Dragon King's Harem Chapter 571. Suicide with Ceremony
Dragon King's Harem Chapter 571. Suicide with Ceremony
I made a mental note to never play cards against her. Then I lifted my head and glared at Durharn through narrowed, “weakened” eyes.
“I need an explanation,” I said, voice rough from the fake coughing. “And an antidote.”
Durharn’s face twitched.
I pushed myself up slightly, like standing cost me effort. “You invite us here. You feed us. You poison us.” My voice grew colder. “And then you accuse me?”
The hall shifted again.
Because that sentence?
That one landed.
A few dwarven nobles looked between me and Durharn, faces pale from more than poison now. Servants trembled near the walls. Guards tightened grips on weapons, uncertain where loyalty ended and disaster began.
Across the hall, Seraphel finally moved.
She had gone pale too.
On purpose, obviously.
Phoenix Queen pale was still somehow glamorous, which felt unfair.
She touched her temple lightly and spoke with calm sharpness.
“Perhaps,” Seraphel said, voice carrying clearly, “you should check your own house first, King Durharn.”
Every eye shifted toward her.
She lowered her hand, gaze steady despite her weakened act. “Since I also feel it.”
A murmur spread through the hall.
Then the Fairy Queen stood, supported lightly by her daughter.
Her wings trembled behind her, faintly dimmed, but her eyes remained clear enough. “The same for us,” she said softly. “My delegation has been affected.”
That was it.
The room cracked.
Because now it wasn’t just me.
Not just my wives.
The Phoenix Queen.
The Fairy Queen.
Multiple delegations.
All affected.
Durharn’s accusation suddenly looked less like justice and more like panic wearing a crown.
Seranaya clung tighter to him. “My king…” she whispered, trembling beautifully. “Please… don’t let them turn you against me.”
Oh, she was good.
Durharn’s eyes flickered.
To me.
To Seraphel.
To the Fairy Queen.
Then back to Seranaya.
And I saw it.
The struggle.
Small.
Buried.
But there.
Somewhere inside that poisoned, manipulated, lovesick mountain of a man, a king was trying to wake up.
Too late?
Maybe.
But not impossible.
I coughed once more, slower this time, then leaned on the table like I needed support.
‘Come on, Durharn. Think. Just once. Do it before I have to save your kingdom by humiliating you in front of everyone.’
That wasn’t really a prayer.
No.
I didn’t pray.
Not because I was too proud.
Okay, maybe a little because I was too proud.
This was more like… basic expectation.
Durharn was a king.
A bad one lately? Sure.
Emotionally compromised? Absolutely.
Possibly poisoned through breakfast, marriage, kisses, flower pollen, and whatever other herbal nonsense his bride sprinkled into his life? Very yes.
But still.
A king.
He should have some logic buried somewhere under all that beard and royal trauma, right? Some tiny emergency chamber of royal instinct that said ‘hey, maybe don’t immediately accuse the foreign dragon king’s wives while half your city is poisoned and your new bride’s family controls plant toxins’.
Something.
Anything.
A spark.
A single dignified neuron dragging itself across the battlefield.
Unfortunately, Durharn disappointed me.
Hard.
His face twisted, rage burning through the pallor of poison. His eyes were bloodshot now, not only from sickness but from something uglier. Panic. Humiliation. The kind of fear rulers hated most because it made them feel small in front of people who had bowed to them their whole lives.
He lifted his arm and pointed straight at me. “Guards.”
The hall went colder.
The kind of cold that arrived right before someone made a decision so stupid that historians would fight over how to word it politely.
Durharn’s voice cracked across the hall. “Surround him.”
For half a breath, no one moved.
The dwarven guards stared at him.
Some were pale. Some leaned slightly on their spears. The poison had touched them too. Maybe not as deeply as the guests, maybe their armor and training let them stand straighter, but their eyes were clear enough to understand what their king had just ordered.
Surround the Dragon King.
Inside a hall full of poisoned royals.
With the Phoenix Queen and Fairy Queen watching.
After accusing his wives.
Yeah.
That wasn’t an order.
That was assisted suicide with ceremony.
One guard’s jaw tightened. Another glanced at me and immediately looked away. A younger one swallowed so hard I could see his throat move beneath his beard.
Durharn noticed the hesitation.
And instead of thinking or realizing the hesitation meant even his own soldiers understood this was madness, he got angrier.
“I said surround him!”
His voice boomed harder this time, roughened by coughing. “Do you defy your king?”
The guards stiffened.
Still, no one moved fast enough for him.
Durharn took one heavy step forward, nearly stumbled, then caught himself against Seranaya’s hand. She held him. Beautiful. Frightened. Perfectly fragile.
She was milking this like a professional.
Durharn pointed at the nearest captain.
“You swore oath to my crown,” he snarled. “Move now, or I will strip your houses of rank.”
The captain’s face went rigid.
Durharn didn’t stop.
“Your families live under my protection. Remember that before you choose cowardice in front of your king.”
Ah.
The ugliest leash.
The moment those words left him, something changed in the hall.
The guards moved.
Slowly.
Not with pride.
With the stiffness of men walking toward an execution block because the axe was behind them too.
They spread around us in a widening circle, shields lifting, spears angled, not fully aimed, not yet, but enough to make the message clear. The sound of metal sliding against metal filled the hall.
My wives shifted.
Evelina’s fingers moved toward her bracelet.
Sela’s expression became stone.
Marissa’s eyes went flat, poison-cold.
Behind me, Al didn’t move at all.
Which was how I knew he was ready to kill at least six people before anyone blinked.
I stayed seated.
Still acting.
But my smile disappeared.
That got attention.
The dwarven guards saw it too.
Several of them tightened their grips harder.
They knew.
They knew this was death.
Not maybe death.
If I decided to stop pretending, this hall would become a memory with scorch marks.
And they still had to obey.
That, more than anything, made Durharn look worse.
Seraphel stood. “King Durharn,” she said sharply. “Pull back your soldiers.”
Her voice cut cleaner than a blade.
Durharn turned his glare toward her.
“No.”