smiled wider. “Only foolish dragons take poisoned flowers.”
For one heartbeat, then Elowen laughed softly, elegant as ever. “What a poetic warning, Your Majesty.”
I sipped my drink. “Only a compliment, Your Majesty.”
Her eyes stayed on mine.
Yeah.
She knew.
Maybe not everything.
But enough to realize I wasn’t floating helplessly in her little pollen river.
And me?
I kept smiling like the obedient guest she failed to create.
Elowen’s eyes stayed on mine for a heartbeat longer, and for that one tiny moment, the warmth in her smile finally thinned enough for the blade underneath to show. Not fully. She was too polished for that. Too practiced. Too royal. But I saw it. A faint irritation. A quiet adjustment. The expression of someone realizing the prey didn’t walk into the trap blindfolded like expected. Then her gaze drifted, slow and deliberate, toward Marissa beside me.
“I believe,” Elowen said softly, “as this realm’s protector, you will do what you should do.”
There it was.
The title.
The responsibility.
The little leash rulers loved to throw around when they wanted me to act useful but not inconvenient.
Her smile deepened a little as she continued, “Since before everything else…”
Her eyes settled on Marissa fully.
“…you already plucked a poisoned flower beside you.”
The air around us tightened.
Marissa went still.
Marissa didn’t look scared. She looked like she had been slapped with an old memory in public and chose not to bleed where people could see it. Her fingers rested lightly around her cup, but I saw the slight pressure of her grip. Her knuckles didn’t whiten, but they almost did.
Sela’s gaze dropped coldly to Elowen’s hand.
Evelina’s expression softened in immediate worry.
Me?
I smiled.
Still.
But inside?
Something ancient lifted its head and opened one eye.
A poisoned flower, huh?
Cute.
I leaned back slightly, keeping my voice pleasant. “Some flowers are only poisonous because others planted them in rotten soil.”
Elowen’s smile didn’t break.
But her eyes sharpened.
Good.
Let that sit there.
She gave a graceful nod, as if we had exchanged harmless poetry instead of threats wrapped in floral metaphors, then turned away with all the elegance of a woman who wanted to look unbothered very badly. She moved toward Seraphel next, cup raised, smile restored, ready to offer another toast like the room wasn’t slowly becoming a staged grave.
Marissa didn’t speak.
I didn’t look at her immediately.
Not because I didn’t care.
Because if I looked too fast, too openly, Elowen would know she struck something. And right now? Every reaction mattered.
So I kept my face relaxed.
My hand, however, lowered under the table and lightly brushed Marissa’s fingers.
Just once.
A small touch.
A quiet one.
Not comfort in the dramatic sense. More like a reminder.
You’re here. I know. I heard it. She will pay.
Marissa’s fingers twitched against mine, then steadied.
Good girl.
Then Evelina’s voice came, low and careful.
“Your Majesty…”
Her gaze didn’t move directly, but her eyes pointed around the hall.
I followed.
And yeah.
The guests looked worse now.
Much worse.
Earlier, it had been subtle. Pale faces. Slow blinking. Hands lingering on cups. The kind of symptoms people could blame on excitement, poor sleep, morning wine, or being forced to attend a royal wedding before breakfast like civilized torture.
Now?
No.
The hall had changed.
A dwarven noble near the western table leaned heavily against his chair, breath shallow, eyes unfocused. A fairy attendant held onto the table edge with both hands, her wings drooping behind her. Several merchants had stopped talking entirely, their gazes hollow, lips slightly parted like they were waiting for someone else to tell them what emotion to wear next.
Puppets.
Not full ones yet.
But enough.
Too many strings in the air.
[Observation Activated]
[Widespread Poison Response Escalating]
[Foodborne Toxin: Tempered (Nonlethal Symptoms Active)]
[Airborne Obedience Toxin: Active (Cognitive Resistance Lowered)]
[Combined Effect: Weakness, Confusion, Emotional Suggestibility, Compliance Drift]
I exhaled softly through my nose. “Okay,” I muttered. “The real show begins.”
As if the world heard me, the first cough broke through the music.
Small.
Dry.
Then another.
Then another.
A noble covered his mouth and bent forward slightly. A servant dropped a spoon onto a tray with a sharp metallic clatter. Someone near the back murmured something in alarm. The music faltered. One of the musicians missed a note, then tried to recover, but by then the rhythm had already cracked.
“I… don’t feel so well,” a dwarven noble said, voice strained.
Another pushed his plate away, face pale. “Something is wrong with the food.”
A third stood too quickly, stumbled, and grabbed the back of his chair. “What’s happening?”
The whispers spread faster than the poison.
Guests turned to each other. Servants froze. Guards looked toward the royal platform, then toward the tables, then back again like their training had suddenly encountered a question with no answer.
Durharn stood near his throne with Seranaya at his side, but even he looked affected now.
His face had lost color.
Sweat gathered near his brow.
His hand tightened around the armrest of the throne chair, thick fingers pressing into carved stone. For a man built like a mountain, he suddenly looked like the mountain had discovered seasickness.
Good acting?
No.
Durharn was genuinely affected.
His dose was probably special. More direct. More layered. More personalized.
The idiot had eaten whatever Seranaya gave him.
Probably lovingly.
Before he could speak, before he could even gather enough strength to demand an explanation, Seranaya clutched her chest.
Beautifully.
Perfect timing.