Dragon King's Harem Chapter 570. Poisoned Flower II
Dragon King's Harem Chapter 570. Poisoned Flower II
“My king…” she breathed, staggering one step.
Durharn turned instantly, panic overriding weakness. “Seranaya?”
“I…” She swayed, one hand pressed to her chest, the other reaching for him. “I don’t feel so well…”
Acting masterclass.
Ten out of ten.
Would imprison.
Elowen rushed toward her daughter with just enough urgency to look maternal but not enough to appear uncontrolled.
“My daughter!” she cried, wrapping one arm around Seranaya’s shoulders. “What happened?”
Then, right on cue, Elowen herself grimaced. Her knees softened. She gripped Seranaya’s arm and lowered her head slightly.
“Uh…” she breathed. “I… I don’t feel good either.”
Wow.
Family performance.
Coordinated poisoning theater.
Honestly, if they weren’t trying to manipulate a kingdom into civil collapse, I might applaud.
Evelina leaned slightly closer to me, whispering, “They’re blaming the food.”
“Not yet,” I murmured. “They’re letting everyone else say it first.”
Marissa’s voice came colder than usual. “Classic nymph court tactic. Let the room accuse itself.”
Sela’s eyes never left Durharn. “And he will choose her.”
Yeah.
He would.
I already knew.
Still, watching it happen felt like seeing a cart roll downhill toward children while everyone argued whether gravity was real.
Then the ceremonial hall doors slammed open.
A dwarf guard rushed inside, armor clattering, face ashen beneath his helmet. Two other guards tried to stop him for protocol, but he pushed through anyway, breathing hard.
“Your Majesty!”
The hall snapped toward him.
Durharn, pale and unsteady, turned with a furious glare. “What is it?”
The guard dropped to one knee so fast the sound echoed.
“Bad news, Your Majesty.”
His voice shook.
“The city…”
Durharn’s brows drew together. “Speak!”
The guard swallowed.
“All people… many people across the city… they have fallen ill. The healers say—” He hesitated, eyes darting across the hall. “They say it is poison.”
The hall erupted.
Not into screams.
Not yet.
But a wave of shock moved through everyone. Nobles shouted questions. Guards tightened formation. Servants backed away from the tables like the food had become a monster.
Durharn’s face twisted.
“That’s impossible!”
His voice cracked through the chamber, loud enough to make the chandeliers hum.
“How could that happen?!”
A dwarven noble near the front, older and visibly shaking from poison and fear, slowly stood with the help of another man. His face was pale, but his eyes held the terrible courage of someone who knew he might die anyway.
“Your Majesty…” he said carefully, voice strained. “Perhaps you should check… the Nymph Tribe.”
The hall went deadly quiet.
Even the poisoned guests seemed to hold their breath.
Durharn’s head snapped toward him.
His eyes burned.
Not rational.
Not questioning.
Burned.
“HOW DARE YOU?!”
The noble flinched, but didn’t sit.
Durharn coughed violently, one hand flying to his chest. Seranaya immediately clung to his arm, eyes wide and wet, the perfect picture of a frightened innocent bride.
Durharn forced himself upright again.
“My wife would never do something like this!”
His voice rolled through the hall like thunder cracking over stone.
“There must be someone else!”
The older noble trembled, but another noble beside him spoke, voice quieter but sharper.
“But who, Your Majesty?”
Bad question.
Necessary question.
Dangerous question.
The man looked toward Seranaya, then Elowen, then the food.
“The ones who benefit most from this…”
He didn’t finish.
Didn’t need to.
Durharn’s face went red with rage despite the poison draining him.
“You!”
His finger stabbed toward the noble.
“How dare you!”
The noble bowed his head immediately. “B-But Your Majesty—”
“Get lost!”
His shout tore across the hall.
Several guards moved instinctively toward the noble, but hesitated because the entire room was watching.
Seranaya gripped Durharn’s hand with both of hers.
“My king…” she whispered, voice trembling. “Please…”
He looked at her immediately.
She stared up at him with shining eyes.
“I… I did nothing…”
Her breath hitched.
“I also got affected.”
Durharn’s rage softened instantly into pain.
Into guilt.
Into protectiveness.
Into exactly what she wanted.
He turned toward the hall again, one arm moving around Seranaya like a shield.
And I sat there, looking mildly weakened, cup still in hand.
For a second, I thought Durharn would point toward the servants.
Or the kitchens.
Or maybe, if the gods were feeling generous, he would use that thick skull of his and look at the nymph delegation standing suspiciously healthy beside his new bride.
But no.
Love poisoning plus actual poisoning apparently made people even dumber.
Durharn’s bloodshot eyes swept the hall, wild and furious, searching for an enemy his heart would allow him to hate.
Then his finger lifted.
“You…”
He pointed at Sela.
The air around me went still.
Sela froze.
Not in fear.
In restraint.
Then his finger shifted.
“And you…”
He pointed at Marissa.
Marissa’s face turned unreadable.
Durharn’s voice thundered, cracked by sickness and rage. “It must be them!”
The dumbest possible sentence.
The hall inhaled like one giant nervous animal.
Slowly, very slowly, I set my cup down.
“You…”
My voice came out low.
Too low.
Some nearby nobles immediately stiffened.
“…are accusing my wives?”
Durharn’s jaw clenched. Sweat rolled down his temple, but his glare didn’t falter.
“They have motives.”
I tilted my head.
“What motives?”
He opened his mouth.
Good.
Let him say it.
Let him expose just how rotten this had become.
But before he could answer, I paused.
Because right.
Acting.
We were supposed to be poisoned too.
Damn it.
I was so close to skipping the theater and going straight to breaking the stage.
So instead… I inhaled sharply.
Then coughed.
Hard.
Violently.
The sound tore out of me as I leaned forward, one hand clutching my chest. My fingers dug into the fabric of my coat, shoulders trembling just enough to look convincing.
Ugh, being dramatic was exhausting.
Evelina caught on instantly.
She coughed beside me, one hand flying to her mouth, eyes tightening with perfect healer-wife distress.
Sela gasped next, pressing a hand against the table as if the world tilted beneath her. Her breathing turned shallow, panting, her face pale enough that even I almost believed it.
Marissa followed last.
She lowered her head, trembling slightly, one hand covering her lips while the other clutched her stomach.
Honestly?
Marissa’s acting was terrifying.
Too natural.