Dragon King's Harem Chapter 595. Empty Thrones III

Dragon King's Harem Chapter 595. Empty Thrones III

Marissa exhaled and leaned a little more against me.

“Well,” I muttered, staring at what remained of my meal, “at least someone can sit on that throne.”

Evelina sighed quietly.

Unlike the Nymph Kingdom, the dwarves had no obvious answer.

Durharn was dead.

No clean successor standing beside the throne and no peaceful transition waiting politely behind a curtain.

Just ministers, nobles, old bloodlines, military houses, probably distant relatives suddenly remembering they were distantly related to royalty…

I rubbed my forehead. “Different from the dwarves.”

Sela finally spoke against my shoulder. Her voice was quiet. “And that will become your problem too.”

I stared at the wall. “Yeah, unfortunately.”

For a few seconds, nobody said anything.

Which was fair.

Because what exactly were we supposed to say?

I rubbed both hands down my face before massaging my temples.

“Well,” I muttered, “that’s tomorrow’s problem.”

Evelina raised one brow. She knew immediately that sentence contained bullshit.

I continued anyway.

“And I have the Phoenix Queen with me.”

Evelina’s mouth twitched. “So what you’re saying is…” She lifted her cup, watching me over the rim. “If you reach a dead end tomorrow, you’re going to use Queen Seraphel’s advice.”

I pointed at her. “Bingo.”

Marissa snorted softly.

Sela, still leaning against me, gave a tiny shake of her head.

I leaned back and stared at the ceiling like somewhere up there the gods had written an instruction manual titled “How to Replace a Dead Dwarf King Without Accidentally Starting a Civil War”.

Sadly, no such miracle appeared.

“That’s not very kingly, is it?” I muttered.

Evelina smiled. “Knowing when to ask for help sounds quite kingly.”

“No, no. Kings are supposed to stare dramatically out windows and make impossible decisions alone.”

Marissa laughed into her cup.

I sighed and let my head fall back against the chair. “But seriously… I don’t know enough about the dwarven noble houses.”

And that was the real problem.

If this were my kingdom?

Easy.

Not because everyone loved me.

But I knew them.

I knew which houses valued military strength, which ones lived for trade, which ones had enough old blood to become annoyingly proud at dinner, which ministers could be trusted with a treasury and which ones should not be trusted with an unattended pie.

Here?

Different story.

I knew names.

Titles.

A few reputations.

That wasn’t enough.

“Sela’s been away too long,” I continued, glancing toward her. “Too much has changed.”

Some nobles had risen while she was gone.

Some had fallen.

Some had switched alliances.

Some had probably spent the last decade carefully polishing public reputations while privately being complete monsters.

Royal politics.

“I can’t point at someone and say, ‘Congratulations, you look trustworthy, please take the mountain kingdom.’”

Evelina giggled.

Marissa nodded seriously. “That would be irresponsible.”

“Thank you.”

“You absolutely would do that if you were tired enough.”

I stared at her.

She smiled sweetly.

I continued anyway.

“They can build reputations. Donate money. Help civilians. Shake hands. Look wonderful in front of people.”

My fingers tapped slowly against the table.

“But reputation doesn’t tell me what’s inside.”

That was the part rulers learned painfully.

A man could spend twenty years looking honorable and still become a bastard the second a crown touched his head.

Power didn’t always corrupt people.

Sometimes it just gave them permission to stop pretending.

“And even if they’re good people,” I added, “that doesn’t mean they’re suitable for the throne.”

Evelina nodded thoughtfully. “A good person can still be a bad ruler.”

“Exactly.” I smiled and slid my arm around her waist, pulling her a little closer before returning to the problem. “If I put the wrong person on the throne and they fail…”

I clicked my tongue. “Guess whose name everyone remembers?”

Marissa answered immediately. “Yours.”

“Exactly.”

Not the council, the nobles who recommended him, or the ministers who swore he was perfect.

Then if that ruler became a tyrant, suddenly I was the architect of the disaster.

I absolutely love accountability with none of the information.

“So,” I continued, “I need a sister in crime.”

Evelina sighed. “The Phoenix Queen.”

Marissa laughed again.

I could already picture it tomorrow.

Me and Seraphel standing over ten noble profiles, both sleep deprived, judging potential kings like we were shopping for livestock.

Too ambitious.

Too weak.

Too old.

Too young.

Too stubborn like Durharn.

Reject.

Marissa placed her cup down carefully. “You could use the council.”

I glanced at her.

“They should know the noble houses better than outsiders.”

True.

Very true.

Before I could answer, Sela spoke. “Sadly, the council here is mostly made of houses loyal to King Durharn.”

I rubbed my chin. “That’s good and bad.”

Evelina looked at me. “How is that good?”

“Because loyalty means they might choose someone with similar qualities.”

Three women stared at me.

I raised a hand. “Not all his qualities.”

Marissa immediately muttered, “Good clarification.”

“I mean the useful ones. Strong. Traditional. Understands dwarven culture. Someone their people can respect.”

That mattered.

The dwarves were proud.

You couldn’t just place some soft-spoken merchant on the throne because he had excellent economic plans and expect warriors who spent generations hammering metal underground to salute happily.

They needed someone who felt dwarven.

Someone strong enough to command loyalty.

But not so stubborn he executed people for disagreeing with him.

Apparently that requirement needed to be written explicitly now.

“The bad side,” I continued, “is revenge.”

That wiped the humor away.

“If the council is dominated by Durharn’s loyalists, they might choose someone who wants blood more than stability.”

Nobody argued.

They didn’t need to.

We had all seen the looks already.

The grief.

The rage.

The dead king might have been foolish, but he had still been their king.

And the people who killed him were nymphs.

That fact alone could poison generations if nobody controlled the narrative.

“If the next king takes the throne promising revenge…” I shook my head. “That’s the beginning of something worse.”

A border war.

Then retaliation.

Then another retaliation.

Families growing up hating a race they had never personally met because grandparents told stories over dinner.

That was exactly what I wanted to spend the next century cleaning up.